THE APPLE WAS as sweetly sun-warmed as those she remembered from childhood. Despite the fact the day was cool, the morning had offered just enough heat to darken the flesh of this one more than the others.
Though it wasn’t yet midday, she was tired. They’d been travelling since dawn and the return to Kenington with Nikos by her side had brought with it a sledge-load of emotions.
Juice dribbled down one side of her mouth and she lifted a finger to catch it.
Nikos watched, transfixed.
‘I used to love coming down here to the apple orchard...’
‘I remember.’
Memories. They were his problem. They were thick in the air around them. Memories of how it had felt then. When he’d been young and in love. He would have plucked a matching apple from another branch and enjoyed its fruity flesh alongside Marnie.
She stopped walking and turned around, her back to the heavily adorned fruit trees. ‘I always think this is the best aspect of the house.’ She lifted her free hand and framed the building between her forefinger and thumb. Her smile was born of whimsy. ‘Until I go to the rose garden or Libby’s garden. Then I think that view is preferable.’
She crunched into the apple once more.
‘Perhaps it is the same from all viewpoints,’ he suggested, with a hint of cynicism that was out of place and sounded, even to his own ears, forced.
‘Maybe.’ She shrugged and began to walk back towards the house.
He resisted the urge to ask her to stay with him where they were a little longer.
‘Thank you for coming with me this weekend.’
His laugh was short. ‘I presumed my attendance wasn’t optional.’
She lifted her face to his. ‘I would think almost everything is optional for you.’
His smile was without humour—a relic of his twisted laugh. ‘Not this.’
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘When are you seeing him?’
‘We’re meeting after lunch.’
Marnie stopped walking, reaching for Nikos’s hand. Her fingers curled around his as though they belonged. Familiarity and comfort knotted through her, momentarily putting aside the nausea and anxiety that had besieged her since they’d arrived in London.
‘What is it, agape?’
A husky question. A promise, too, laced with so many emotions she couldn’t translate.
‘You know how stubborn he is?’
Nikos’s lips curled. ‘Yes.’
‘I just don’t know if he’ll let you help. And I’m... I’m scared.’
His eyes held hers, probing her, trying to read her soul. ‘Tell me something, Marnie. Why do you care?’
She started, scanning his face. But Nikos wasn’t backing off. In fact, he moved closer, welding his body to hers, linking his arms behind her back. His nearness was seductive and distracting.
‘Besides the fact he’s my father?’
‘Blood isn’t everything. Your parents don’t seem too concerned with your happiness. You’re not close to them.’
‘Of course I am,’ she said with a shake of her head.
He laughed, dismissing her assertion easily. ‘You don’t speak to them. You don’t speak of them—except with a sense of obligation and guilt because you survived and Libby died.’
She was startled at his perceptiveness.
‘You married a man who saw you only as a means of revenge in order to stave off the financial fate that they deserve.’
‘They’re my parents,’ she mumbled, her eyes flicking closed. The pain of his words was washing through her. ‘And I’m very grateful to you.’
‘Grateful?’ He stepped backwards, shaking his head. ‘Thee mou. You offer me gratitude? I tell you I see you as a means of revenge and you say thank you?’
She frowned. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t. You have been pushed around by your parents, and by me, and yet you seem to treat us all with civility and thankfulness. I cannot comprehend this.’
She swallowed. ‘Do you need to?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’ He lifted a hand to her cheek and stroked it. ‘And I suppose the same could be said for you.’
She pressed a hand to his chest, perhaps intending to put some distance between them, but the warmth of him, the beating of his heart, was mesmerising.
‘Do you really believe our marriage comes down to revenge and sex?’
‘Our marriage—’ He began to speak, the words thick with meaning. He stared into her eyes; he was drowning in them. They were the depths to her soul; the truth to her questions. They mirrored his past, his heart and all his hopes.
They were beautiful eyes. How could people mistake her for being cold-hearted? In her eyes there was always a twisting of emotion and thought, of kindness and concern. Yet he had missed it. He had believed her unfeeling and incapable of true emotion at one point. He’d clung to that; he’d enjoyed believing it of her.
‘Yes?’
It was a husk. An invitation for him to say something that would smooth away the pain of their predicament. A contradiction of the fact that he had bought her out of a need to avenge past wrongs.
But they were wrongs he’d carried with him for a long time. Was he willing to let them go? And, if so, what did that mean?
‘Marnie?’
The voice was shrill and imperious, cutting across the lawn and breaking through the growing understanding that had been forming between them. He was unwilling to close their conversation, but a cloud instantly seemed to spread across Marnie and she stepped back.
The woman who had pulled a sweet apple from a frothy tree and crunched into it hungrily was gone. Lady Heiress was his companion now—only her eyes showed that Marnie was still in there.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said quietly, shifting her gaze to the manor house in the background. ‘I’m glad you’re going to help him. Only be gentle, Nikos. And...’ She turned to face him, hurrying now as Anne Kenington approached them. ‘I know you said you would decide if you wanted to tell him the truth about our arrangement but...’
It seemed like an age ago that they’d had that conversation, but it had only been a month! Something strange lodged in her mind—a recollection she couldn’t quite grab so she pushed it aside.
‘But could you not? Not this weekend? I know you hate him, and that it’s tempting to throw it in his face. But not now. Please?’
He stared at her without speaking and Marnie continued anxiously.
‘I don’t think I could forgive that. It would be... It really would be the end of what we used to mean to one another.’
Nikos was perplexed—and something else. Something he couldn’t analyse or comprehend. So he spoke honestly. ‘I have no intention of telling your father you married me to clear his debts.’
‘Don’t say that!’
She was visibly stricken, but Anne was almost upon them. Like a consummate professional Marnie blinked and slid her mask into place.
It annoyed him, and he wanted to prise it off again—just for a moment. He was sick and tired of masks and pretence.
‘It’s the truth,’ he replied softly, clinging to that fact for her sake as much as his own.
Did he want her to contradict him? Did he want her to redefine their marriage? How could he expect that of her? A challenge? A gauntlet? One he knew she’d never answer.
‘Isn’t it?’
* * *
Their conversation had left Nikos in a foul mood. The lack of resolution, the constant chasing one another in circles, had given him the feeling that as soon as he began to comprehend a facet of his wife she morphed into something else and slipped out of his grip and downstream from him completely.
Worse was the sense that he was losing his own convictions in the face of hers. To lose one’s sister would be hard enough, but to have your parents threaten to cut you completely from their life and support... Even Marnie, who had always seemed to have certainty and strength to her, must have been terrified of what that would mean.
How dared they? How had they dared to speak to their own child with such cold disregard?
It was not the ideal mind-set to bring to his meeting with Arthur Kenington. Nor was it the ideal backdrop. This study of Arthur’s was familiar, yet different. Since they’d stood here six years earlier many changes had taken place—not least between the two men.
The walls were filled with a collection of books, impressive volumes that had never been thumbed—perhaps carefully selected by an interior designer who had chosen the titles because they would add gravitas to a man who was otherwise lacking in it—there was an elegant liquor tray that looked to be well-used, and a family photograph that was framed above Arthur’s desk.
Arthur and Anne had barely aged, though Libby and Marnie looked much younger, so the picture must have been taken at least a decade earlier.
Arthur caught Nikos’s gaze and grimaced. ‘Our last family photo. We used to get them done every year until...we lost her.’ He coughed, his slight paunch wobbling a little with the involuntary spasm. ‘It didn’t make much sense after that.’
Nikos didn’t respond. Marnie and Libby stood at the foreground of the photo, Libby’s arm wrapped around her sister’s shoulders. There was an air of genuine affection between the girls: a sign of true camaraderie. Perhaps it had developed as a result of this environment?
‘She was such an angel,’ Arthur continued, perhaps misunderstanding Nikos’s interest. ‘Not a girl in the world like her.’
Nikos felt a possessive protective instinct flash in his gut. Yes, Libby had been lovely. And beautiful in a way that was ordinary and common. Unlike Marnie, with her steely, watchful gaze and determined little chin. Her reserve that made it difficult for her to speak to people unless she really, truly admired them.
‘We need to discuss your business,’ Nikos said sharply, not wishing to wander down Arthur’s Libby-paved Memory Lane a moment longer. ‘My information on your situation has me...concerned.’
‘And what information is that?’
Nikos leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. ‘It is no secret. You are out of immediate danger, but that is only temporary.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘Then you are a fool.’ Nikos spoke sharply.
Six years had passed since their last private conversation, and in that time Nikos had become used to having the world obey him. Deference generally met his commands—not dithering indecision.
‘Do you want to lose it all, Arthur?’
‘Of course I don’t. But it won’t come to that. Mark my words, there’ll be—’
‘Nothing.’ Nikos eased back in his chair. ‘You are overcommitted. There are no more assets left to shore your interests up and the market continues to fluctuate wildly. I am your only chance.’
The silence sparked between them. It was electrified by resentment.
‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
Nikos didn’t pretend to misunderstand; his smile was thin and unknowingly filled with disparagement. ‘How I feel isn’t relevant,’ he said finally.
Strangely, he wasn’t enjoying it. He had spent a long time imagining a situation like this. How good it would feel to throw his own success in Arthur Kenington’s face. A man who had told him he would never amount to anything! He’d fantasised about it, and he’d done everything he could—even sacrificing his conscience—to achieve this moment.
And he felt nothing. Except, perhaps, a pervasive pity for this man who had let vanity and arrogance get in the way of financial security. His voice was softer when he spoke again, conciliatory.
‘You cannot lose your business. Nor this house. It would devastate Marnie.’
‘Marnie?’ A scoff of surprise. ‘She’d recover. This place never meant to her what it did to Libby.’
Nikos’s fingers flexed into a fist on his lap, but he kept his face impassive. How was it possible that her own father understood her so little? Did he not see what she didn’t say? Didn’t he understand that her reticence to express emotions didn’t mean that she lacked them?
‘It is for Marnie’s sake that I offer my assistance, so do not disdain her feelings.’
The statement held a barely contained warning. Nikos, though, knew he had no option but to help. It was a promise he had made to Marnie and he would never break it.
Arthur dragged a hand through his hair, his eyes skidding about the room. ‘There has to be a way...’
‘Yes. There is. I’m it. You know I have the money. A single phone call would remove this worry from your life.’
‘You have the money?’ Arthur spat, his eyes glistening with dark rage. ‘You. A boy I all but dismissed as—’ He had the wisdom to cut the sentence off.
‘Yes?’ Nikos demanded through bared teeth.
‘Worthless.’ Arthur spat the word with satisfaction.
Nikos stood, his powerful stride taking him to the window. He looked down on Libby’s garden and imagined Marnie there. His will strengthened. The papers he’d had couriered to him that morning were heavy in his pocket, begging for attention.
‘You were wrong.’ He turned, his eyes pinning Arthur where he sat. ‘Do you want my help or not?’
A long silence clouded them. Nikos studied his opponent—there was no mistaking the adversarial nature of their relationship in that moment. With no one else to witness their interaction both men had dropped their masks of civility.
‘I offer it to you with only one condition.’
Arthur snorted. ‘I knew it was too good to be true.’
‘Perhaps.’ Nikos nodded, knowing for certain now the only way he could make sure Marnie was well-looked-after for the rest of her life. ‘But it is your only chance to salvage something of your pride, so I suggest you listen.’
‘The gloves are off, eh?’ Arthur snapped, but there was weariness in his defiance.
‘If the gloves were off you would know about it,’ Nikos contradicted. ‘The terms of my helping you are to stay between us. Marnie need never know what we have discussed here. Understood?’
* * *
Was it any wonder that, hours later, surrounded by formally dressed party guests, Arthur Kenington stayed as far from Nikos as possible? His concessions that afternoon had been hard-fought and potentially confidence-destroying. Evidently he found the idea of celebrating his birthday with his son-in-law impossible to contemplate.
Nikos didn’t mind. In fact he barely noticed. Making Arthur eat crow had offered him no satisfaction, and yet he’d thought about the moment for years. How odd that once he’d had the chance to make the man beg for help he’d skated over it and provided assistance on a silver platter instead.
He considered the matter with Arthur closed. He didn’t intend to think of it again save for one salient point that would require delicate handling. Would Marnie be angry when she discovered the exact nature of his help? Would she resent what he’d done?
His entire focus shifted to her. He watched her speaking to her parents’ friends with the effortless grace that had first captivated his attention. Holding a glass of Scotch cradled in the palm of his hand, he felt the full force of that long-ago afternoon swarm through him.
He had come to Kenington Hall reluctantly. Spending time with Anderson and Libby had tended to leave him feeling like a third wheel, and yet Anderson had been so welcoming to him. He had been the one guy at school who hadn’t seen Nikos as an outsider, and Nikos had repaid his friendship with unswerving loyalty. So when Anderson had asked Nikos to tag along he’d put aside his own reticence and travelled to the estate of one of England’s noble families.
And he’d met Marnie.
She’d been seventeen and utterly breathtaking.
‘Don’t go near the horses. They’re in a foul mood today!’
She had laughed as she’d torn past him, her long hair flowing behind her, the horse moving too quickly to catch more than a passing glimpse. Yet she’d reminded him of a sort of young Boadicea. Beautiful and strong, striking and confident, full of life and vitality.
Had he loved her from that moment? He’d certainly been fascinated.
‘Hi.’
Her voice came to him now as if from a long way away. He lifted his head, capturing her in his gaze. But that moment was still around him and before he could question the wisdom of it he smiled at her as though they were back in that time, just Nikos and Marnie, without all the subsequent heartbreak.
She felt the purity of his look and it rang through her, but she’d been worrying all afternoon and the habit was hard to break. ‘Did you speak to him?’
He nodded, his stubborn smile still on his features.
Her hair had caught the sunshine as she’d gone past him that day. It had been like gold. He reached for it now and flicked the ends, bringing his body close to hers. She smelled good. Like apples and desire.
‘And...?’ Her eyes skimmed his, but her breath was coming fast and hard, making her breasts lift and fall.
‘And what?’ he prompted, wrapping his arms around her waist.
The band was playing a slow jazz song, the singer crooning gently into the elegant space. The formal dining room was large, and it had been converted into a ballroom for the purpose of tonight. Enormous flower arrangements punctuated the walls at regular intervals.
‘Did you...?’ She looked around, conscious of their surroundings.
‘Yes?’ he drawled, though he knew where she was going.
‘Did you fix it?’
‘Well, I couldn’t transfer a hundred million pounds to your father in one afternoon,’ he murmured sardonically, ‘but, yes, agape. He has agreed to accept my help.’
She let out a whoosh of relief and he studied her features thoughtfully.
‘You thought he might refuse? Even now?’
She shrugged, her shoulders slim and pale. ‘I don’t know. Like I said, he’s stubborn.’
‘You don’t need to worry about it any more,’ he said gently.
‘I know.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Am I allowed to thank you now?’
‘No.’ He drew her closer, so that she could feel the strength of his body.
‘Why not?’
‘My helping him was entirely self-serving. You don’t owe me thanks.’
She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the beating of his strong heart. ‘Was he grateful?’ she asked instead, changing tack slightly.
His laugh was quiet but she felt it rumble through him.
‘He was incensed.’
She grimaced. ‘It wouldn’t have been easy for him to face you, knowing what a mess his interests are in.’
‘No,’ Nikos conceded, without feeling the need to point out that Arthur only had himself to blame.
‘I don’t care.’ She looked up at him. ‘I’m going to thank you, anyway. How can I not?’
He stared down at her familiar face and the past blurred with the present. ‘Fine. Then I can tell you how I wish you to express your gratitude.’
‘Yes?’ she murmured, her stomach swirling.
‘For this night let’s not speak about your family. Nor our past. We have spent a month retracing it and I wonder if we’ll ever understand one another. Tonight I just want to dance with my wife. To kiss her. To feel her body. To be here with her and not think about the reasons we married. Deal?’
Hope blew open inside her. Surely that spoke of wanting a fresh start—of believing they were worthy of one. She looked at him for a long moment and knew exactly what it was that danced with hope.
Love.
Love for him.
Despite everything he’d done to get her into his life, she felt fierce love burst through her. It was not born of gratitude. Nor circumstances. It was the same love she’d always felt for him, only stronger—because it had been scorched by life, loss and disappointment and still it was there.
She stood up on tiptoe and pressed her lips lightly to his.
‘Deal.’
The next song was another indistinct jazz tune. The singer’s voice was low and husky and they danced slowly, in the middle of the crowd but aware only of each other. Marnie breathed in time with him, her eyes whispering shut, every fibre of her being in sync with her husband. So that when he stopped dancing and dropped his arms to his sides, capturing one of her hands in the process, and began to move towards the large glass doors, Marnie went with him without question.
‘Do you know what I was thinking about today?’ he asked as they emerged to see the moon casting a silver string from the inky sky above.
‘Other than the significant hit your finances are about to take?’ she offered with a teasing smile.
‘Other than that.’ He guided her along the terrace towards a small courtyard he’d seen earlier that day.
‘What?’
‘I was remembering the first time I met you.’
Marnie’s heart was thunder; Nikos was lightning.
‘Yes...?’ Her voice was a husk.
He moved towards a balustrade, reclining against it with an expression that Marnie couldn’t fathom.
‘Being back here with you makes it feel like yesterday.’
And yet it wasn’t. It was far in the past, with no way of recapturing that time. They could only exist in the moment. What they were now had to sustain them. The past would never be enough.
‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about our history,’ she said with an uncertain smile.
‘You’re right.’
Marnie closed the distance between them as though a magnetic field was drawing her to him. She stood in front of him, the moon dancing across her face, a small smile on her lips.
‘So let’s talk about now.’ She dared herself to be brave. To look at him with all her hope and want. ‘Do you still think that we’re just about sex?’
‘And revenge,’ he murmured, but an answering smile was playing about his lips and it surged her sense of hope higher.
‘Of course.’ She copied his expression, her look droll. ‘Well, if it’s meaningless sex you’re after, that’s fine by me.’
His laugh was warm butter on her frazzled nerves. ‘I’m glad to hear it, Mrs Kyriazis.’
His fingers traced the bare skin of her arms and she shivered involuntarily. Anticipation trembled inside her. He caught her hand in his and together they walked. Was he leading her? Or the other way around? Marnie couldn’t have said.
They went to the room that had been hers as a child. In the distance, the sounds of merriment could be heard. Wine glasses chinking, music, conversation. But it was all far away from where they were. Their world was their own, their breathing and needs the only noise.
She slipped into the room ahead of him, turning around in time to see him click the door shut and press the ancient lock down. His hands were lifting to his tie, loosening it in one movement so that it hung around his neck, a stunning black contrast to the sharp whiteness of his shirt.
Marnie reached for the zip on her dress, tucked under her arm, but a simple shake of Nikos’s head stilled her.
‘Let me,’ he murmured, stalking towards her with a look she couldn’t quite understand.
His face was set in a mask of something, and that something made her heart hammer in her chest.
‘Let me,’ he repeated, though she’d offered no opposition. Was he asking for something else? The air felt heavy with unuttered words, but perhaps they were all inside her.
She swallowed, the fragile column of her neck shifting with the movement. His fingers at her side were gentle, pulling at the zip so that she felt the slow whisper of cool air against her flesh. Goose bumps rioted across her and she drew in a sharp breath as he lowered the dress with a reverence she hadn’t imagined possible. Standing before him in just a flimsy pair of knickers and heels, she was trembling—almost as though they were about to make love for the first time.
It was ridiculous. She forced a laugh to break the mood; it didn’t work.
‘Something amusing?’ he queried, sliding his hands beneath the elastic of her underpants and cupping her rear.
It jolted her into a state of hyperawareness. She shook her head but his lips were on hers, stalling any further movement.
It was a slow kiss—a kiss that deepened as his hands roamed her body, a kiss he didn’t break even as he removed his hands to strip his own clothes away. He stepped out of his shoes, guiding Marnie towards the bed, all small movements, urgent movements, designed to bring them together as quickly as possible.
They’d kissed in her room before, but they had been different people then. He full of hope and certainty and she so willing to surrender herself to the feelings they shared.
He pushed the past away. It had haunted him long enough.
He was making love to his wife—not a figment of his memories. She was a red-blooded woman and she wanted him now.
His hands glided over her body, feeling every square inch, paving a way for his mouth to follow. His fingers pulled at her nipples while his lips teased the delicate flesh beneath her breasts, breathing warm air and making her back arch with desperate need. He dragged his mouth higher, running his teeth over her décolletage and then meeting her mouth once more.
There was so much he didn’t understand about them—about himself. So much he would say if he knew how to find the words. Instead he kissed her with all the confusion he had become, the contradictions that now filled him.
‘Nikos...’ She groaned.
Did she understand?
Was this her way of telling him that she, too, was ready to let the past go? To lay those ghosts to rest once and for all?
‘Please...’
A soft whisper. A sound of need that he would meet again and again for the rest of his life if he had the opportunity.
He entered her gently but she lifted herself higher, taking him deep and groaning as their bodies were unified once more.
Transfixed, he watched as she rode her first wave, her body quickly adjusting to his possession and welcoming him with giddy delight. He watched her fly high into the peaks of pleasure, so beautiful against this bed from her childhood.
And then he was joining her, his body meeting her questions, taking them, answering them, and cresting with her. Her fingers sought his and laced through them. He lifted their arms above her head, kissing away the pleasure-soaked moans that were becoming louder and more insistent. He absorbed them, but he was an echo chamber for them, for those same cries were deep inside him, too.
He felt her slowly quieten, and her body gradually stopped its fevered trembling so that only the sound of her husky breathing was left. He rolled onto the bed, bringing her with him, cradling her head against his chest. And he stayed like that, holding her, not wanting to speak—finding that he had nothing to say in any event—until her continued silence caused him to realise that she had fallen asleep.
He shifted a little so that he could look at her.
And guilt shot a hole in his heart.
It was Marnie—the Marnie he’d once loved and the Marnie he’d married. How could he think the past didn’t matter? The past was a part of them. Her rejection had turned him into who he was. It had happened, but it was over with.
She was his Marnie.
His wife, his lover. Just Marnie.
Understanding was chased by bitter recrimination, as though he was waking from the depths of a nightmare.
His eyes slammed shut as acid filled his mouth. Because he’d forced her to marry him. He’d taken away any choice in the matter, skilfully applying just the right pressure to ensure she had no way of saying no.
And she’d risen to the challenge. She’d done what he’d asked of her. For her father? Or had there been a part of her that had wanted to see whatever it was they had been through to the bitter end?
The end.
He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He lifted his finger and traced a line down her arm. In her sleep she smiled. It was a beautiful smile but it might as well have been a spoken accusation.
What the hell had he done? And why?
He lay there for hours, his mind spinning over the past, his body refusing to move from the closeness of hers. But eventually, somewhere after midnight, he gave up on sleep and shifted from the bed, taking care not to wake her. He dressed in a pair of boxers and a loose shirt before stepping quietly from the bedroom.
The house was in darkness, save for a few lamps placed through the hallway.
In the kitchen, midway through making coffee, he heard a noise and looked towards the door.
Whether Nikos or Anne Kenington was more surprised would have been difficult to say with certainty. Nikos flicked a glance at his wristwatch. Despite the lateness of the hour Anne was still wearing the same dress she’d been in at the party.
‘Late night?’ he murmured, inserting a pod into the machine.
Anne’s smile was tight. ‘And for you?’
He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
Anne expelled a sigh that could only be described as disapproving and moved farther into the kitchen. Closer, Nikos caught the smell of alcohol on her breath and realised her eyes were a little unfocussed.
‘You’re leaving tomorrow?’ she asked.
He nodded. A shorter visit had seemed like a good idea, and nothing he’d seen since arriving had changed his mind. Except Marnie’s smile. Out of nowhere he saw her as she’d been in the apple orchard, the sun glinting on her hair, a trickle of sugary fruit juice dribbling down her face, and his gut kicked. If anything, it served as vindication for how he’d handled Arthur’s affairs. Her happiness here was no reason to remain longer.
‘Such a short trip,’ Anne murmured as she walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine.
Nikos watched as she reached into the cupboard and frowned, running her hands over an empty shelf before reaching lower and pulling out a Royal Doulton teacup. She sloshed Chardonnay into it, then placed the bottle on the bench.
‘I’d thought you might be here a few days at least.’
His gaze was narrowed. ‘Would you have liked us to stay longer?’
Her eyes met his and for a very brief moment he felt a surge of recognition. He’d adored Libby. She had been different from Marnie, but a beautiful person, and she’d faced her illness with such strength and humour. He saw that same resilience in Anne’s eyes—and it surprised him to realise that they must have other similarities, too.
‘I suppose not.’ She laughed—a brittle sound that made him sad for her.
‘Why?’ he prompted, pulling his coffee cup from the machine and holding it in one hand.
‘You’re bad for my husband’s blood pressure.’
Nikos laughed with true mirth. ‘Am I?’
‘He was in quite a mood this afternoon. Some birthday present...’
Curious, Nikos nodded. ‘Did he tell you what we discussed?’
Anne’s face was pinched. ‘He gave me an indication,’ she responded with cold civility. ‘I suppose you think I should thank you?’
Another moment he’d thought he would relish. He shook his head, though, brushing her words away. ‘It was no hardship for me to intervene.’
‘I’m surprised you bothered,’ she said quietly, imbibing more of her wine.
He shrugged. ‘For Marnie...’
He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, knowing he couldn’t speak the bald-faced lie now. After all, it had all been for his own selfish gratification. None of this was really for his wife, was it?
‘She loves you,’ Anne said, her body so still she might have been carved from stone. ‘She always has.’
He heard the words without allowing them to find any credibility within him. ‘She loved me six years ago, when you forced her to end it.’
Anne didn’t visibly react. It was as though the past was a ribbon, pulling her backwards. ‘She was miserable afterwards. I doubt she ever forgave us.’
It was a strange sense; he was both hot and cold. He didn’t want to think of how Marnie had felt. He’d been so furious with her, so concerned with his own hurts, he’d never really given her situation any thought. She’d told him she’d been angry, though. Furious, she’d said. Had her fury matched his? It couldn’t have or she would have held their course.
‘She moved on,’ he said quietly. ‘Until recently.’
‘But she didn’t.’
Anne’s eyes were darkened by guilt. She pushed up from the bench and strode a little way across the kitchen, then froze once more—a statue in the room.
‘She continued to live and breathe, but that’s not the same as moving on. She thought I didn’t notice her reading about you in the papers. That I didn’t catch her looking at photos of you.’ She flicked her head over her shoulder, pinning him with a glance that spoke of true concern. ‘She was so careful, but I saw the way she missed you. The way she seemed to wither for a long time. It was almost like losing two daughters.’
Disgust, anger and guilt at the way they had all failed Marnie gnawed through him.
Anne sipped her wine and moved back to her original spot, opposite Nikos. ‘We introduced her to some lovely young men—’
‘Suitable men?’ he interjected, with a cynical strength to his words. But Anne’s statement was slicing through him. The idea of Marnie having pined for him was one he couldn’t contemplate.
‘Yes, suitable men. Nice men.’ She closed her eyes. ‘She never mentioned your name, but I always knew you to be the reason it didn’t work out. She never got over you.’
Nikos sipped his coffee but his mind was spinning back over their conversation in his office, when he’d first suggested they marry. She’d been so arctic. So cold!
But wasn’t that Marnie’s defence mechanism? Wasn’t that how she behaved when her emotions were rioting all over the place? And her being a virgin? Was that simply because she’d never found someone who made her body tremble as it did for him? Had she chosen not to get serious with another guy because she still wanted him?
‘I believed we were doing the right thing.’ Anne’s smile was tight. ‘After Libby, we just wanted Marnie to be safe.’
‘You thought I was somehow unsafe?’ he barked, anger and frustration and impotence to change the past ravaging his temper.
‘You aren’t safe,’ she responded sharply. ‘The way she feels about you is a recipe for disaster.’
Marnie didn’t still love him, did she? How could she after what he’d put her through? She might have loved him a year ago...even two months ago. But the way he’d burst back into her life had been the one thing that must have ruined any love between them.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Anne continued speaking, but she wasn’t particularly focussed on her son-in-law. ‘You must hate us. I know Marnie did for a long time. But I love her, Nikos. Everything I’ve done has been because I love her.’
‘Yet you sought to control her life? You told her you would disinherit her if she didn’t leave me?’
Anne winced as though he’d slapped her. ‘Yes. Well, Arthur did...’ A whisper. A hollow, tormented, grief-soaked admission. ‘At the time I told myself that she must have known we were right. She broke up with you. And Marnie knew her own head and heart. If she’d really loved you, I told myself, she would have fought harder.’
Nikos felt a familiar sentiment echo within him.
‘But she couldn’t. We were holding on by a thread and Marnie knew that.’
‘And what about Marnie?’ he asked with dark anger, though he couldn’t have said if it was directed at Anne, Arthur or himself.
‘She was Marnie,’ Anne said finally, drinking more wine with a small shrug. ‘Determined to act as though everything was fine even if it was almost killing her.’
Nikos angled his head away, his dark eyes resting on their reflections in the window. Anne appeared smaller there, shrunken. Surprised, he looked at her and realised that the changes had taken place in real time—he just hadn’t noticed them. She was smaller, wizened, stressed.
‘How could you let her go through this?’ he muttered, but his blame and recriminations were focussed on himself.
Anne pinned him with eyes that reminded him once more of Libby. ‘Libby was such an easy child—so like me. I just understood her. But with Marnie... She’s a puzzle I can’t fathom.’
Nikos rubbed a hand across his jaw. ‘Marnie is all that is good in the world,’ he said finally. ‘Often to her own detriment. She wants the best for those she loves, even when it means sacrificing her own happiness.’
Guilt over their marriage was a knife, deep in his gut.
‘Yes!’ Anne expelled an angry sigh. ‘I love that girl, Nikos, but I don’t always know how to love her. I suppose that sounds tremendously strange to you—she’s my child, after all.’
His smile was thin. For Anne’s words had lodged deep in his mind and begun to unravel with condemnation and acceptance. He had loved Marnie once, too, but never in the way she’d needed to be loved. His faults were on a par with Anne and Arthur Kenington’s.