Chapter Three
Konstantinos knew she’d grown up in a house of lies. It was part of her rules. Their agreement. No one else. Only them. Loyalty.
It had been so for the entirety of their marriage.
Before and after, she’d run away.
Five long years of just her.
‘You know what, exactly, glikia mou?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t asked me anything.’
He’d protected her, kept the truth from her, because it was a truth she couldn’t handle.
The death of his father. He hadn’t wanted to expose her to any more death.
It had surrounded her for weeks. They’d only buried Isaak days before he’d found out his father was dying.
And he’d done everything in his power to keep more death from her life.
Liar. You closed the door as she wept.
His gut gripped in a tight fist.
He couldn’t grieve with her.
He’d had to keep functioning.
You didn’t even comfort her.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t listen to her cry and not…feel. And the threat of that. He could not risk it. Feelings fixed nothing.
He’d hired nurses while she was pregnant on bedrest so she could stay at home and not remain in the private hospital on the mainland.
He’d avoided her, because he was afraid those feelings of hers—the worry—the nesting—the feelings she so obviously felt for the child in her womb would somehow make their way inside him.
Infect him. Make him react. Make him…feel.
He couldn’t allow that.
He’d needed to keep his head the way he hadn’t been able to do with his mother. His feelings had made him panic. He’d let his mother down because he’d let feelings seep in. Take over when he should have remained in control.
He’d vowed he would stay in control thereafter. He’d sworn to protect Poppy and their son. But she’d lost—
His breath caught. She hadn’t lost Isaak. He had died. And a part of her… Something had died in her too. He’d hired doctors, mental-health professionals to bring back the Poppy she had been.
You turned your back on her.
His chest heaved.
He’d felt as helpless in the face of her grief and depression as he had with her mother’s. He’d known. But he’d done everything he could. Given her everything she’d needed. Professional help. His mother hadn’t had it. Had never been offered it. She had died.
He’d kept Poppy alive.
And her distrust…
It was betrayal, and it cut him bone-deep.
‘You abandoned our marriage because of a photograph? You condemned me without a hearing.’
‘Photos don’t lie.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘That’s you,’ she said. ‘That’s your mouth on hers.
’ She jabbed her finger at the screen, bringing the image back to its full, sharpest, brightest intensity.
‘She was my replacement in every way, wasn’t she?
Your PA when I became your wife…’ She swallowed, as if the words crawling up her throat physically harmed her.
‘She’d taken over my job. She was there every day in your office, tempting you with everything I was withholding. ’ Betrayal laced every word. ‘Sex.’
‘We had sex,’ he reminded her.
‘Once,’ she countered thickly. ‘In months.’
He gritted his teeth. Neither of them had wanted a conventional marriage, because of their pasts.
They had both wanted one person they could rely on who knew the rules.
No emotional complications, but security, loyalty.
And they’d both known what would hold their marriage together. Sex. And it had been so.
Until the accident.
The birth control had failed. He’d failed. But their baby had been made. And so it was done. Her pregnancy at high risk of placental abruption. Sex was off the table, but he’d never strayed.
He’d watched her body grow.
He’d got his head around the fact he was going to be a father. He would have an heir. The Ariti line would continue without the influence of his father’s cruelty or his mother’s illness. He was going to do it differently. And then…
His heart squeezed.
Isaak was no more.
He hadn’t needed sex with another woman. He had needed his wife. He’d needed normality. Life to continue as it had been before, but Poppy had just…stopped. Stopped living.
‘You wanted proof.’ She shook the phone, raised it a little higher. ‘And here it is. You lie to everyone,’ she accused. ‘You pretend to be honest—honourable. And it’s all a pretence. A lie.’
Her words ground into his temples.
His whole life he’d made himself be honourable. Never deceitful, like his father. He kept his word. Always. And she’d abandoned him anyway. Just like his mother. She’d left him behind… A man trained to be…perfect.
He inched closer to her. Took the phone from her clenched fingertips. He turned the screen to her. ‘Do you know where this photograph was taken?’
‘Why would it matter where you took another woman to bed?’
Why did it matter that she knew? That he told her? He knew the answers, didn’t he?
Tonight, he’d tried to remove the last shred of softness inside him.
He had to become his father to prevent himself from feeling…pain. But the man he’d tried to kill tonight in Léon’s dining room, his soul still lingered inside him, seeking validation for the life he’d tried to end. That he was still needed. Was he?
His jaw firmed. The man he’d nurtured into adulthood after his mother’s death hung on by his fingernails, clawing at his flesh from the inside out, demanding he be calm—that he explain. And so he did. Roughly.
‘Hospital grounds are not my preference for foreplay.’
‘Why were you at a hospital with her?’
‘I was working.’ He shrugged. ‘The world did not stop turning because I was waiting for him to die.’
Her whole face frowned. ‘Who was dying?’
‘This photograph was taken moments after my father was pronounced dead.’
She visibly shook herself. ‘Your dad’s dead?’
‘Yes, as you would have known if you’d waited to ask me why I was sitting on the terrace of a private hospital. But you didn’t ask, did you, Poppy? You didn’t wait for me to tell you she kissed me and I pushed her away.’
He turned off the screen and put it back into his pocket.
‘You were simply gone.’
Poppy reeled.
He’d never lied to her before. Even in the beginning, he’d told her the truth.
It was the core of their connection. He was painfully honest. He hadn’t sugar-coated his surprise at the pregnancy.
He’d told her the truth. He’d never wanted a baby.
Still didn’t. But it was done. And he’d do his duty to her and the child.
Provide and protect.
He’d never made false promises.
It pummelled something in her chest. Her actions. She’d been so sure…
After the funeral, she’d been such a mess. Time had no meaning. Most of the time she hadn’t known what day it was. What season. But she’d known, with the clearest clarity, Konstantinos wasn’t there.
She was sick, and he was gone.
His absence grew more acute in her consciousness when the medication had eased the fog surrounding her every thought. It had become her obsession to find out exactly what he was doing when he didn’t come home. And why, when he did, he’d headed straight for the shower…
She’d needed help to do it.
She’d hired the private investigator.
A week later, the photos had been all she’d needed.
She hadn’t known it was a private hospital.
She’d never followed up with the PI.
It would have been easy to do, but she’d called Serena.
She’d abandoned her phone—abandoned her life—because the photos had told her a story. Confirmed her every suspicion he was doing exactly what her father had done to her mum.
But Konstantinos hadn’t been unfaithful.
He’d had the opportunity and pushed the other woman away.
It was whiplash.
Poppy believed him.
But if he’d told her the truth…
‘Your dad,’ she said huskily. ‘Don’t you think I had a right to know?’
‘He wasn’t your father.’
‘No, he was yours,’ she countered, her heart thumping. ‘And I was your wife.’
‘You are my wife.’
His declaration shook her on her feet. He’d dislodged her every assumption. But her instincts hadn’t lied to her, had they?
He had.
He’d been hiding something from her. Something big. And if he could lie by omission? If he could hide the fact he was waiting for his father to die from his wife—from her—what else was he hiding? What other secrets had he kept from her?
She didn’t want to be the last to know or, worse, die in ignorance, like her mum.
Lying, it was a trigger for her. So many lies had raised her into the woman she was. Guarded. But he’d got beneath her defences. He’d made her believe she could have him if nothing else. Only him. Not a family. Not children.
Never had she wanted to risk a child feeling the way she had growing up. As if her position in a family—her family—was conditional.
She knew now, because of Isaak, she’d never let that happen to a child of hers, but…
Her stomach ached.
It would never not ache.
There would never be another baby. But there would always be some type of pain. That was how the world worked. It dished out hope and took it away in the blink of an eye. And when she was hurting again—when the world decided to take another swipe, brought her down to her knees again…
Where would he be?
She’d barely seen him after they’d lost their baby. She’d thought he was avoiding her. She’d thought he was having an affair. But he’d chosen to be beside a man he hated while she was…hurting.
Yes, he’d hired professionals. But he’d promised she could rely on him. Trust him. But she couldn’t. Not when it really mattered. Not when she needed him.
‘I still want a divorce,’ she said.
His jaw sharpened to cut steel. ‘You still want a divorce?’
‘Yes.’ Her heart thrummed to a beat that pulsed too loud. Too fast. It was frantic. And it hurt. Behind her breastbone. He’d abandoned her to strangers to ease his conscience. He hadn’t cared about his father. He hadn’t cared about his son. He had not cared about her.
He cared for no one but himself.
For that, she couldn’t forgive him.
‘I do,’ she breathed.
‘No.’
‘No?’