Chapter Seven
IT WAS THE height of pathetic behaviour to wander about like a hapless, jilted lover on his own wedding night.
It was even more tragic to lie in bed on a night he should’ve treated like every other night, considering he’d only married for the sake of his son, and wish for his new wife’s warm, delectable body next to his.
He’d left her in that bed in Buenos Aires because he’d tried to convince himself he was done with her. And he’d almost been convinced of that.
Until all the talk of thunderclouds, sunshine and rainbows.
To his disarming surprise, he’d found himself dwelling on that conversation for the rest of the wedding reception, wondering if there wasn’t some merit to Vayle’s argument.
Wondering if this woman—who, against all odds, had chosen to keep his child and had striven to let him know he was to become a father because it was the right thing to do—wasn’t the enemy after all.
Impatient with himself—and, yes, finding it hard to accept he might have read her wrong—Nelios rose and tugged on his dressing gown.
He told himself he didn’t hope she was losing sleep too; that maybe, if she happened to be awake, there would be a repeat of when she’d charged after him that night in Buenos Aires, slammed those small but firm hands on his chest and demanded he hear her out.
And, no, he didn’t hold his breath at all when he pulled open his door… To an empty corridor.
Ne, he was truly pathetic.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he picked a destination and stalked downstairs towards the ballroom of the manor, his footsteps echoing off the polished parquet floor like mocking taunts.
Just hours ago, the room had been brimming with champagne, laughter and the glittering presence of his guests.
Now it echoed with silence and the weight of his own frustration.
It was his wedding night, damn it. He should be upstairs with Vayle, tracing the delicate lace of her dress as he peeled it away, kissing down the curve of her neck and watching the firelight flicker over skin he longed to reacquaint himself with.
Instead, he’d been banished by his own stupid agreement to what now felt like the dumbest clause ever written into a pre-nup.
No sex…for years.
At the time, it had felt like a minor detail—an odd little addendum she’d requested with that careful tone of someone testing boundaries. He’d said yes with barely a pause, more focused on sealing the deal than questioning her motives. He hadn’t expected it to feel so vexing. So immediate.
Now, hindsight clawed at him like regret soaked in acid.
What had he been thinking—that restraint would impress her?
Win her over faster so she’d sign the document?
He wanted his wife. Perhaps not desperately—he wasn’t an untried schoolboy, after all—but the need was there, residing beneath his not-so-calm surface.
It was aching, maddening. And she wasn’t miles away. She was right there.
He glanced towards the sweeping staircase, half-tempted to storm up there and tear up the clause himself. But what would that prove—that he couldn’t honour a promise? That he was just another man ruled by his loins? No.
He clenched his jaw and turned back towards the bar, grabbing a bottle and pouring himself two fingers of scotch with more force than necessary. The amber liquid sloshed in the glass, mocking him.
Years…
Nelios took a slow sip, accepting that, for once in his life, he’d perhaps accepted a challenge he might not win.
He slept like crap, as predicted, dreaming of a house and living room he hadn’t seen in over two decades; of a place he’d believed was his sanctuary but had turned out to be false; of three adults deciding his fate, two of whom should never even have considered the abandonment they’d planned.
They’d sacrificed him for material things.
Nelios was aware there was a trough of questions still to be answered, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t lain awake endless nights, parsing every reason and accepting there was no rationale that could explain such a decision. Besides greed…
But he’d promised to hear Agnes out, he recalled as he abandoned his bed at dawn in favour of the study that came with the manor, feeling a lot more like himself as he faced a few hours of satisfying work.
When the sound of husky laughter reached him an hour after sunrise, he rose from his desk and padded to the corner of the Edwardian bay windows that overlooked the terrace.
Where Vayle was about to have her breakfast with a content-looking Angelos reclining in his rocking cot.
Tossing his tablet onto the desk, he walked out of the study.
Her head snapped his way and he braced himself for the unique fizz of tangling with Vayle…
Petralis. When no skirmish came his way, he told himself he wasn’t disappointed.
That cordial relations worked for him. Going over to Angelos, he squatted next to the rocking cot, his insides turning over when soft brown eyes met his. ‘Kaliméra, Angelos.’
His son blinked, then burbled at him.
He turned to his wife. ‘Kaliméra.’
‘Good morning,’ she murmured.
‘Did you sleep well?’
A curious look whispered over her face before she shrugged. ‘Not really. Strange beds and all that.’
He was a bastard to hope she’d experienced a sliver of his frustration as he gestured at the breakfast table. ‘May I join you?’
She shrugged again. ‘It’s your manor for the duration. I can hardly stop you, so go ahead.’
Curbing a curious smile at the cute impertinence, he pulled out a chair and sat down.
A waiter approached and Nelios discovered he was ravenous.
He made his request then sat back, seeing absolutely nothing wrong with letting his eyes wander over his new wife.
So what if the label sent a pulse of pure primitive delight through him?
In the light of day, his regret about that no-sex clause had receded.
He had his son exactly where he wanted him, with a cast-iron assurance that the trauma and torments of the parents would never be visited upon the son.
A reality for which he would raze whole worlds to the ground.
So a small but lavish wedding, a ring on his finger and a woman who now bore his name was a fair price to pay.
Are you sure? You’re so cocky now, in the light of day. But night will come again, all too soon.
He swatted the question away and fixed his eyes on her, cataloguing her from head to toe so he wouldn’t have to dwell on the mocking voice.
The weak summer sun graced her with shafts of light, but as to whether her skin glowed because of it, or it was a leftover from her pregnancy, he didn’t wonder about for long.
Because, with each second his gaze lingered on her, the higher he felt the need to sit forward and trail his fingers over her cheek, jaw and over the pulse beating steadily at her throat.
He’d tasted her right there. Had made her breath hitch and her lips part with hunger that he’d greedily and decadently taken delight in assuaging.
‘You?’
He shifted his gaze to her face. ‘Hmm?’
‘I asked how you slept.’
He saw no reason to prevaricate, so he didn’t. ‘Shoddily. For various reasons.’
He waited, for what he wasn’t sure. And, when faint colour stained her cheeks and she looked away, he got that urge to smile. He, who never smiled unless it was at an opponent’s expense.
‘Such as?’
His humour disappeared. Since she was the main reason his sleep had been disturbed, he picked the most pressing reason and offered it to her. ‘The fact that it was our wedding night doesn’t count?’
Her eyes widened a touch and searched his. ‘We agreed on celibacy.’
‘Ne, but perhaps the question is, why the need to stipulate it in the first place?’
‘I’m not rehashing a done deal with you, Nelios,’ she said a little hurriedly.
His pulse jumped at his name falling from her lips. ‘No? I thought that was right in your wheelhouse.’
‘And didn’t you insist I should be happy with what I got?’
Hoist by his own petard.
‘Have you spoken to Agnes yet?’ she blurted.
The douse of ice on his emotions irritated him.
‘If you must know, we encountered one another this morning,’ he said, recalling the very brief interaction with his mother in the hallway when he’d first come downstairs.
He’d forgotten she was an early riser too.
Or that perhaps, like him, she’d had a sleepless night, only for different reasons.
‘And?’
Nelios wasn’t certain which disturbed him more—that he’d agreed to this to please Vayle, or that he hadn’t walked away from his mother with as much emotional detachment as he would’ve wished.
Especially when she’d insisted there were supposedly important details she needed to give him.
‘I agreed to talk. I didn’t agree to giving you a play-by-play. ’
Her face fell just before she sent him a disappointed glare.
And he absolutely did not squirm in his seat…
It was the brisk July air, which should’ve been wonderfully temperate, as it was in Greece, but instead bordered on cold.
It reminded him why he disliked the intemperate English weather, and he seized on the other subject on his mind.
‘There’s no rush, of course, but it would be good for you to get a feel of the Nelios Group before you make a decision about which hotel you wish to work in. I thought we’d start in Greece; introduce Angelos to his other homeland. Then wherever in the world you wish to go next.’
Her glare lessened. ‘Really?’
Was it the sun or were her eyes always this luminous, this incredibly breathtaking? ‘Ne,’ he confirmed a little gruffly.
She grew contemplative far too quickly. ‘I don’t want to leave Agnes for endless days.’
He ignored the chafing in his chest. ‘Then we’ll remain in Europe for the time being,’ he assured her. ‘Start the tour in southern Italy, then go to Apeiron.’
‘I’ve never heard of that.’