Читать книгу Modern Romance August 2018 Books 1-4 Collection - Мишель Смарт, Tara Pammi - Страница 21

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘SO WHAT’S ALL this about?’ questioned Xan softly.

Tamsyn didn’t immediately look up from the mirror. She was going to need her best smile to get through the next few hours, so maybe she’d better practice composing her face accordingly. Straightening up, she slowly turned to face her husband, stupidly gratified by the instant desire she could read in his eyes. And she wasn’t supposed to be feeling gratified. She was supposed to be distancing herself from the charismatic Greek billionaire, not revelling in the physical power she could still—unbelievably—wield over him.

‘What’s what all about?’ she murmured absently.

‘Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Tamsyn,’ he said, treating her to another assessing look. ‘I’m just wondering why the sudden dramatic change of image for tonight’s party.’

‘Could you be a little more specific, Xan? What exactly are your objections?’

Objections? Xan’s throat dried to dust. Who said anything about objections? It just wasn’t what he’d been expecting, that was all. His wife was wearing a white dress—as befitting a new bride just freshly back from honeymoon—but the outfit was a world away from the flirty mini which had barely covered her bottom on the day they’d wed. This concoction was made from a rich, heavy silk which moulded every curve of her delicious body yet fell decorously to the knee. Her hair had been coiled into an elaborate style, the lustrous curls tamed and gleaming like silken flames, with only a few strands left dangling, drawing attention to the swan-like length of her neck. The strappy silver sandals which gleamed against her bare feet were the only frivolous thing about her tonight, but even they exuded a certain class and style. This was a Tamsyn he’d never seen before. Sophisticated. Elegant—and the very opposite of unsuitable.

‘It doesn’t look like you,’ he observed unevenly. ‘This isn’t the edgy little redhead I know.’

A flash of colour flared into her cheeks. ‘So you don’t like it?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Tamsyn, you could wear sackcloth and I’d still want to rip it from your body. I’m just not sure what has prompted this sudden transformation.’

She wound a strand of hair around her forefinger, so that when she let it go, it sprang into a perfect little ringlet which brushed against her neck. He suddenly thought how slim she looked—and how breakable.

‘I’m a chameleon,’ she said flippantly. ‘Didn’t you know? I can be whatever people want me to be and tonight I’ve gone for the sleek and understated look.’

His mouth twitched. ‘Any particular reason why?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve seen the guest list.’

He raised his brows. ‘And?’

‘And it was exactly as I could have predicted.’ She tilted her chin defensively, her eyes momentarily uncertain, as if deciding whether or not to tell him. ‘Rich people. Well-connected people. The current darling of the Greek cinema who just happens to be bringing two hulking great bodyguards with her. An international politician or two—including a man they’re describing as the frontrunner candidate for the next-but-one US Presidential election.’

‘What do you want me to say? I’ve known Brett since I was at college and to me he’s just someone I learnt to play tennis with at Harvard.’ He raised his brows. ‘I offered to fly your friends over and put them up in a local hotel, but you refused.’

Tamsyn bit her lip. It was true, she had refused. Was that because she’d been terrified one of them might see past all the trappings and pick up on the heartache which was building inside her, minute by minute? Or because she was determined to keep her old enemy—pity—at arm’s length? She wanted to remember this night as you might remember a particularly beautiful rainbow, or sunset—something amazing but short-lived.

Her sister wasn’t coming either, citing a busy royal diary which was planned weeks in advance and didn’t allow for last-minute invitations to rushed weddings. But Tamsyn had detected a strong sense of disapproval in Hannah’s reply as well as disbelief that she’d actually tied the knot with Xan Constantinides. Tamsyn had wanted to write and tell her she was doing this mainly for her, but her sister suddenly seemed a very long way away.

‘Those are the kind of people I associate with, Tamsyn,’ continued Xan quietly. ‘You knew that.’

‘Yes. But it’s one thing knowing something and another thing facing them all for the first and probably only time—and that includes meeting your father. I’ve realised I don’t want to turn myself into some sort of spectacle—some caricature of a tart, who people can poke fun at and laugh about behind their back. I’ve realised I don’t want to be unsuitable. Not tonight. If I do that it’s going to make this evening even more of an ordeal.’ She expelled a sigh. ‘If you want to know the truth, I’m beginning to wish I’d never agreed to throw the wretched party in the first place.’

He gave an odd kind of laugh. ‘Well, just for the record, so do I and if people weren’t already on their way from halfway across the globe, I’d consider cancelling it. But we can’t. Which means we just have to get through it and make the best of it.’ An unwilling kind of admiration sparked in the depths of his dark blue eyes. ‘And just for the record, it’s a very beautiful dress. You look every inch the suitable bride.’

Trying not to be swayed by his soft praise, Tamsyn smoothed down the silk-satin bodice of the outfit she’d ordered online from a store in Athens and which Elena had smuggled in yesterday. It had given her a ridiculous amount of pleasure to see herself looking like the kind of bride she’d never thought she could be, but in the end—her clothes were irrelevant. All she wanted was for tonight to be over, so she could start thinking about her future.

She watched him walk over to the open windows of their terrace, thinking how much she was going to miss this. And him. She could hear the chink of glasses from out on the lawn as waiters began loading up their trays and in the distance, could see a long line of approaching headlights travelling along the coastal road. Her eyes ran over Xan’s powerful physique, trying to commit it to memory. The snowy white dinner jacket which contrasted vividly with the close-fitting dark trousers. She loved the way those coal-black tendrils of hair brushed against the collar of his shirt, reminding her that he looked as much at home on a sailing boat as he did a boardroom. But as he turned around she quickly wiped her face clear of emotion—eradicating all the yearning, so she was able to meet his cobalt gaze with nothing more telling than a look of cool enquiry.

‘Let’s go,’ he said abruptly.

Xan felt the adrenalin pumping through his body as he took Tamsyn’s hand and led her out into the garden, where burning flames lined the paths and fairy-lights were strung from the trees. The huge swimming pool had been illuminated with floating lights, which gleamed in the turquoise water like surreal water lilies and the front of the house had been floodlit in soft colours of rose and blue. He told himself it was pride in his beautiful home which was making him feel so pumped-up tonight, but it was more than that. He looked at the woman by his side, thinking that Tamsyn had never looked lovelier. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Easily visible in her white gown, he watched men turning to stare at her, just as they had once done at Kulal’s palace. Back then he remembered feeling nothing but a destabilising lust but now that had been overridden by a primitive satisfaction that she belonged to him and only him. His mouth hardened. But she didn’t, did she? Not really. She was his only for a little while longer and he needed to accept that soon she would be free, because that was what the plan had always been. Free for other men to pursue and to benefit from all that shining sexual promise which he had awoken. A powerful surge of jealousy coursed through him, even though jealousy had never been his thing. He told himself that the feeling would soon pass. That he’d never relied on a woman before and didn’t intend to start now. His life had been fine before Tamsyn Wilson had fallen into it like some wayward star, and that state of affairs would resume once they’d split.

Slightly mollified by his own reasoning, he introduced her to a number of guests and she responded with a charm which was contagious. Everyone wanted to talk to her and she instantly hit it off with a European princess, herself a former wild-child, and he could hear the two of them giggling together. Soon she was deep in conversation with a sultan she’d met at her sister’s wedding, and several other desert princes moved to join in with the conversation, so that very quickly she was at the centre of a significant power hub. At one point she looked up at him and he raised his glass in mocking salute, as if to silently remind her that her fears of blending in had been groundless. But something in the gesture made her eyes grow dark. He saw her bite her lip and a few moments later she murmured to him that she needed to speak to Elena, and slipped away.

Xan accepted a glass of champagne and looked around. A group of musicians were playing traditional Greek music and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Salvatore di Luca had arrived, with the requisite glamorous blonde hanging from his arm like a glittering accessory. But there was still no sign of his father.

He took a sip of his drink. Was the old man worried that Sofia’s father would refuse to sell him the island after all—and would that be enough to make him cut Xan from his life for ever? His lips hardened into a humourless smile. What exquisite irony that would be—if an island coveted because of its precious links with his ancestors, should be the cause of alienating his father from his only son.

He looked around again, his eyes scanning the crowded lawn with dissatisfaction as he realised he was looking in vain for his wife. Xan scowled as he handed his half-drunk glass of champagne to a passing waiter, the memory of emerald eyes and fiery curls an image he couldn’t seem to shift from his mind.

It was all about sex, he reassured himself heatedly. Nothing but sex.

* * *

Tamsyn melted into the shadows, trying to gather her thoughts together. Yes, the party was loads easier than she’d imagined—but it was still stressful, which was why she had sought a moment of quiet refuge at the darkened side of the house, at the top of a gentle sloping incline, which gave a fabulous view of the glittering estate. Carefully smoothing down the rich silk of her dress, she sat down on a bench—tempted to kick off her silver sandals but knowing if she did so, she would be reluctant to put them on again. And tonight there would be no barefoot bride, looking like she’d wandered in from a nearby rock festival.

She sat back against the wooden bench and sighed. It had been strangely gratifying that Xan’s friends had seemed genuinely happy to meet her. Was that because she had taken charge of her own destiny, so that for once she actually felt as if she fitted in—in a way she’d never done before? Even at Hannah’s wedding she’d worn her fancy gowns with a distinct air of resentment—probably because she’d been forced to wear them. But tonight she was revelling in the fact that she looked like a bride her husband could be proud of. She’d felt like a grown up and sophisticated version of the newest member of the Constantinides family. And weren’t those thoughts dangerous?

A few times she’d found herself beguiled by the elusive possibility of something which could never happen, not in a million years. Of a life here, with Xan. A proper married life together—with a brood of babies and a golden future. And a shared love? Yes. Oh, yes. That was the ultimate dream. But Xan didn’t want that. He’d told her so enough times. He didn’t do love and he was okay with that. So she needed to be okay with it, too.

A sudden lump constricted her throat as she found herself thinking about her mother. About the paperwork which had been discovered after her death. Her mother had been a foolish dreamer, too—and where had it got her? All those stupid poems she’d written. And the letter addressed to her—the daughter she had abandoned. She mustn’t forget that. The letter which Hannah had only shown Tamsyn a long while afterwards, which had told her something it might have been better not to have known. Something which for a long time had made her feel rotten to the core—and still could, if she wasn’t careful.

She could see the powerful beam of headlights tracking along the road towards the house and from her secluded vantage point, could sense the excited bustle of the guests as a huge car drew to a halt and a man got out. Even from this distance, from the few photographs she’d seen of him, Tamsyn recognised the distinctive curved features of Andreas, Xan’s father. She watched as Xan moved purposefully towards the car, but you didn’t need to be a body language expert to notice the coolness between the two men. After a brief and business-like handshake, they began to walk towards the house, making no attempt to join the party.

Tamsyn sat on the bench, filled with indecision. She ought to go and meet him. Hadn’t that been part of the deal? Her heart was pounding as she moved through the shadows towards the back of the vast house, away from the main party which was mostly happening poolside. For a moment she stood in silence, until she located the sound of voices which were coming from behind the closed doors of Xan’s study. Tamsyn frowned. Xan and presumably Andreas were angrily talking over each other, the volume of their discussion getting louder and louder until she heard someone rasp out a curse. She meant to take a deep breath. To knock politely and walk in, but then she heard her own name and it halted her right in her tracks. Tamsyn froze. She almost wished they were speaking in Greek so she wouldn’t understand what they were saying, but Xan had told her that after winning his American scholarship, English had been the language he and his father had conversed in, the older man refusing to be outdone by his fluent son.

‘You know what kind of a woman she is?’ came the ragged accusation. ‘When you rang to tell me you’d married her, I had her investigated and discovered she’s a nobody who can’t even hold a job down. And she looks like a slut in every photo I’ve seen of her!’

Tamsyn flinched as she waited for Xan to reply and his next words came as such a shock that she had to put her hand against the wall to steady herself.

‘She’s no slut,’ Xan said. ‘She’s honest and decent and true. And I will not have you speaking about her that way. Do you understand?’

‘And you know her mother was no better than a whore?’ continued the older man. ‘That she has children by many different men?’

‘Yes, I know that,’ replied Xan slowly. ‘But that isn’t Tamsyn. She’s never really had a chance, but now she’s been given one, she’s come into her own. She’d uneducated but she’s bright. She reads. She plays with Gia’s little girl—and that child thinks she’s an angel. She’s funny. You should meet her. I think you’ll be surprised.’

‘Oh, I’m not denying she’s beautiful.’ His father gave an ugly kind of laugh. ‘But that’s the main reason she’s here, isn’t it? You turned down the chance to marry a woman like Sofia, for her? I’ve heard she’s hot, but so what? Whores usually are. You get what you pay for.’

There was a loud bang, which sounded like a fist being smashed against a desk and Tamsyn was vaguely aware of Xan’s furious response, but by then she had started to run. To run and run until she had left the house and been swallowed up by the dense shadow of a fragrant pine tree.

Her brow felt hot and sticky by the time she came to a halt and it took a long while before she had calmed down enough to be able to think straight. Time for her breathing to slow and her heart to stop feeling as if it were going to burst out of her chest. Something made her tidy up the strands of hair which must have escaped during her run and to extract a slim tube of lipstick from the concealed pocket of her dress, before applying it to her trembling lips with shaky fingers. Her dress was smooth and she needed her features to mimic that smoothness, so that to the other guests it would appear as if nothing had happened.

Because nothing had.

Xan’s father had simply told the truth—and he didn’t know the half of it. And although Xan had sprung to her defence and her heart had melted slightly at his defence of her—it had still been lacking in emotion. He had still somehow managed to make her sound like piece of rock which had been carved into a rough approximation of a human being.

And suddenly she knew she couldn’t endure any more. There was no way she could stay here, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. If she did that, then these crazy feelings would keep building and building until she was ready to explode. She needed to walk away with Xan never guessing what had happened. To escape, and quickly—but not tonight. Tonight she would continue to play the role expected of her. The shining and loyal wife, basking in her newly-wed golden glow. The woman lucky enough to have finally snared the elusive Greek billionaire.

She drank a glass of champagne before going back to the illuminated swimming pool to join the other guests, chatting brightly and forcing herself to smile as she accepted congratulations. But her stupid heart turned over with sorrow when Xan reappeared and began to walk towards her.

Did he read something untoward in her expression? Was that why a frown had creased his brow beneath the delicious tumble of his black hair?

‘You okay?’ he questioned.

She could tell him, of course. She could say she’d gone into the house to meet his father and heard him calling her a whore. But if she did that, the evening would be ruined—and for what purpose? The fact that Xan’s father didn’t like her should be regarded as a positive, surely? It meant he would be delighted when his son announced they were splitting up. Maybe their own relationship would even improve as a result. What was it they said? Every cloud has a silver lining.

You can do this, Tamsyn, she told herself fiercely. You’ve had a lifetime of pretending everything’s okay. Of acting like it doesn’t matter when other people judge you, or look down their noses at you.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, then cleared her throat. ‘Did I see your father arrive?’

‘You did.’ An odd expression darkened his face. ‘But he couldn’t stay.’

‘Oh? Was he—?’

‘I don’t want to talk about my father, Tamsyn,’ he interrupted, and suddenly his voice sounded urgent. ‘I just want to be alone with you.’

Her heart felt like it wanted to break when she heard the note of hunger she heard in his voice, but she couldn’t stop herself from responding to it. ‘Xan,’ she said, mock-sternly. ‘We have guests.’

‘I don’t care about the guests.’ His voice dipped. ‘There’s only one thing I care about right now.’

His smile was hard and his eyes gleamed with an unspoken message. It reminded her that Xan remained a man who always got what he wanted, and right now he wanted sex. Tamsyn shivered as he traced a finger down her arm, knowing she should refuse to go along with it, especially in view of what his father had said earlier.

You get what you pay for.

But her mind was made up. She wasn’t going to ruin the night by dwelling on the negative and besides, she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Maybe even more. Xan had no idea this was going to be the last time, but she did—and wasn’t it crazy not to want to make the most of every precious second with him?

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ she questioned huskily, as she went into his warm and waiting arms.