The building towered over the others, as it always had. From the day it was built, it had been intended to dwarf and belittle.

Saphire stood, hands planted on hips, and stared up at it. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, pocked by the occasional wisp of cloud and the unmistakable marks of passing aeroplanes. A late summer breeze rustled past, plastering her maxi dress to her legs. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, but instead of the salt and sunshine of Greece, she tasted London’s smog and streets on her tongue.

Her bright eyes blinked at the building once more and with a grimace of determination she began to move towards it slowly. Cars were zipping in both directions. She waited on the edge of the footpath, concentrating only on crossing the street.

One step at a time.

One step at a time and eventually this life might feel like hers again.

A gap formed and she moved with alacrity through it, skipping onto the opposing footpath and pausing yet again. Just long enough to draw in another breath, then she was off, moving towards the revolving doors.

A plane flew overhead right as she entered and Saphire paused, spinning sharply to stare up at it. Was it a Konstanides jet? She couldn’t tell from that distance, but she watched until it had passed completely out of sight, then shook her head.

What was Thad doing?

Unconsciously, her fingers reached for her shoulder, where the last of his wax marks were still visible.

It hadn’t even been a week.

Her gut clenched with the force of her memories, but she banked down on them.

It had been an aberration. She’d wanted to break free of her marriage, to hurt her husband as he had her, and instead she’d ruined everything. Most of all her own life.

Her heels made clicking noises against the tiles. She moved efficiently, jabbing a manicured finger into the upward button at the bank of stainless steel elevators. There was a slight delay before the doors swished open, revealing a small cubicle rounded by mirrors.

Saphire hardly recognized herself.

She lifted her fingers to her lips as she entered, then pushed her Gucci sunglasses high up on her head. Her hair was neat, pulled into a chignon. Her make up was impeccable, and she’d worn one of her favorite dresses from the previous year’s fashion week.

But there was a subtle shift in all of her features. A confidence and edginess that had never been there before.

With a moue of impatience, she pressed the button to the twentieth floor and pressed back against the wall.

Its ascent was swift; only seconds seemed to elapse before the doors swished open. “Morrison, McKenna & Male” was etched into a glass sign above the bank of receptionists in the center of the foyer. She pushed her nerves aside and walked with an air of assumed ease into the space.

“Mrs Arana,” the blonde receptionist murmured, her lips lifting with genuine pleasure. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. Congratulations.”

Saphire’s smile was unintentionally dismissive. “Thank you, Marjorie.” The woman was in her forties, and Saphire had always liked her. She’d worked at the firm for a long time.

“Now, who would you like to see today, m’dear? Your father or your husband?”

Saphire’s stomach was in knots. Which of them should she disappoint first? The man she’d believed she loved? Or the man who’d counseled her off this marriage?

“Jordan, thanks,” she murmured, the smile still pinned to her lips.

Marjorie consulted her computer, but another receptionist poked her head up. “He’s free. His meeting just cancelled a moment ago. Must have been the fates telling him you were coming instead.”

“Great,” Saphire expelled a breath of relief. Having made it this far she wasn’t sure she could handle putting the conversation off any longer. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he might have had plans.

“Go on through,” Marjorie grinned, watching with envy the slim figure of Mrs Arana as she swayed elegantly towards the tiled hallway.

Jordan’s office was, perhaps, more prestigious than it should have been. After all, he was not a partner in the firm yet, but as the son-in-law of one of the founding partners, there was evidently some nepotism in play.

Saphire didn’t bother to knock. She pushed into his office and caught him standing, staring down over the city. Her heart didn’t skip a beat, but she still felt a swirl of anguish.

“Saffy!” Jordan stalked across the office and stopped just short of his wife. “What the hell? When did you get back?” He put his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him. He smelled good; just as she remembered. But there was no answering crush of interest.

“Jordan.” She patted his back and then stepped out of the embrace as soon as she felt she could do so politely.

“Saffy, God. When did you get here?”

“A few days ago.” She cleared her throat.

“A few days ago? Jesus. Where have you been? Have you been home?”

Saphire lifted a finger to her temples and flashed him a distracted smile. She crossed to one of the elegant armchairs near the windows and took a seat. In the end, she hadn’t been able to face their home. She’d caught a cab towards it as soon as she’d arrived back in London. But as she’d stared at the place they’d lived together, her own heart had finally become clear to her. “I went to a hotel,” she spoke clearly and calmly.

“Why? Saff, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.”

She bit down on her lip. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“But you knew how I’ve been. My God, you disappeared into thin air.” He moved across to kneel before her, his eyes scanning her face hungrily. His hair flopped forward over his brow; he was handsome. Very handsome. She could see why Anita had fallen for him. And surely she must have, to have taken the step of sleeping with her best friend’s husband.

“I needed to think, Jordan.”

He nodded, his hand solicitously placed on her knee. “And?”

She swallowed. This was it. The words she’d rehearsed again and again. “I want a divorce.”

Jordan flinched as though she’d slapped him. The flesh around his thin lips went white. She stared at it, fascinated that she could see some fine veins pulsing purple. “What?”

“A divorce.” Saphire licked her lower lip.

“Darling, you’re being extreme,” he laughed, shaking his head in that patronizing way of his.

“No,” she intoned flatly. “I’m being entirely reasonable.”

“Your feelings were hurt. You felt hurt. Wronged.” As she opened her mouth to interject he laughed again. “You had every right to feel that way. I wish I could do something to take that away. I never could have imagined you’d find out in that way.”

Saphire pursed her lips. “I shouldn’t have found out at all.”

He frowned.

“There shouldn’t have been anything for me to find out.”

He nodded, belatedly comprehending. “Right, of course. Saffy, it’s over with Anita. It should never have begun. I love you.”

“No,” she smiled wistfully. “You don’t.”

“I love you,” he responded firmly.

“If you loved me you could never have hurt me like that.” She ignored her own dull, throbbing denial. After all, she loved Thaddeus, and yet she’d hurt him. Badly. “If you loved me, you would never have slept with my closest friend behind my back. If you loved me, you would never have treated me with such disrespect. You don’t love me. And maybe you never did.”

“How can you say that?” His expression was perfect; he looked, to all the world, like a truly wounded man. Only Saphire understood him so much better now. She knew what motivated him, and it wasn’t love. Nor was it loyalty.

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “I don’t love you either. I can’t pinpoint when I started to fall out of love with you. But gradually, and a long while ago, I did. I don’t love you. I want a divorce.”

He stood up and paced across the room. Despite the earliness of the hour, he poured himself a measure of whiskey and threw it back.

“I won’t let you do this to me,” he said when he spun around.

She grimaced. “What did you think would happen? You must have known I wouldn’t put up with it.”

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” he blathered, spittle pooling in the corners of his lips.

“No,” she shook her head, and her laugh now was genuine. “But I did. And that was your mistake, not mine.”

“You were having lunch with your mother.”

“God, Jordan, it wasn’t the first time you slept with her. Presumably it wasn’t the last. If I hadn’t walked in on you, I would have found out soon enough another way. Secrets like that can never be kept. You’re a lawyer. You should know all this. No secret is perfect.”

“It’s over. Anita’s nothing to me.”

“Don’t say that,” Saphire’s words were haunted. “If it was truly just meaningless sex then it would all have been for nothing. I’ve lost my best friend. I’ve lost you. And what for?”

“You haven’t lost me! And Anita’s missing you like crazy.”

Saphire honed in on the statement. “So you’ve seen her since then?”

His mouth worked over time. “I’ve … yes. But only because we had to talk. About you. She’s full of remorse. As am I.”

Another lie; she would have bet her life on it. “Great. So you should be. But that has little effect on my decision.”

“Divorce? I don’t want that.”

“I don’t care.” Saphire stood with a purposeful elegance from the chair and picked an imaginary piece of lint off her dress. “This isn’t a debate. It’s a decision, and I’ve made it.”

“Come on, Saff. We’ve been together for a decade of our lives. Surely you can’t just throw it all away …”

“You’re the one who did that,” she reminded him firmly. “I came here today with a heap of questions for you. Curiosity is natural under the circumstances, I suppose. I wanted to know how long it had been going on. I wanted to know if there’s been anyone else. I wanted to know why you even married me. But as soon as I saw you I realized how little any of that matters.”

“It all matters. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just stay. Just talk to me. Please.”

“No.” Her smile was sympathetic now. “You don’t understand. I feel nothing for you. I’m not angry. I’m not sad. I’m not jealous. Everything I ever felt for you has disappeared. It’s just not there. I can’t snap my fingers and bring it back. You killed it, but I’m glad.” She walked towards the door.

“Stop.” He followed and put his hand on it. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes were darting around the room now. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go to my father,” she said gently, understanding his fear. “But don’t worry. I have no interest in dragging your name through the mud. I’m only going to inform him of our pending divorce.”

“He can’t act for you. That would be a massive conflict of interest.”

She had to bite down on her tongue to stop from rolling her eyes. “I don’t need him, or anyone, to act for me. This will be a simple divorce proceeding. Draw up the papers and I’ll look them over.” She curled her hand around his cheek. “I need to tell dad before he hears it from someone else. He’ll be furious — with you — if he’s caught unawares.”

Jordan had the good grace to look mortified. “What can I do to change your mind?”

Her smile was wan. “Go back in time, and don’t sleep with my best friend.”

He shook his head. “What else?”

“Nothing.” She tilted her head to one side and dropped her hand. “This isn’t a reaction, Jordan. It’s an acceptance of a fact you and I should have appreciated a long time ago. We’re not in love. We don’t love one another. We’re a terrible couple.” She pulled the door inwards and flashed a final smile in his direction. “Email me a copy of the papers when they’re ready.”

He nodded, too shocked to speak.

Saphire moved further down the corridor to the large glass doors at the end. She knew them well. She’d spent so much time in her father’s office that she’d joked it was like a second home. She’d loved it as a child; the smell of stationery and the background sounds of efficient work.

She tapped on the door briefly and then pushed it inwards. His personal assistant inclined her head and then smiled. “Saff, darling, how are you?” She asked, standing and moving around the desk to place a kiss on Saphire’s cheek.

“Hi, Linda. I’m great, thanks,” and surprisingly, the words felt sort of true. “Can I grab a minute with him?”

Linda nodded. “He’s got a board meeting in ten … but he can be a little late.”

“That’s fine,” Saphire shook her head. “This won’t take long.” Coward, she thought with a small smile. Would her dad be even more pissed off when she dropped the bombshell and ran?

“Go on in,” Linda nodded towards Angus Morrison’s doors.

Saphire pushed them in, noting the obvious differences between her husband’s office and that of her father. Despite the fact Jordan’s office was an executive space, Angus’s was something else. His view over London was incomparable; she could see all the way over the Tower, the Shard, towards the park. Her eyes glossed over the details gratefully. London was beautiful and she’d always loved it, though it was nothing now to the place l’isola Ourano occupied in her heart.

“Dad,” she smiled at him as he unfurled his slim frame from behind his enormous desk. Papers were everywhere. There was no computer. Only a barely used iPad perched perilously on the very corner of the table top, as a grudging concession to technology. Angus Morrison was, and always would be, old school.

“Saphire,” his voice was rich with pleasure. “To what do I owe the visit?” His lips tightened a little. “I suppose you were here to see Jordan?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” she nodded. “Coffee?”

“Always,” he preceded her, moving towards the kitchenette across the room. He pushed a cup under the nozzle and waited for it to begin to drain. He set it aside and then repeated the motion. Sapphire scooped the first cup up and cradled it in her hands.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“So? How’s things, kiddo?”

She winced. “Well, I guess there’s no easy way to tell you this …”

He angled his head towards her and his skin had a grey pallor beneath his summer tan. “You’re pregnant?”

Saphire arched a perfectly shaped brow enquiringly. “No. I gather that wouldn’t be good news?”

He recovered quickly. “Of course it would be,” he denied, but Saphire had caught his first reaction.

“You really don’t like Jordan, do you?”

“How many times have you asked me that, Saphire? He’s only a year or two shy of being made head of corporate litigation. I’ve mentored the guy. He’s my son-in-law.”

Her smile was distracted. “Because I know you and I know you don’t like him.”

Angus made a sound of frustration. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you again, darling. It’s fruitless now that you’re married. Any doubts your mother and I had were erased by your commitment to him. Besides, what matters is how you feel.”

“Yeah, I know.” She bit down on her lip. “Which brings me to the reason I’m visiting.”

“Go on,” he nodded towards his own suite of comfortable armchairs and Saphire walked by his side.

She settled into one of them and sipped her coffee, then placed it on a glass topped table to her left. “I don’t want you to blame Jordan.” God, those words hurt to say, but she knew it was the right way to handle things. “I mean it, daddy. I’m just asking you to be fair, okay?”

“Of course,” he dipped his head forward, but something like hope was beginning to flare in his chest.

Saphire expelled a breath. “We’re getting a divorce.”

Angus was an excellent lawyer. He hadn’t been handed a damned thing in his whole life; he’d worked hard at university, then built an illustrious career all for himself. He’d worked hard, and he’d hardly slept for a decade, and now he was one of the most renowned solicitors in the country. He prided himself on his poker face, but holding it in place in that moment was a feat almost beyond him. He managed, just, to keep any emotion off his features as he digested her statement.

“Say something,” she begged finally.

He nodded, and sipped his coffee. “Does your mother know?”

Saphire shook her head. “No. I’ve just seen Jordan. It’s all happened very quickly.”

Another nod. “What happened?”

She sighed. “You and mum were right,” she said finally. “We should never have got married. I was too stubborn to see it.”

He pulled a face. Something wasn’t adding up. “So you and Jordan just decided …”

“Yes,” she nodded. “It was mutual. Amicable.” She leaned forward, putting a hand on his knee. “And I don’t want this to have any impact on his career path here.”

Angus’s laugh was a deep, booming noise that resonated through to Linda. “Hell, I’ll promote him if you’re finally rid of the wanker.”

“Daddy!” Saphire stared at her father in surprise, but a smile quirked at the corners of her lips. “I knew you didn’t like him.”

“Of course I don’t. He’s an arrogant prick. I’ve come across my fair share of Jordans in my time, all of them with that same pretty-boy sense of entitlement. He doesn’t understand you, Saphire. You’re an ornament to him. Nothing more.”

Saphire’s breath caught in her throat. “Why didn’t you ever say this to me before?”

“I wanted to, but your mother thought we’d push you away.”

Saphire nodded. “I mean it, though. I don’t want this to be bad for him, career wise. You know he wants to get into politics.”

“Saff, he might be an arrogant prick, and I might think he’s a thoroughly worthless son-in-law, but he’s got a brilliant legal mind. I would never have let him progress in the company if it wasn’t warranted.”

She grinned. “Good. I’m glad.”

“A divorce, hey? I suppose it’s inappropriate to ask you to join me for a champagne.”

She laughed, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Another time. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

 

* * *

 

Though London had been warm, Athens was even more so. The heat was stifling, with barely a breeze to offer even a hint of relief.

Saphire fanned herself with the magazine she’d lifted from the aeroplane. KONSTANIDES was emblazoned proudly across the front page. She knew that if she opened the picture, Thaddeus’s face would greet her.

So she didn’t.

It had taken a lot of fast-talking and phone calls to confirm where he was, but she’d done it. In some ways, Saphire wished it was anywhere else. Being back in Greece was sending shards of anxiety through her.

How could she be here and not know how he felt? How could she be here and not have the freedom of going to the island?

Impatience was a whip at her back. He was somewhere in that building. She stared at the monolith with growing need, and, as she’d done earlier that day, she skipped across the street. This time, though, happiness increased with every movement.

Thaddeus.

Her whole body clenched as she thought of him.

The foyer was elegant and modern. She crossed it and hit the button. She knew from the last phone call that his office was on the seventeenth floor. Butterflies were flittering through her.

The doors pinged opened and she put a hand on her stomach to quell the anxiety.

A man in a suit was sitting behind a timber desk. He spoke in Greek, his smile welcoming.

“I’m sorry,” a little line furrowed between her brow. “Do you speak English?”

“Of course,” his smile didn’t falter.

“Good.” Her own smile was unknowingly dazzling. “I don’t have an appointment, but would you mind letting Thad — Mr Konstanides — know that Saphire Arana is here?”

The receptionist’s look was slightly quizzical. “Oh,” his smile faltered. “I’m sorry madam, I know Mr Konstanides has meetings all day.”

“That’s okay,” she nodded. “I can wait. Only please let him know that I’m … that I am … waiting,” she finished lamely.

Something in her manner moved him and so he lifted his headset and punched his boss’s extension into it.

Thaddeus’s voice was a gruff, impatient growl. “Yes?” He spoke in his native language.

“Sir,” the receptionist’s eyes lifted to the beautiful English woman. “I have a Saphire Arana here for you.”

There was a short pause as Thaddeus processed this. “On the phone?”

“No, sir. In reception.”

“Where?”

“Here. In Athens. In reception.”

Thaddeus, in the midst of examining the annual budget, hadn’t had a minute to himself for days. He’d travelled to Paris, and back again, and he’d worked non-stop ever since. But in those brief moments when he’d been free to do so, he’d thought about Saphire. Only the certainty that missing her would be the end of him had encouraged him to get back to his normal life.

“I see,” he said, stalling.

“Yes, sir,” the receptionist waited for further instructions, his eyes not meeting Saphire’s. The hope there was too obvious.

“Please tell Mrs Arana that her trip is wasted. I cannot see her.”

“Today?”

“At all. Please remind her that our business is concluded.”

It was juvenile and cutting, but Thaddeus slammed the phone down with satisfaction. Who did she think she was, coming to see him after rejecting him so callously? She’d gone back to her husband. She’d made her choice. And her choice hadn’t been him.

Thaddeus Konstanides was not a man to beg. And yet he’d begged her. He’d begged Saphire again and again and still she’d left him.

For him. Jordan Arana.

The thought kept swirling in his brain, but his body was on fire. Every nerve ending was screaming at him to stand up and run to her. There were only walls between them. She was somewhere in his building, waiting for him.

He groaned, and pushed back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut. He could see her as clearly as if she was before him.

Anger flared in his gut. How dare she try to see him? What could she have wanted? Briefly, he hoped that she had come to tell him she’d made a mistake. Only he’d seen the determination in her eyes for himself. He discounted the possibility as fantasy and reached for his phone once more.

Before meeting Saphire, Thaddeus had enjoyed an active social life.

He had a nice database of dates he could use to clear her from his memory banks.

And that’s what she deserved.

To be purged from his mind as she’d purged him from her life.