Lynne Graham: The Greek Tycoon’s Disobedient Bride

An awful sense of foreboding was creeping over Ophelia as her mind grappled with what she had found out and put it all together to make a picture. A very disturbing picture that explained things she had struggled to understand weeks earlier. Then she had come up with her own comfortable explanation: that Lysander found her sufficiently desirable to give their marriage a chance, even if he didn’t love her.

‘How do you know he’s happy?’ she prompted.

‘He’s so different. Once or twice he’s almost been chatty,’ his mother told her with tender amusement. ‘He laughs, he smiles, he tells me little things about you-oh, nothing private, I assure you. He’s very loyal. But that bleak wall of distrust he seemed to live behind has been breached. ‘

As Ophelia focused on the older woman’s shining eyes she could feel her heart sinking inside her. If only Virginia’s rosy image of their marriage were a true one, she thought painfully. Yet Ophelia could never have understood Lysander’s motivation in marrying her without having her first meet his mother or tell her that the older woman had been ill. Every unusual circumstance fitted the scenario Ophelia now saw spread out before her. And the driving force that had kept their marriage afloat against all odds was ludicrously simple and at the same time cruelly cold-blooded: Lysander would have done anything to get his hands on Madrigal Court. Why? Fearing that his mother might die, he had planned to give the house back to her. Whatever the sacrifice, whatever the cost, for Lysander might not be the most demonstrative of sons but he was undeniably a devoted one. She knew what his adoptive mother meant to him. He might even have hoped that the older woman’s fond memories of the ancient house would strengthen her desire to survive her illness.

Ophelia finally knew why he had insisted that they would have to pretend their marriage was real if word of its existence became public. To protect his mother. Naturally he would not have wished to distress a sick woman with the news that he had married a stranger purely in an effort to bring her ancestral home back into the family. How could he possibly have admitted that truth to Virginia?

‘Are you feeling all right, my dear?’

Ophelia stared back at Virginia and fought the woolly confusion of her racing thoughts. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You’ve turned as pale as marble.’

‘If I could just freshen up…’

In the smart cloakroom, Ophelia struggled to get a grip on her seething emotions. But she felt as if the ground were tilting beneath her. Her skin was clammy, her stomach unsettled. Shock held her in a crushing embrace of pain. Evidently her personal attractions had not had the slightest influence on Lysander’s request for a normal marriage. He was still faking it for his mother’s benefit. Virginia was delighted that he was married and Lysander was willing to stay married to please her. And of course he was happier now that his mother was recovering from her illness, she thought wretchedly. Health scares did make people much more aware of how much the sick person meant to them.

But where did that leave Ophelia? Madly in love with a guy only tolerating her as a wife out of consideration for his mother. Could she live with that? Have children with him? Pretend that she hadn’t put two and two together and added up a total that broke her heart? She hadn’t thought that he loved her, but she had come to believe that he found her very attractive and that he cared for her. Only now it seemed that he was simply making the best of a difficult situation.

She crossed her arms and accidentally pressed against her breasts, which had become rather tender. Her tummy still felt slightly queasy. It might just be shock, but she could equally well be suffering the early discomforts of pregnancy. She and Lysander had decided they didn’t want to wait. They had seen no good reason to. In a few days she planned to get a test done, but in her heart of hearts she already knew what the result would be. So, it wasn’t a matter of deciding what she could live with or without, was it? If she had already conceived, their child deserved a stable background with two parents.

Ophelia rejoined Virginia and managed to talk about Madrigal Court and the party and how much she had enjoyed staying on Kastros. She refused to think a single dangerous thought that might threaten her composure. When she had left the older woman and was able to stop putting on a front she slumped in the lift. She was supposed to be dining out with Lysander. But she couldn’t face him. She couldn’t face him feeling as she did: cheated, hurt, sorry for herself and angry all at the same time.

Her mobile phone rang. Lysander’s name flashed on the screen and she switched it off before telling the chauffeur of her changed itinerary. She would go back to Madrigal Court while she came to terms with what she had found out. A few minutes later, the car phone rang. She knew it would be Lysander and she had to steel herself to answer it.

‘I told you Virginia would love you, yineka mou ,’ he drawled with rich satisfaction.

Tears almost blinding her as her eyes flooded without warning, Ophelia cleared her throat. ‘I’m not coming back to the town house tonight.’

‘Why?’ Lysander could hear the wobbly note in her voice and he frowned. ‘Are you upset about something?’

‘I’m going home. I…I just need a little break from you.’

‘Even with good behaviour, you don’t get time off,’ Lysander said very drily.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about this.’ Ophelia replaced the phone.

What was there to talk about? Lysander specialised in being brilliant at most things he focused on and, although it went much against the grain to admit it, at that moment Lysander was a runaway success in the husband stakes. He had made her happy. Oh, why stint on the praise? He had made her ecstatically happy. He had a knack for doing everything right. It was as if he had come up with a blueprint for a successful marriage and he was following it to the letter.

He made regular phone calls and endeavoured to take an interest in what interested her. If that meant struggling not to shiver in the walled garden in a gale-force wind while striving to demonstrate interest in the flora and enquiring into the meaning of their Latin names, never let it be said that Lysander had shrunk from the challenge. He even managed to put in long hours of work, while giving her the impression that if he had any choice at all he would be with her instead. And when she had confessed that she really would like a baby, the contraception had been ditched there and then. Instant wish fulfilment. What Lysander didn’t know about women could be written on a pin-head. He ticked all the boxes in bed-and out of it too. What could she possibly complain about? That he was a caring son? Love wasn’t part of their marriage deal. Tears were streaming down her face.

Some hours later, Lysander sprang out of the helicopter at Madrigal Court and strode towards the front door on long, powerful legs. He had cancelled a board meeting last minute. High on rage at his wife’s lack of self-discipline and consideration, he strode through the house in search of her.

‘Afternoon, Lysander,’ Haddock piped up in the Great Hall.

‘Good afternoon, Haddock,’ Lysander growled, passing by the parrot.

‘Metaxis bounder-good-for-nothing swine! You can’t trust a Metaxis!’

Lysander froze in his tracks and looked back. Haddock strutted along his perch and broke into a rendition of a nursery rhyme, the living embodiment of an innocent bird. It was pure coincidence, nothing more. The stupid creature had no idea what he was saying. He was merely a clever mimic who repeated phrases he had heard. It would be paranoid to suspect that Haddock was putting the boot in behind Ophelia’s back.