Читать книгу The Marakaios Marriage - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 9
ОглавлениеLINDSAY WALKED ACROSS the college campus in the oncoming twilight with Antonios like a malevolent shadow behind her. She walked blindly, unaware of the stately brick buildings, now gilded in the gold of fading sunlight, that made this small liberal arts college one of the most beautiful in the whole north-east of America.
All she could think of was the week that loomed so terribly ahead of her. All she could feel was Antonios’s anger and scorn.
Maybe she deserved some of it, leaving the way she had, but Antonios had no idea how hard life in Greece had been for her. Hadn’t been willing to listen to her explanations, fumbling and faltering as they had been, because while she’d wanted him to understand she’d also been afraid of him knowing and seeing too much.
Their marriage, Lindsay acknowledged hollowly, had been doomed from the start, never mind that one magical week in New York.
And now the time for explanations had passed, Antonios said. It was for the best, Lindsay knew, because having Antonios understand her or her reasons for leaving served no purpose now. It was impossible anyway, because he’d never understood. Never tried.
‘Where do you live?’ Antonios asked as they passed several academic buildings. A few students relaxed outside, lounging in the last of the weak October sunshine before darkness fell. Fall had only just come to upstate New York; the leaves were just starting to change and the breeze was chilly, but after a long, sticky summer of heatwaves everyone was ready for autumn.
‘Just across the street,’ Lindsay murmured. She crossed the street to a lane of faculty houses, made of clapboard and painted in different bright colours with front porches that held a few Adonirack chairs or a porch swing. She’d sat outside there, in the summers, watching the world go by. Always a spectator...until she’d met Antonios.
He’d woken her up, brought her into the land of the living. With him she’d felt more joy and excitement than she’d ever known before. She should have realized it couldn’t last, it hadn’t been real.
Antonios stood patiently while she fumbled for the keys; to her annoyance and shame her hands shook. He affected her that much. And not just him, but the whole reality he’d thrust so suddenly upon her. Going to Greece. Seeing his family again. Pretending to be his wife—his loving wife—again. Parties and dinners, endless social occasions, every moment in the spotlight...
‘Let me help you,’ Antonios said and, to her surprise, he almost sounded gentle. He took the key from her hand and fitted it into the lock, turning it easily before pushing the door open.
Lindsay muttered her thanks and stepped inside, breathed in the musty, dusty scent of her father’s house. It was strange to have Antonios here, to see this glimpse of her old life, the only life she’d known until he had burst into it.
She flipped on the light and watched him blink as he took in the narrow hallway, made even narrower by the bookshelves set against every wall, each one crammed to overflowing with books. More books were piled on the floor in teetering stacks; the dining room table was covered in textbooks and piles of papers. Lindsay was so used to it that she didn’t even notice the clutter any more, but she was conscious of it now, with Antonios here. She was uncomfortably aware of just how small and messy it all was. Yet it was also home, the place where she’d felt safe, where she and her father had been happy, or as happy as they knew how to be. She wouldn’t apologize for it.
She cleared her throat and turned towards the stairs. ‘I’ll just pack.’
‘Do you need any help?’
She turned back to Antonios, surprised by his solicitude. Or was he being patronizing? She couldn’t tell anything about him any more; his expression was veiled, his voice toneless, his movements controlled.
‘No,’ she answered, ‘I’m fine.’
He arched one dark eyebrow. ‘Are you really fine, Lindsay? Because just now your hands were shaking too much for you even to open your front door.’
She stiffened, colour rushing into her face. ‘Maybe that’s because you’re so angry, Antonios. It’s a little unsettling to be around someone like that.’
His mouth tightened. ‘You think I shouldn’t be angry?’
She closed her eyes briefly as weariness swept over her. ‘I don’t want to get into this discussion. We’ve both agreed it serves no purpose. I was just—’
‘Stating a fact,’ Antonios finished sardonically. ‘Of course. I’m sorry I can’t make this experience easier for you.’
Lindsay just shook her head, too tired and tense to argue. ‘Please, let’s not bicker and snipe at each other. I’m coming to Greece as you wanted. Can’t that be enough?’
His eyes blazed and he took a step towards her, colour slashing his cheekbones. ‘No, Lindsay, that is not remotely enough. But since it is all I have asked of you, and all I believe you are capable of, I will have to be satisfied.’
He stared at her for a long, taut moment; Lindsay could hear her breathing turn ragged as her heart beat harder. She felt trapped by his gaze, pinned as much by his contempt as her own pointless anger. And underneath the fury that simmered in Antonios’s gaze and hid in her own heart was the memory of when things had been different between them. When he’d taken her in his arms and made her body sing. When she’d thought she loved him.
Then he flicked his gaze away and, sagging with relief, she turned and went upstairs.
She dragged a suitcase out of the hall closet, forced herself to breathe more slowly. She could do this. She had to do this, not because she wanted a divorce so badly but because she owed it to Daphne. Her own mother had turned her back on her completely when she’d been no more than a child, and Daphne’s small kindnesses to her had been like water in a barren desert. But not enough water. Just a few drops dribbled on her parched lips, when she’d needed the oasis of her husband’s support and understanding, attention and care.
‘Lindsay?’ She heard the creak of the staircase as Antonios came upstairs, his broad shoulders nearly touching both walls as he loomed in the hallway, tall and dark, familiar and strange at the same time. ‘We need to leave shortly.’
‘I’ll try to hurry.’ She started throwing clothes into her suitcase, dimly aware that she had nothing appropriate for the kind of social occasions Antonios would expect her to attend. Formal dinners, a huge party for Daphne...as the largest local landowner and businessman, Antonios’s calendar had been full of social engagements. From the moment she’d arrived in Greece he’d expected her to be his hostess, to arrange seating for dinner parties, to chat effortlessly to everyone, to be charming and sparkling and always at his side, except when he’d left her for weeks on end to go on business trips. Lindsay didn’t know which had been worse: trying to manage alone or feeling ignored.
In any case, she hadn’t managed, not remotely. Being Antonios’s wife was a role she had been utterly unprepared for.
And now she’d have to go through it all again, all the social occasions and organizing, and, worse, it would be under his family’s suspicious gaze because she’d been gone for so long. Her breath hitched at the thought.
Don’t think about it. You can deal with that later. Just focus on the present.
The present, Lindsay acknowledged, was difficult enough.
‘You left plenty of clothes at the villa,’ Antonios told her. ‘You only need to pack a small amount.’
Lindsay pictured all the clothes back in their bedroom, the beautiful things Antonios had bought her in New York, before he’d taken her back to Greece. She’d forgotten about them, and the thought of them waiting for her there, hanging in the closet as if she’d never left, made her feel slightly sick.
‘I’ll just get my toiletries,’ she said, and turned to go to the bathroom down the hall. She had to move past him in the narrow hallway and, as she tried to slip past his powerful form, she could smell his aftershave and feel the press of his back against her breasts. For one heart-stopping second she longed to throw herself into his arms, wrap herself around him, feel the comforting heat of his body, the sensuous slide of his lips on hers. To feel wanted and cherished and safe again.
It was never going to happen.
Antonios moved to let her pass and her breath came out in a shuddering rush as she quickly slipped towards the bathroom and, caught between relief and despair, shut and locked the door.
Ten minutes later she’d packed one small case and Antonios brought it down to the hired car he had waiting in one of the college car parks. Lindsay slipped into the leather interior, laid her head back against the seat. She felt incredibly, unbearably tired.
‘Do you need to notify anyone?’ Antonios asked. ‘That you’re leaving?’
‘No.’ Her research, as he’d so bluntly pointed out, could wait. She’d stopped her work as a teaching assistant for introductory classes after her father had died last summer. Only nine months ago, and yet it felt like a lifetime.
It had been a lifetime.
‘No one will worry about you?’ Antonios asked. ‘Or wonder where you’ve gone?’
‘I’ll email my colleagues. They’ll understand.’
‘Did you tell them about me?’
‘You know I did,’ she answered. ‘I had to explain why I left my job and house and went to Greece on the spur of the moment.’
His hands flexed on the steering wheel; she could feel his tension. ‘It was your choice, Lindsay.’
‘I know it was.’
‘You said you had nothing left back in New York.’
‘It felt like I didn’t.’
He shifted in his seat, seeming to want to say more, but kept himself from it.
Lindsay turned her face to the window, steeled herself for the next endless week of tension like this, stalled conversations and not-so-veiled hostility. How on earth were they going to convince Daphne, as well as the rest of his family, that they were still in love?
They didn’t speak for the rest of the three-hour drive to New York City. Antonios returned the rental car and took their suitcases into the airport; within a few minutes after checking in they’d been whisked to a first-class lounge and treated to champagne and canapés.
It seemed ludicrous to be sitting in luxury and sipping champagne as if they were on honeymoon. As if they were in love.
Lindsay sneaked a glance at Antonios—the dark slashes of his eyebrows drawn together, his mouth turned downwards in a forbidding frown—and she had a sudden, absurd urge to say something silly, to make him smile.
The truth was, she didn’t know what she felt for him any more. Sadness for what she’d thought they had, and anger for the way he’d shown her it was false. Yet she’d been so in love with him during their time in New York. It was hard to dismiss those feelings as mere fantasy, and yet she knew she had to.
And in a few hours she’d have to pretend they were real, that she still felt them. Her breath hitched at the thought.
‘Does anyone know?’ she asked and Antonios snapped his gaze to hers.
‘Know what?’
‘That we’re...that we’re separated.’
His mouth thinned. ‘We’re not, in actuality, legally separated, but no, no one knows.’
‘Not any of your sisters?’ she pressed. She thought of his three sisters: bossy Parthenope, with a husband and young son, social butterfly Xanthe, and Ava, her own age yet utterly different from her. She hadn’t bonded with any of them during her time in Greece; his sisters had been possessive of Antonios, and had regarded his unexpected American bride with wary suspicion. They’d also, at Antonios’s command, backed off from all the social responsibilities they’d fulfilled for him when he’d been a bachelor. A sign of respect, Antonios had told her, but Lindsay had seen the disdain in their covert glances. What they’d done so effortlessly, maintaining and even organizing the endless social whirl, had been nearly impossible for her. They’d realized that, even if Antonios hadn’t.
And now she would have to face them again, suffer them giving her guarded looks, asking her questions, demanding answers...
She couldn’t do this.
‘Is the thought of my family so abhorrent to you?’ Antonios demanded, and Lindsay stiffened.
‘No—’
‘Because,’ he told her bluntly, ‘you look like you’re going to be sick.’
‘I’m not going to be sick.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But the thought of seeing your family again does make me nervous, Antonios—’
‘They did nothing but welcome you.’ He cut her off with a shrug of his powerful shoulders.
She took a measured breath. ‘Only at your command.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Does that matter?’
Of course it does. She bit back the words, knowing they would only lead to pointless argument. ‘I don’t think they were pleased that you came home with such an unexpected bride,’ she said after a moment. ‘I think they would have preferred you to marry someone of your own background.’ A good Greek wife...the kind of wife she hadn’t, and never could have, been.
‘Perhaps,’ Antonios allowed, his tone still dismissive, ‘but they still accepted you because they knew I loved you.’
Lindsay didn’t answer. It was clear Antonios hadn’t seen how suspicious his sisters had been of her. And while they had accepted her on the surface, there had still been plenty of sideways glances, speculative looks, even a few veiled comments. Lindsay had felt every single one, to the core.
Yet she wasn’t about to explain that to Antonios now, not when he looked so fierce—fiercely determined to be in the right.
‘You have nothing to say to that?’ Antonios asked, and Lindsay shrugged, taking a sip of champagne. It tasted sour in her mouth.
‘No, I don’t.’ Nothing he would be willing to hear, anyway.
His mouth tightened and he turned to stare out of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the runway. Lindsay watched him covertly, despair and longing coursing through her in equal measures.
She told herself she shouldn’t feel this much emotion. It had been her choice to leave, and really they’d known so little of each other. Three months together, that was all. Not enough time to fall in love, much less stay there.
She was a mathematician; she believed in reason, in fact, in logic. Love at almost first sight didn’t figure in her world view. Her research had shown the almost mystical relationships between numbers, but she and Antonios weren’t numbers, and even though her heart had once cried out differently her head insisted they couldn’t have actually loved each other.
‘Maybe you never really loved me, Antonios,’ she said quietly, and he jerked back in both shock and affront.
‘Is that why you left? Because you didn’t think I loved you?’ he asked in disbelief.
‘I’m trying to explain how I felt,’ Lindsay answered evenly. ‘Since you seem determined to draw an explanation from me, even if you say you don’t want one.’
‘So you’ve convinced yourself I didn’t love you.’ He folded his arms, his face settling into implacable lines.
‘I don’t think either of us had enough time to truly love or even know each other,’ Lindsay answered. ‘We only knew each other a week—’
‘Three months, Lindsay.’
‘A week before we married,’ she amended. ‘And it was a week out of time, out of reality...’ Which was what had made it so sweet and so precious. A week away from the little life she’d made for herself in New York—a life that had been both prison and haven. A week away from being Lindsay Douglas, brilliant mathematician and complete recluse. A week of being seen in an entirely new way—as someone who was interesting and beautiful and normal.
‘It may have only been a week,’ Antonios said, ‘but I knew you. At least, I thought I knew you. But perhaps you are right, because the woman I thought I knew wouldn’t have left me the way you did.’
‘Then you didn’t really know me,’ Lindsay answered, and Antonios swung round to stare at her, his eyes narrowed.
‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’
‘I...’ She drew a deep breath. She could tell him now, explain everything, yet what good would it do? Their marriage was over. Her leaving him had brought about its end. But before she could even think about summoning the courage to confess, he had turned away from her again.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he answered. ‘I don’t care.’
Lindsay sagged back against her seat, relief and disappointment flooding her as she told herself it was better this way. It had to be.
* * *
Antonios sat in his first-class seat, his glass of complimentary champagne untouched, as his mind seethed with questions he’d never thought to ask himself before. And he shouldn’t, he knew, ask them now. It didn’t matter what Lindsay’s reasons had been for leaving, or whether they’d truly known and loved each other or not. Any possibility between them had ended with her two-sentence email.
Dear Antonios,
I’m sorry, but I cannot come back to Greece. Our marriage was a mistake. Lindsay.
When he’d first read the email, he’d thought it was a joke. His brain simply hadn’t been able to process what she was telling him; it had seemed so absurd. Only forty-eight hours before, he’d made love to her half the night long and she’d clung to him until morning, kissed him with passion and gentleness when she’d said goodbye.
And she’d known she was leaving him then?
He hadn’t wanted to believe it, had started jumping to outrageous, nonsensical conclusions. Someone else had written the email. A jealous rival or a desperate relative? He’d cast them both in roles in a melodrama that had no basis in reality.
The reality was his phone call to Lindsay that same day, and her flat voice repeating what she’d told him in the email. Maybe he’d been the one to hang up, but only because she’d been so determined not to explain herself. Not to say anything at all, except for her wretched party line. That their marriage was a mistake.
Disbelief had given way to anger, to a cold, deep rage the like of which he’d never felt before, not even when he’d realized the extent of his father’s desperate deception. He’d loved her. He’d brought her into the bosom of his family, showered her with clothes and jewels. He’d given her his absolute loyalty, had presented her to his shocked family as the choice of his heart, even though they’d only known each other for a week. He’d shown how devoted he was to her in every way possible, and she’d said it was all a mistake?
He turned to her now, took in her pale face, the soft, vulnerable curve of her cheek, a tendril of white-blonde hair resting against it. When he’d first seen her in New York City, he’d been utterly enchanted. She’d looked ethereal, like a winter fairy, with her pale hair and silvery eyes. He’d called her his Snow Queen.
‘Did you intend to leave me permanently,’ he asked suddenly, his voice too raw for his liking or comfort, ‘when you said goodbye to me in Greece?’ When she’d kissed him, her slender arms wrapped around his neck, had she known?
She didn’t turn from the window, but he felt her body tense. ‘Does it matter?’
‘It does to me.’ Even though it shouldn’t. But maybe he needed to ask these questions, despite what he’d said. Perhaps he would find some peace amidst all the devastation if he understood, even if only in part, why Lindsay had acted as she had. Perhaps then he could let go of his anger and hurt, and move on. Alone.
She let out a tiny sigh. ‘Then, yes. I did.’
Her words were like a fist to his gut. To his heart. ‘So you lied to me.’
‘I never specified when I was coming back,’ she said, her voice tired and sad.
‘You never said you were going. You acted like you loved me.’ He turned away from her, not wanting her to see the naked emotion he could feel on his face. She wasn’t even looking at him, but he still felt exposed. Felt the raw pain underneath the anger. Still, one word squeezed its way out of his throat. ‘Why?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Why, Lindsay?’ he demanded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to leave, that you were unhappy—?’
‘I tried telling you the truth but you never heard it,’ she said wearily. ‘You never listened.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Antonios demanded. ‘You never once said you were unhappy—’
Lindsay shook her head. ‘I don’t want to go into it, Antonios. It’s pointless. If you want an explanation, it’s this: I never really loved you.’
He blinked, reeling from the coldly stated fact even as he sought to deny it. ‘Why did you marry me, then?’ he asked when he trusted his voice to sound even. Emotionless.
‘Because I thought I loved you. I convinced myself what we had was real.’ She turned to him, her eyes blazing with what he realized, to his own shock, was anger or maybe grief. ‘Can’t you see how it was for me? My father had died only a few weeks before. I went to New York because I wanted to escape my life, escape my loneliness and grief. I wandered around the city like a lost soul, still feeling so desperately sad and yet wanting to be enchanted by all the beauty. And then you saw me and you told me you were lost, and when I looked in your eyes it felt like you were seeing me—a me I hadn’t even known existed until that moment.’
She sank back against her seat, out of breath, her face pale, her shoulders rising and falling in agitation. Antonios’s mind spun emptily for a few stunned seconds before he finally managed, his voice hoarse, ‘And that was real.’
‘No, it wasn’t, Antonios. It was a fairy tale. It was playing at being in love. It was red roses and dancing until midnight and penthouse suites at luxury hotels. It was wonderful and magical, but it wasn’t real.’
‘Just because something is exciting—’
‘Real was coming to Greece—’ she cut across him flatly ‘—and discovering what your life was like there. Real was feeling like I was drowning every day and you never even noticed.’ She bit her lip and then turned towards the window; he realized she’d turned to hide her own emotion, just as he’d tried to hide his. The anger that had been a cold, hard ball inside him started to soften, but he didn’t know what emotion replaced it. He felt confused and unsteady, as if someone had given him a hard push, had scattered all his tightly held beliefs and resolutions.
‘Lindsay...’ He put a hand on her shoulder, conscious once again of how small and fragile she seemed. ‘I don’t understand.’
She let out a choked laugh and dashed quickly at her eyes. ‘I know, Antonios, and you never did. But it’s too late now, for both of us. You know that, so let’s just stop this conversation.’
A stewardess came by to take their untouched champagne glasses and prepare them for take-off. Lindsay took the opportunity to shrug his hand from her shoulder and wipe the traces of tears from her eyes.
When she turned to look at him, her face was composed and carefully blank. ‘Please, let’s just get through this flight.’
He nodded tersely, knowing now was not the time to demand answers. And really, what answer could Lindsay give? What on earth could she mean, that she’d been drowning? He’d taken her to his home. His family had welcomed her. He’d given her every comfort, every luxury. Just the memory of how she’d responded to his touch, how her body had sung in tune to his, made a bewildered fury rise up in him again. What the hell was she talking about—drowning?
And if she truly had been unhappy, why hadn’t she ever told him?
