Natalie Anderson - The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby / The Innocent's Emergency Wedding

‘It must have been hard for her. Leaving you, I mean.’

Leonidas’s smile showed disagreement, but his response was a banal, ‘Perhaps.’

‘Do you see her much now?’

‘Once a year, for an obligatory birthday visit.’

‘Yours, or hers?’

‘Hers.’ He sipped his wine again, then turned to face Hannah. ‘And you, Hannah?’

‘What about me?’

His eyes swept over her face and then zeroed in on her lips, staying there for so long that they parted on a rushed breath and began to tingle; she was remembering his kiss and aching for it anew.

‘What about your own parents?’

It was like being dragged into a well that was completely dark. She felt the blackness surround her and her expression closed off, her skin paling. She jerked her head, turning away from him and looking towards the horizon. The sun was gone but the sky remained tinged with colour.

Her breathing felt forced and unnatural and she struggled to find words.

‘Hannah?’

She nodded. He had every right to ask—this street went both ways. She wanted to know about him, she had a strange, consuming curiosity to understand him. It made sense he would expect the same courtesy.

‘My parents are dead.’ How was it possible that those words still stung? It had been a long time; the reality of being orphaned was one she’d lived with for many years.

‘I’m sorry.’ She felt his proximity rather than saw him move closer. His body was behind hers, warm and strong, and instantly reassuring.

‘It was years ago. I was only a child.’

He didn’t say anything, but he was right there. If she spun around, they’d be touching.

‘My mum used to love that movie— The Secret Princess . I watched it a little while after she’d died, and I wanted to go to Chrysá Vráchia ever since.’

He made a noise of comprehension and now she did turn, and, just as she’d expected, it brought their bodies together, his so strong and broad that she felt as if she could weather almost any storm if he was there.

‘And then?’ he prompted, shifting a little, so his legs were wider than her body, and he pressed his hands to the balcony balustrading behind her, so she was effectively trapped by him.

‘Then?’ Her voice was husky.

‘You came to the island for New Year’s Eve, to see the fireworks. What were you going to do then?’

‘I hadn’t really thought about it. But I guess in the back of my mind I always thought I’d end up in England. My mum was English so I have a passport and I’ve wanted to travel through Europe for ever.’ Her expression was wistful. ‘My honeymoon was going to be to Paris. I used to have a picture of the Eiffel Tower on my bedside table, and when you tapped a button on it the lights twinkled.’ She shook her head wistfully. ‘My parents gave it to me after a ballet recital and I’ve never been able to part with it.’

‘You did ballet?’

‘Only as a child,’ she said, thinking of how her aunt had donated all Hannah’s tutus and leotards to a community charity shop when Hannah had moved in. She pushed the memory aside, focussing on the present, on the circumstances that had brought her here. ‘After I found Angus and Michelle in bed together, I just wanted to run away.’

‘Naturally.’

‘It seemed as good a time as any to pack up and see the world.’ Her smile was wry. ‘I left before I could change my mind.’

Leonidas nodded thoughtfully. ‘Have you spoken to him since you left?’

‘No. There’s nothing more to say there.’

‘You were friends before you became engaged?’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t miss his friendship?’

Hannah thought of Michelle and Angus and her life in Australia and dropped her gaze. ‘I miss a lot of things. It’s hard, having the rug pulled out from under you.’ She lifted her eyes to his, sympathy softening her features as she remembered his own harrowing past. ‘As you would know.’

A warning light glinted in his eyes. Don’t go there.

‘Who was the other woman?’ His voice was gruff.

Hannah’s heart constricted with now familiar pain. ‘That was the really hard part.’

‘Harder than your fiancé cheating on you?’

‘Yeah.’ She angled her face, so Leonidas had a perfect view of her profile, delicate and ethereal.

‘Who was she?’ he repeated, and Hannah sucked in a soft breath.

‘My cousin, Michelle. More like a sister, really. After Mum and Dad died, I went to live with my aunt and uncle, and Michelle.’

He let out a soft whistle. ‘Christós.’

‘Yeah.’ Her laugh was a low rumble. ‘You could say that, and I did—worse, in fact. I was devastated.’

Admitting that felt good. Saying the word aloud, Hannah recognised that she hadn’t spoken to another soul about the affair.

‘I lost everything that afternoon.’

‘What did your aunt and uncle say?’

Hannah lifted her gaze to his, and a ridiculous sense of shame made it difficult to maintain eye contact. Hannah shook her head, that awful afternoon burned into her brain like a cattle brand. ‘Do you mind if we don’t go down this particular memory lane?’

She flicked her gaze back to his face, catching surprise crossing his features. But it was banked down within a moment, and he stepped back, almost as though he hadn’t realised how close they were, how he was touching her.

‘Of course.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Have a seat.’ He gestured towards the table. ‘There is much we have to discuss.’

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