Читать книгу Modern Romance December 2016 Books 1-4 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 19

CHAPTER TEN

CONSIDERING EVERYTHING SHE’D confessed, everything that had happened, Talia expected to feel embarrassed and exposed. Yet sitting on the beach with Sofia, sketchpads on their laps, she found she wasn’t squirming internally with humiliation at how much she’d revealed. She felt...free. At peace in a way she hadn’t expected.

For the last seven years she hadn’t talked about the kidnapping to anyone. She knew Giovanni blamed himself for the whole affair, because the men had kidnapped her for money, knowing her to be an heiress. But Giovanni had rescued her; it was he who had accessed satellite photos to identify where she was being held from the picture the kidnappers had sent. She’d never blamed Giovanni. He’d been her saviour. And she’d respected his desire to forget the whole episode...or at least act as if she had. Her siblings had followed suit.

But secretly, or not so secretly considering her phobias and isolation, the kidnapping had tormented her with its terrible memories. For years she’d suffered nightmares that left her shaking, and the tiniest things could set her off: the sound of a lock turning, the creak of a door. She’d tried therapy, but talking to a stranger had only made her feel more exposed and raw. She’d learned to avoid triggers and read up on PTSD and kept everything buried deep inside.

Until Angelos.

Amazing, how validating it had felt when he’d told her it must have been terrifying. To have him sympathise and understand without pity or judgement.

She wished she could do something in return, help him in some way, for she knew that Angelos must have his own dark memories, his closely guarded secrets. But despite the comfort he’d offered her last night, she knew they still didn’t have the kind of relationship that would allow that conversation.

‘Hello, you two.’

Talia stiffened in surprise, pleasure flooding through her as she saw Angelos strolling down the beach. Sofia’s face lit up as Angelos came to stand in front of them, the wind off the sea ruffling his hair.

‘How’s the sketching?’ he asked, and Talia nudged Sofia to show her father her work. Shyly she offered up the paper and Angelos took it and studied it carefully.

Talia couldn’t understand the Greek he spoke to her, but even she basked in his smile. She loved that he was trying more with Sofia, and that it was working.

They spoke in Greek for a few moments and then he turned to Talia. ‘It is Sofia’s birthday in a few days—’

‘Is it?’ Talia interjected in surprise. She wagged a finger at Sofia, smiling. ‘You should have told me.’

‘Perhaps we can do something to celebrate,’ Angelos said, and Talia felt as if her heart was a balloon expanding in her chest, full of hope. He almost sounded as if they were a family.

‘Of course we must celebrate,’ she said. She turned back to Sofia. ‘What would you like to do?’

Timidly Sofia spoke in Greek to her father. Angelos listened, a frown furrowing his forehead, and the balloon inside Talia started to deflate. Why did he have to look so angry?

He spoke sharply back and Talia watched in dismay as Sofia nodded in acceptance, the light dimming from her eyes. She ducked her head so her hair slid in front of her face, hiding her scarred cheek, an action Talia had come to associate with Sofia’s lack of confidence, and one she thankfully hadn’t done for a while.

‘What is it?’ she burst out. ‘Surely whatever Sofia wants to do, we can manage...’ Sofia hardly seemed the type of girl to ask for something unreasonable.

‘She wants to go sailing,’ Angelos said tightly. ‘To Naxos. I told her it was not possible.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she wants to go with you,’ Angelos explained. ‘I don’t think you want to be on a small boat in the middle of the sea.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment all Talia could do was gape. He was thinking of her, and her fear of being confined. She was so surprised and touched that it took her a few seconds to gather her composure. She turned to Sofia with a smile. ‘I think sailing sounds like a lot of fun.’

‘Talia,’ Angelos protested. ‘You don’t have to—’

‘But I do,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s Sofia’s birthday. If this is how she wants to celebrate, then I want it too.’ And she just wouldn’t think about how long she’d be on a small boat. ‘Besides,’ she told Angelos with more conviction than she actually felt, ‘it’s not as bad as a helicopter. The sides are open, and we’ll be out on the sea. It’ll be fine.’

Angelos was still frowning. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said, and Talia saw Sofia’s hopeful smile slide off her face once more.

‘It’ll be fine,’ she said again. She’d make sure it was.

She was still telling herself that three days later, as she and Sofia stood on the beach while Angelos readied the sailboat. It was a very small boat, barely big enough for all three of them to sit in. Nerves coiled tightly in her belly and she tried to keep her fists from clenching. She could do this. It wasn’t as if she had four walls bearing down on her. There was no reason to feel trapped.

Except once she was out on the water, she would be trapped. And Angelos had told her it would take an hour to sail to Naxos, which felt like an incredibly long time.

‘Ready, Papa?’ Sofia called. She was jumping up and down in her excitement and the sight of the little girl looking so happy was enough to calm Talia’s fears for a moment. They’d started the day with a special birthday breakfast and Sofia had opened presents from everyone.

Talia hadn’t known what to get for Sofia’s birthday; she hadn’t left Kallos since she’d arrived two weeks ago and she hadn’t brought anything remotely suitable to give her as a present. In the end she’d painted Sofia a picture of the villa and the beach, remembering how Sofia had sketched it when they were back in Athens. The little girl had been incredibly pleased with the picture, and Talia had promised to look for a frame for it when they went to Naxos.

‘All right, I think we’re just about there,’ Angelos called. He looked amazing and remarkably at ease, wearing board shorts and a T-shirt that the wind pressed to his well-muscled chest. Over the last few days he’d spent a fair amount of time with Sofia and Talia, coming in as soon as Sofia’s lessons were finished. At first he’d merely watched and smiled as Talia and Sofia played a game or did some sketching, but in the last day or two he’d started, at Talia’s gentle urging, to join in. It made her heart ache with bittersweet joy to see how clumsily yet sincerely Angelos tried with his daughter, how hard these simple interactions were for him, and yet he tried. And that, just as he’d told her, was important.

Now he extended a hand towards Sofia, and helped her to clamber into the boat. Once Sofia was seated he turned to Talia, who was still rooted on the shore, unable to keep from eyeing the boat nervously.

His eyebrows snapped together as he held out his hand. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes...’ Her voice wavered and she tried to smile. ‘It’s just...it is a pretty small boat. I thought you’d have a yacht or something.’

‘I do have a yacht,’ Angelos answered. ‘It’s docked in Piraeus. Sofia prefers the sailboat.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Of course he had a yacht. No matter how humble his beginnings, Angelos was a millionaire now. He exuded power from every pore. Masculine power. Over the last few days Talia had tried to hide her attraction to Angelos, but at times she felt overwhelmed with the desire, the need, to touch him. To feel his heart beating against her cheek once more, to taste his lips...

At night she lay in bed, restless and aching, amazed at how many new desires this man had awoken in her. She’d never felt this way about anyone before, hadn’t even known such strong feelings existed.

And Angelos, as far as she could tell, seemed utterly unmoved.

‘Talia?’ he prompted, and taking a deep breath, she reached for his hand. The feel of his fingers closing over hers was enough to send her heart rate skittering and she tried to hide how uneven her breathing was, but the flush to her face was unavoidable. Maybe Angelos would chalk it up to the sun, or maybe he knew she found him irresistible and was being polite by ignoring it.

He guided Talia to her seat by the tiller, one arm around her shoulders, which only made it worse, and yet also wonderfully, achingly better. She loved it when he touched her. She just wished he’d touch her more.

‘Everyone ready?’ Angelos asked as Talia buckled her life vest. She managed a sunny smile and a nod.

‘Totally.’

Angelos pushed out, and as the boat bobbed into the deeper waters, the wind caught and filled the sails.

It felt like flying. Talia had been out on a sailboat as a child, although not since the kidnapping, for the obvious reason. Now she knelt by the tiller, her face tilted to the wind and sun, enjoying the way the boat skimmed across the glinting water. She could hardly credit, but she was actually enjoying this, and it reminded her of how much she’d used to enjoy, how adventurous she’d been. Seven years ago she’d lost a big part of herself and it had taken coming to Greece to begin to find it again. It had taken her grandfather to push her gently. Without Giovanni, she never would have left the safety of the estate.

Thinking of her grandfather made Talia flinch inwardly with guilt. She’d emailed him several times over the course of the last few weeks, reassuring him she was looking for the book...which was a lie. Beyond looking in the villa’s library, she hadn’t done anything. She hadn’t wanted to risk this fragile peace and happiness she’d found here, with Angelos.

Who you are kidding? You don’t have anything with him.

Angelos was a powerful, attractive, worldly man. Who knew how many women he had in Athens, or indeed around the world? He’d never be interested in someone like her, who cringed at her own shadow, who had no experience in anything.

And in any case, in a month’s time she’d never see him again. She had no reason whatsoever not to ask about her grandfather’s book.

Angelos had come to sit beside her, one hand on the tiller, the other shading his eyes from the sun. Sofia was on the other side of the small craft, gazing down at the shimmering water speeding by, the wake from the boat as white as whipped cream.

‘Do you like poetry?’ Talia blurted, and then winced inwardly at the abrupt absurdity of the question.

Angelos stared at her for a moment, bemused. ‘Now where did that question come from?’

‘I was just curious.’ She bit her lip, misery and indecision swamping her. She knew of no good way to come clean to Angelos and admit why she’d come here in the first place. But maybe he wouldn’t be angry. Maybe he’d understand. And even if he didn’t, she knew she had to say something. She had to find a way to mention her grandfather’s book.

‘I can’t say I’m particularly well-versed,’ Angelos answered, ‘if that isn’t too terrible a pun.’

‘I only wondered, because my grandfather mentioned a Mediterranean poet that he liked,’ Talia said, and Angelos’s forehead furrowed. Clearly he didn’t see the connection, and that’s because there wasn’t one.

‘Tell me about your grandfather. You speak about him quite a lot.’

‘Do I? I suppose that’s because he raised me.’ Relief trickled through her at the realisation that Angelos was providing her with an out. ‘He took over the raising of me and my brothers and sisters after my parents died.’

‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’

‘Seven,’ Talia answered, ‘including my half-brother, Nate. Five brothers and two sisters.’

‘That’s a lot,’ Angelos remarked. ‘Are you close to all of them?’

‘Mostly, in different ways, although I don’t see Nate very much.’ She frowned, thinking of the elusive half-brother who had always skirted the fringes of her family. ‘My father had an affair, before I was born, and Nate was the result.’ She grimaced. ‘Which puts my parents in a bad light, I know. They were...weak people, I think. But I still missed them, the idea of them.’

‘I suppose bad parents are better than none.’

‘Do you think that? You didn’t grow up with any parents...’

‘No.’ Angelos stared out at the sea, his mouth pressed into a firm line. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I would have preferred almost anyone to the care home, or scratching a living on the docks.’

Talia shook her head in genuine admiration. ‘It’s amazing, how far you’ve come.’

‘Just luck,’ Angelos dismissed with a shrug of his shoulders, as he had before.

‘More than luck,’ Talia insisted. ‘Not many people could do what you have done, Angelos.’

A brief look of something close to anguish contorted Angelos’s features and then he looked out to sea again. ‘Maybe,’ he allowed, ‘but I’ve failed in other ways.’

Talia felt as if her heart was bumping its way up her throat. ‘What do you mean?’

Angelos shook his head, and then nodded towards Sofia. ‘This is her day. Let’s not ruin it by talk of the past.’

Which made her even more intrigued, but Talia knew better than to press it. She turned to Sofia with a smile, and they spent the next few minutes chatting in a mixture of broken English and Greek, both of them managing to get their meaning across. Mostly.

Several times she sneaked a glance at Angelos; he was still staring out at the sea, his eyes narrowed against the sun, the set of his mouth seeming bleak, and Talia wondered if she’d ever get an opportunity to ask Angelos what he’d meant when he’d said he’d failed.

* * *

He didn’t talk about the past. He certainly didn’t mention his failures. But he had to Talia; he’d almost told her about the fire. The realisation made Angelos’s shoulders tense and his chest go tight. He didn’t want to relive that awful day, the worst day of his whole life. He’d put those memories in a box and slammed the lid shut, but for some reason getting to know Talia was prying it open again. And that was not a good thing.

What was it about this woman with her clear, hazel gaze and her impish smile and incredible bravery that got to him? That made him want to tell her things, just as she’d told him? She’d been so honest with him, and he admired that deeply. But he wasn’t capable of it himself.

In any case, she was leaving in a month. He’d enjoyed these last few days, and he was grateful to Talia for helping him to reconnect, at least a little, with his daughter. But it wasn’t as if he and Talia had any kind of relationship. In a matter of weeks he’d never see her again.

He glanced at Talia; she’d stopped chatting to Sofia and was sitting back, her hands in her lap, the wind blowing her hair into golden tangles about her face. Her incredibly pale face, and belatedly Angelos noticed how her fists were clenched, how she was starting to tremble.

He knew they shouldn’t have gone in the boat.

‘Talia.’ He slid off his seat and reached for her hands; they were ice cold. She didn’t even look at him. ‘Talia,’ he said again, his voice hard and insistent, and she blinked him back into focus.

‘Sorry...’ she whispered, and Angelos muttered a curse.

‘You have nothing to be sorry about.’

‘It’s just...we can’t see land any more...’ Her teeth chattered and Angelos slid next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, closing her eyes.

‘It’s okay,’ he murmured. ‘It’s going to be okay. We’ll get to land, we’ll be safe. I’ll keep you safe.’ The words echoed through him, a promise he meant utterly and yet feared was hollow. After all, he’d broken it before.

Sofia turned to look at them, her face going nearly as pale as Talia’s as she took in her nanny’s sickly expression.

‘Talia...’

Talia gave her a weak, apologetic smile and silently Sofia slid her hand into hers. Angelos went back to the tiller, guiding them as quickly as he could towards the shore.

The boat sped swiftly over the water; he kept glancing at Talia, making sure she was okay. Her face was pale but she lifted her chin bravely and squeezed Sofia’s hand.

‘I’m okay, Sofia,’ she told the girl. ‘Don’t worry, please.’

The realisation that even in the midst of her suffering and fear, Talia was able to comfort his daughter, cared enough to comfort her, made something expand painfully in Angelos’s chest.

He turned away quickly, not trusting the expression on his face, and steered them on to Naxos.