MARNIE PADDED DOWN the stairs, her eyes straining a little against the brightness of Greece and the whiteness of his home. It was warm, too, though a breeze shifted through the wide corridor, lifting her Donna Karan dress as she reached the ground floor.
The house was quiet, except for a buzzing noise coming from the direction of the kitchen. Curious, she followed the sound, her tummy making a little groan of anticipation.
She’d slept late.
Then again, she’d been up late, too.
Her cheeks flushed as she remembered making love to Nikos in the shower, and then afterwards, when she’d almost drifted off to sleep, she’d felt his mouth teasing her body, drifting over her breasts, down her abdomen, to torment her one last time.
It had been a fantasy. She could almost believe she’d dreamed the whole thing. Except that she felt a little sore and tender in the light of day.
The sight of her husband in the kitchen made her heart skid to a stop. She swallowed, drinking him in hungrily. Awareness flooded her body. He was dressed in a business shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing those dark, muscled forearms of his. The shirt sat tucked in at the waist, revealing that honed stomach and firm hips. A burst of adrenalin and desire flared through her.
She bit down on her lower lip in an attempt to stall the smile that was threatening to split her mouth apart.
‘Morning,’ she murmured, her eyes sparkling with remembered intimacies.
He flicked a gaze to her, then returned his attention to the broadsheet paper that was spread across the bench. ‘Coffee?’
Her smile was quick to snap into a small frown. ‘Oh...um...yes.’
She wasn’t sure he’d heard; he remained perfectly still, his head bent as he read an article. After several long seconds he sipped his own coffee, then placed the mug down and moved to the corner of the kitchen. She’d expected to see a machine, but she saw Nikos had one of those stainless steel coffee pots. He poured a measure for Marnie and she wrinkled her nose, remembering instantly his predilection for coffee so thick it was almost like tar.
‘Perhaps I’ll have tea instead.’
He shrugged. ‘I would be surprised if you find teabags. I don’t drink the stuff.’ He left the coffee cup on the bench beside her, then topped up his own mug. ‘Speak to Eléni about your requirements. She will see the house has whatever you need.’
‘Eléni?’ Marnie murmured, her voice soft in response to his emotional distance.
‘My housekeeper,’ he reminded her.
‘Right.’ She nodded, sipping her coffee and pulling a face at the liquid, claggy against her tongue.
Her eyes lifted to the window, and beyond it to the view. The beach was shimmering in the distance, invitingly cool given the warmth of the day.
‘I’m happy to go shopping.’ A frown pulled at her brows. She wasn’t sure she wanted to leave a housekeeper to run the house completely. ‘I suppose we should talk about that, actually.’
He gave no indication that he’d heard her. Whatever he was reading was apparently engrossing. Or he was avoiding her like the plague. But that didn’t make sense. Not after what they’d shared the night before.
‘Nik?’ she murmured, moving to stand right beside him.
There it was again. The word that he hated hearing from her mouth. Nik. The name that had given him such pleasure in the past was now like an accusing dagger in his gut. A reminder of what they’d been contrasted with what they were now, of the pain of their history and the resentment that had fuelled this union—all contained in that small, soft sound. Nik.
Harsh emotions straightened his spine. He pressed his finger into the page, marking his spot, then lifted his eyes to her face. He skimmed her features thoughtfully, careful not to betray the emotions that the simple shortening of his name evoked.
‘I think we should stick with Nikos, don’t you?’
The rebuff stung. No, it killed. A part of herself withered like a cut flower deprived of water.
She narrowed her eyes, ignoring the tears she could feel heavy in her throat. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer Mr Kyriazis?’
A muscle jerked in his jaw but he returned his gaze to the paper and read on for a few moments before closing the pages and turning around, propping his butt against the edge of the kitchen bench. His eyes locked with hers.
‘What did you want to speak to me about, Mrs Kyriazis?’
She swallowed, all desire to act the part of his wife for real evaporating in the face of his coldness. Confusion was swirling through her, biting at her confidence bit by bit.
‘The housekeeper,’ she said finally, knowing the only thing worse than looking overeager was looking like an idiot who couldn’t finish a thought. ‘I can do some of her stuff.’
He arched a brow, silently imploring her to continue.
‘Well,’ she said, bitterly regretting embarking on this path. ‘I did my own shopping at home. Most of my cooking, too. I also took over the gardens.’
‘You? Who can’t tell wisteria from jasmine?’ he prompted sceptically.
She squared her shoulders. ‘That was a long time ago. I love flowers now. Roses especially.’
She was babbling. What was that pervasive feeling of grief? And how could she stem its tide?
‘Do you grow roses here? I suppose not. They’re more of an English thing, aren’t they? But, anyway, you said you have gardeners. In England I...’ She tapered off at his complete lack of responsiveness.
‘Eléni has been my housekeeper for a long time,’ he said finally, his tone as far from encouraging as it was possible to get. ‘I am not willing to offend her. She will not want to share her responsibilities.’
Marnie stared at him with rich disbelief. ‘Even with your wife?’
His smile was not softened by anything like happiness or pleasure. ‘My wife has other responsibilities.’
Marnie reached for her coffee. Thick and gloopy or not, it still had the ability to put some fire in her blood. ‘What’s got into you?’ she asked when she’d drunk almost the whole cup. ‘You’re treating me like...like...’
He waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t speak, letting her sentence trail off into nothingness, he prompted, ‘Like what?’
He was impatient now. She felt like a recalcitrant child.
‘Like you hate me.’
His nostrils flared as he expelled an angry breath. ‘Your words, agape, not mine.’ He pushed up off the bench. ‘I’ll be home for dinner.’
‘Where are you going?’ She stared at him incredulously.
He laughed. ‘Well, Marnie, I have to go to work. You see, our so-called marriage is really a business deal. You’ve upheld your end of the bargain spectacularly well so far—even bringing your virginity to the table. Now it is my turn. My assistant’s number is on the fridge, should you need me.’
He walked out of the kitchen without so much as a kiss on the cheek.
She stared at his retreating back, gaping like a fish dragged mercilessly from the water. Hurt flashed inside her, but anger was there, too. How could he be so unkind? They were married, and only hours earlier had been as close as two people could be. That had moved things around for her; it had changed the tone of her heart. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been the day before, or the week before, or when they’d made this hateful deal.
But for Nikos apparently nothing had changed. Nothing.
And he hadn’t even told her to call him if she needed anything! She was so far down the pecking order that she was supposed to go through his assistant if she needed her own husband for anything.
Well! She’d show him!
She ground her teeth together and wandered over to the newspaper, simply for something to do. The article he’d been reading was an incredibly dry piece on an Italian bank that was restructuring its sub-prime loans.
She flicked out of the finance section and went to international news. Though she generally liked to keep abreast of world events, she looked at the words that morning without comprehension. The black-and-white letters swam like little bugs in her eyes until she gave up in frustration and slammed the paper shut.
She sipped the coffee again, before remembering how disgusting she found it, and then glided across the kitchen floor, pulling the fridge open. The platters from the night before were there; they’d been put back on their shelves. The flavours were reminiscent of childhood family holidays, when the four of them had travelled by yacht around the Med, stopping off at whichever island had taken their fancy, enjoying the local delicacies.
Libby had loved squid. She’d eaten charcoaled tentacles by the dozen. Whereas Marnie had been one for olives, cheese, bread and dolmades. Libby had joked about Marnie’s metabolism in a way she’d been too young to understand, though now she knew that she’d been unfairly blessed with the ability to eat what she wanted and not see it in her figure.
It was the one small genetic blessing Marnie had in her favour. The rest had gone to Libby. The shimmering blonde hair that had waved down her back, the enormous bright blue eyes, a curving smile that had seemed to dance like the wind on her face, flicking and freshening with each emotion she felt. And Libby had almost always been happy.
Marnie padded across the tiled floor, drawn to the glass doors that framed the view of the ocean. It sparkled in the distance, and she saw with a little sound of pleasure that there was an infinity pool in the foreground. She toyed with the door handle until it clicked open and then slid the glass aside, stepping out onto the paved terrace as though the breeze had dragged her.
She breathed deeply. Salt and pollution were a heady mix for a girl who’d spent much of her time in the English countryside. She grinned, trying to put her situation with Nikos temporarily out of her mind. An almost childlike curiosity was settling around her, and she slipped across the terrace and stood on the edge of pool. The water was turquoise.
Her toe, almost of its own volition, skimmed the surface before diving beneath, taking her foot with it.
Perfection.
Uncaring that her expensive linen dress might get crumpled or wet, and for once not thinking about photographers or what people might think, safe in the knowledge that she was completely alone, Marnie lifted the dress over her head and left it in a roughly folded heap on the tiles.
In only her bra and underpants she slid into the water, making a little moan of delight as it lapped up to her neck. As a child she’d gone swimming often.
She ducked her head underwater, beyond caring that her artfully applied make-up would smudge, and stroked confidently to the far end of the pool. She propped her chin on the edge, studying the bright blue sky, turquoise ocean and faraway buildings for a moment before duck-diving underwater once more and returning to the house side.
It felt good to swim, and she lost count of how many laps she completed. Eventually, though, as she drew to the edge of the pool, her arms a little wobbly, she paused to gain breath.
‘You are fast.’
A woman’s accented voice reached her and Marnie started a little, her heart racing at the intrusion.
Not knowing exactly what to expect, she spun in the water until her eyes pinned the source of the voice.
A woman was on the terrace, a mop in one hand, a smile on her lined face. She had long hair, going by the voluminous messy bun that was piled on top of her hair, and it was a grey like lead. She wore a dark blue dress that fell to the knees and sensible sandals.
The housekeeper. What had Nikos said her name was? She wished now she’d paid better attention, rather than focussing her mental skills on just what the hell had happened in the hours since they’d made love.
‘You swim like a dolphin, no?’ the housekeeper said, and when her smile widened, Marnie saw that she was missing a tooth.
‘Thank you,’ she said, inwardly wincing at how uptight she sounded. She tried to loosen the effect with a smile of her own. ‘I’m Marnie.’
‘You Mrs Kyriazis.’ The housekeeper nodded. ‘I know, I know.’
She was tall and wiry and she moved fast, propping the mop against the side of the house before lifting the lid of a cane basket. ‘I always keep towels in here. Mr Kyriazis likes his swim after work.’
Dangerous images of Nikos—bare-chested, water trickling over his muscled chest and honed arms—made her insides squeeze with remembered desire. ‘Does he?’
‘So the towels always are fresh. I can get you one.’
True to her word, she lifted one from the box and placed it on the edge of the pool, beside Marnie’s dress. Her hand ran to the item of clothing, lifting it as if on autopilot and draping it over a chair instead.
Marnie was a little shamefaced at the uncharacteristic way she’d discarded it.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her tone stiff. ‘Nikos didn’t mention your name,’ she fibbed.
‘I’m Mrs Adona.’ She grinned. ‘You can call me Eléni, though, like Mr Kyriazis does.’
‘Eléni.’ Marnie nodded crisply. That was it. Curious, she tilted her head to one side, watching as the older woman returned to fetch the mop. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
Eléni cackled quietly in response.
‘That’s funny?’ Marnie prompted with a small smile on her face.
Later, she would be mortified to realise that she had big black circles of smudged mascara beneath each eye.
‘Oh, it is nice for me to meet you, I was thinking. Nice for him to settle down. In my day men didn’t work as hard as him. They had one woman and a simple job. You’ll be good for him,’ Eléni said, with an optimism that Marnie was loath to dispel.
So she nodded. ‘Perhaps.’
Something occurred to her and, spontaneously, she called the woman nearer to the pool.
‘Eléni? Nikos is worried that I’ll step on your toes if I do the odd bit of grocery shopping or cooking.’
She watched the other woman carefully for any sign of mortification or offence, and instead saw a broad grin.
Spurred on, she continued, ‘The thing is, I quite like to cook. And I don’t have a lot to do here yet, and shopping kills time. So...well... I hope you won’t be upset if you see that happening?’
‘Upset?’
Her laugh was contagious and alarming in equal measure. Loud—so loud it seemed almost amplified—it pealed across the courtyard and out towards the sea. Marnie found herself chuckling in response.
Eléni said something in her own language, then rubbed her angled chin as if searching for the words in English. ‘I don’t know he can like a woman who cooks.’
The sentence was a little disjointed, and the accent was thick, but the meaning came to Marnie loud and clear.
Nikos didn’t bring women who cooked to his home.
They had other talents.
And wasn’t that just an unpalatable thought?
Well, Marnie would show him.
* * *
By the time he returned that night Marnie and Eléni had moved a table onto the tiled terrace and Eléni had set it beautifully. A crisp white cloth fell to the floor, and in its centre she’d placed orange blossoms and red geraniums to create an artful and fragrant arrangement of blooms.
Marnie was just pulling the scallops Mornay from the grill when he arrived. It was difficult to say who was more surprised. Nikos, by the sight of his wife in a black-and-white apron, kitchen glove on one hand, feet bare but for the red toenail polish that was strangely seductive, or Marnie, who took one look at her husband and felt such a surge of emotions that she had to prop her hip on the bench behind her for support.
He placed a black leather bag on the kitchen floor, then crossed his arms. ‘I thought we discussed this,’ he said finally.
So much for new beginnings.
‘You discussed it, as I remember.’ Her smile was overly saccharine. ‘I listened while you told me that I shouldn’t get comfortable in your home.’
Her acerbic remark had caught him unawares—that much was obvious.
Choosing not to tackle the bigger issue of her statement, he said thickly, ‘I told you—I don’t want you upsetting Eléni .’
‘Yes, yes...’ She moved to the fridge and pulled a bottle of ice-cold champagne from the door. She placed it in his hand and paused right in front of him. ‘You also told me that I should save my energy for other wifely duties.’
He had. And he’d enjoyed, in some small part, seeing the way he’d shocked her. But having her say the words back to him switched everything around. A hint of shame whispered across his features.
‘Eléni’s very happy that you’ve married someone who enjoys cooking,’ she said, with an exaggerated batting of her long, silky lashes. ‘I think she finds me surprisingly traditional compared to your usual...companions.’
‘You’ve spoken to her?’ he said unnecessarily.
‘Yes. So you don’t need to worry that I’ve sent her off to cry into her pillows.’
He curled his fingers around the neck of the bottle and unfurled the foiled top, his eyes lingering on his wife’s face. Her honey-brown hair was plaited and little tendrils had escaped, curling around her eyes. Her make-up was impeccable, and beneath the apron he could see that she was wearing a simple dress that he was growing impatient to remove.
‘You have a smudge on your cheek,’ he lied, lifting his thumb to his mouth to wet it before wiping it across her skin. He was rewarded with the sight of her eyes fluttering closed and her full lips parting as she exhaled softly. The same knot of desire that had sat in his gut all day was inside her, too, then.
‘I’ve been busy,’ she said softly, her eyes bouncing open and clashing with his. As if consciously slicing through the web that was thick around them, she stepped backwards. ‘You open that—thank you.’
A grudging smile lifted half his mouth. ‘Yes, Mrs Kyriazis.’
She turned away before he could see the way the name brought an answering smile to her own features.
He popped the top off the bottle, placed the cork on the bench. He reached for two glasses at the same time she did. Their hands connected and she stepped aside quickly. ‘You do it. I’ll get our starter.’
‘Starter?’ he murmured, watching as a pink like the sunset dusted her cheekbones.
‘Uh-huh. I told you—I like to cook.’
That was new. ‘Since when?’
She began to place the scallops in their fan-like shells on a plate, forming a spiral of sorts. ‘Some time after we broke up—’ she skidded over the words a little awkwardly ‘—I discovered it as a hobby. It turns out I love cooking. I’ve always loved food.’
She reached for a spoon and ran it around the edge of a shell, coating it in the Mornay sauce. She lifted it to his lips and he widened his mouth to taste the sauce. It was as delicious as it smelled.
‘Apparently you excel at it.’
‘Thank you.’ The compliment was a gift. A beautiful gift to cherish in the midst of the turbulent ocean they were stranded in. She lifted the plate and smiled. ‘Shall we?’
He turned, two champagne flute stems trapped between the fingers of one hand, the bottle in his other. He began to retreat from the kitchen, but Marnie stalled him.
‘Not the dining room,’ she said over her shoulder, weaving through the kitchen towards the patio. It was then that Nikos saw that against the backdrop of the setting sun, and the evening sky that sparkled with tiny little diamonds of stardust, a table glowed with candlelight.
Emotions, warm and fierce, surged in his chest. ‘You did this?’
‘Eléni helped,’ she said honestly, nudging the door with her shoulder.
The night was blissfully warm. She placed the scallops on the table and then stretched behind her back for the ties of the apron.
‘Allow me,’ he said throatily, settling the drinks onto the table and reaching for her. His fingers worked deftly at the strings but, once they were untied, he kept his hands on her hips. He spun her in the circle of his arms so that he could stare down at her face. In the softness of dusk she was breathtakingly beautiful. But the fragility he sensed in her terrified him.
He wasn’t prepared for Marnie’s vulnerability. He had no protection against it.
He dropped his hands to his sides and moved to a chair instead. He pulled it from the table, waiting for her to settle herself in the seat. She pushed the apron over her head, not minding that it roughened her hair. She draped it over the timber back of the chair, keeping her eyes on the spectacular view as she sat down.
He glided the chair inwards a little way, his hands resting on her bare shoulders for a moment before he moved to the other side of the table.
At another time, or for another pair, the moment would have been singing with romance. But Marnie knew they didn’t qualify for that. And yet the setting was so magical that for a moment she let herself forget the tension and the blackmail, the resentments and regrets.
‘Do you remember when we had that picnic in Brighton?’
His eyes skimmed her face, tracing the features he’d stared at that night. It had been only a few weeks before he’d told her he wanted to marry her one day—before she’d told him that would never happen.
‘Yes.’ He pressed back in his chair. The past was a sharp course he didn’t particularly like to contemplate. ‘I remember.’
‘The sun was a little like this,’ she said, obviously not sensing his tone, or perhaps willfully ignoring it.
She watched the glow of the golden orb as its own weight seemed to catch up with it, making it impossible for day to remain any longer. As the sun dipped gratefully towards the sea the sky seemed to serenade it, whispering peach and purple against its outline.
‘This is my favourite thing to watch,’ she said softly, a self-conscious smile ghosting across her face as she returned her attention to the table.
‘Why?’
She lifted a scallop and placed it on her plate, indicating that he should do likewise. But he was fully focussed on his bride.
‘I guess I find it somehow reassuring,’ she said with a small shrug of her slender shoulders. ‘That no matter what happens in a day there’ll always be this.’
He arched a brow, finding the sentiment both beautiful and depressing. ‘I am more for mornings,’ he said after a moment.
‘I remember.’ She grinned, trying hard to inject their evening with the normality she’d longed for that morning. ‘You wake before the sun.’
‘I do not need a lot of sleep.’
‘Apparently.’
Her cheeks flushed pink as she remembered the previous night—the way he had commanded her body’s full attention even when she had been exhausted. And she’d responded to his invitations willingly, rousing herself to join with him, needing him even from behind the veil of exhaustion.
He ate a scallop, though he wasn’t particularly hungry. It was divine. A perfect combination of sweetness and salt. He didn’t say anything, though, so Marnie continued to wonder if he’d enjoyed it or was simply being polite when he reached for another.
‘How was your day?’ she asked, after a moment of prickly silence had passed.
He regarded her for a long moment. ‘I spoke with your father, if that is your concern.’
Her face slashed with hurt before she concealed it expertly. ‘It wasn’t,’ she responded, shrugging as though he hadn’t scratched her with the sharp blade of recrimination. ‘I was simply making conversation.’
His eyes glowed with the strength of his feelings. Marnie pressed back in her chair, her own appetite waning. She thought of the fish she was baking in a salt crust. What a waste it would be if they couldn’t even make it through a few scallops without breaking into war.
‘Let us not pretend, Marnie, when there is no one here to benefit from the performance.’