The Marakaios Baby. Кейт Хьюит

      ‘Am I to understand,’ he asked, his voice toneless, ‘that you are giving me permission to violate my marriage vows?’

      ‘It would be a marriage of convenience—’

      ‘But still a marriage.’

      ‘I’m trying to make this more amenable to you—’

      ‘To sweeten the deal?’ He cut across her, his voice hard. ‘It still tastes rancid to me.’

      ‘Please, Leo...’ She swallowed, hating the fact that she had to beg.

      Maybe he was right. Perhaps she should go back to Paris, raise the baby on her own. Leo could be the sort of weekend father he claimed he didn’t want to be. Plenty of couples did it—why not them?

      Because she was afraid of going it alone. Because she wanted more for her child. So much more than she’d had.

      ‘You ask so nicely,’ Leo said, his eyes glittering now.

      He was furious with her, even after so many months apart. She wondered if his anger could ever be appeased. Perhaps if she told him the truth...if only he would believe it.

      ‘I’m willing to live in Greece,’ she continued, deciding she might as well say it all.

      ‘Even in the “middle of nowhere”?’

      ‘I’d leave my job at Achat. I’d want to stay home with the baby for the first few years, at least.’

      ‘I thought the whole “housewife routine” bored you to death?’

      Once again he was throwing her words back in her face, and she couldn’t blame him. ‘It’s different now.’

      ‘So you’re saying you want those things? That life?’

      He sounded incredulous—contemptuous, even—and bile surged in her stomach again. She swallowed past the metallic taste in her mouth. ‘I’m saying that I am willing,’ she answered. ‘It’s a sacrifice I’m prepared to make.’

      ‘So I’d be marrying a martyr? What an appealing thought.’

      ‘You’d be making a sacrifice too,’ Margo replied. ‘I understand that.’

      ‘I still don’t understand you,’ Leo answered.

      ‘Why is it so hard to believe I’d be willing to do this?’ Margo demanded. She could take only so much of his sneering disbelief. ‘Most women would.’

      ‘And yet,’ Leo reminded her softly, ‘you aren’t “most women”.’

      She closed her eyes, felt herself sway.

      She heard Leo’s sharply indrawn breath. ‘Margo, are you all right?’

      His voice was rough, although with impatience or anxiety she couldn’t tell.

      She forced her eyes open.

      ‘I’m just very tired, and still quite nauseous,’ she said levelly. ‘Obviously you need time to think about my—my proposal.’ Not the word she’d wished to use, and Leo’s mouth twisted cynically when she said it. There had been too many proposals already. ‘If you could let me know when you’ve decided...’

      ‘Are you actually intending to return to France?’ Leo asked sharply. ‘You’re in no condition to travel.’

      ‘I’ll spend the night at a local hotel,’ she answered, ‘and fly out of Athens tomorrow.’

      ‘No.’ Leo’s gaze was cold and implacable as he gave his order. ‘You’ll stay here. I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.’

      Which made her feel like Scheherazade, wondering if she was to be beheaded in the morning. Not the way she would have wanted to think about her marriage, but she’d reconciled herself, or thought she had, to what life with Leo would be like. She’d told herself it was worth it, that anything was worth it if she could give her baby a stable, loving home.

       Even if you and Leo will never love each other?

      Some sacrifices, she reminded herself grimly, were necessary. And maybe it would be better this way. Without the complication and risk of loving someone, you could never be hurt. Hopefully.

      She rose from her chair, blinking back dizziness. Even so Leo must have seen something in her expression, for he reached forward and steadied her elbow with his hand. It was the first time he’d touched her in three months, since he’d made love to her against the window and then walked away.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she said, and shook off his hand. ‘Just a little dizzy when I stand up, that’s all.’

      ‘I’ll arrange for someone to show you to the guest suite,’ Leo said.

      He was frowning, although over her dizziness or the whole situation she didn’t know. Couldn’t think. He was right: she really wasn’t in a fit state to travel.

      She stood, swaying slightly, as Leo made arrangements on his phone. Then he ended the call and gave her one last, hard look.

      ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, and Margo knew it was a dismissal.