CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Flora sat in the shade of the bougainvillea, on the terrace of Apollo’s beautiful Greek villa. It had been built high on a hill above a little fishing village with the sea stretched out below her, a swathe of measureless aching blue.
They’d arrived from Hong Kong a couple of days before, and while the villa itself and the surroundings were heart-wrenchingly beautiful, Flora hadn’t been able to appreciate any of it.
Apollo had withdrawn from her completely. It was as if he was a stunning island that she desperately wanted to visit, yet had no way to cross the vast gulf of the ocean between them.
The only attention he paid her was at night, in his bed, where he turned from ice into flame in a matter of seconds, drawing pleasure from her again and again. As she’d promised, she denied him nothing. She’d thought he might do as he’d vowed back in Hong Kong, leave her desperate and wanting, without any satisfaction, but he didn’t. He’d never been a selfish lover and he still wasn’t, not even in the depths of his fury.
In a couple of days they were supposed to be giving interviews about their great love affair and marriage, and there was to be a photoshoot too, and she was dreading it. Yes, she’d spent a year pretending to be someone she wasn’t as his PA, but the thought of pretending there was nothing wrong between her and her husband made her feel exhausted.
Her husband. Was he even that now? Apart from the sex, he ignored her even more than he had as her boss.
Regardless, she didn’t want to keep pretending, keep lying. That’s why she’d told him she loved him back in Hong Kong. Maybe that had been a mistake—he’d certainly looked anything but happy at the declaration—but she’d wanted to be honest with him. She couldn’t bear the thought of lying to him yet again.
But you’ll have to keep lying.
That was true. The rumours about her background had been swirling since that night in Hong Kong. And so, to keep ahead of any misinformation, Apollo had issued a statement saying that he’d known all about Flora’s family history right from the first, and he’d been keeping quiet about it to protect her. Of course he knew that she was David Hunt’s daughter, but that hadn’t factored into their marriage.
He hadn’t run the statement by her first, he’d simply issued it without her approval, but she didn’t protest. How could she? She’d keep lying to the public, pretending she was deliriously happy, just as he did, but she would not lie directly to him. Never to him. Never again.
There were yachts out in the bay, scudding across the waves, and the air was full of the smell of salt and dry earth, and the spice of some nearby flower.
She wished she could enjoy it, but her heart hurt too much. What she wanted, now that the initial shock of her deception had passed, was to tell him everything. Not for the sake of unburdening herself, but so he had some context at least. Then she wanted him to tell her about his past, about his father, about how he blamed himself for her father’s death, because he did. She knew he did.
Of course, whether he told her anything at all was up to him, she had no right to ask, and she had no right to ask him to listen to her, either. But still. She wanted it.
After that, well. She didn’t know. They’d have to stay married, but did he still want her to move in with him when they got back to London? If so, he hadn’t said.
She didn’t have to stay in Greece. She could leave, go back to London on her own, try and pick up the remains of her life somehow, but… That would leave him having to clean up the mess of their marriage and she couldn’t do that. And as for the remains of her life… What even was that? She’d spent years aiming for this one goal, the complete ruination of Apollo Constantinides. and she’d cut out everything that hadn’t directly related to that goal. And now, as she wasn’t pursuing it any more, what was there left for her? An empty bedsit and an empty, directionless life.
Isn’t that what you deserve?
Probably. She’d made him feel like he was his father, that’s what he’d hurled at her that terrible night in Hong Kong. She’d taken him in, duped him, just as his father had, turning him into something he hated. a liar. So, yes, she did deserve it.
She’d hurt him where he was most vulnerable, and when she should have told him the truth, that afternoon when he’d bared some of his soul to her, she hadn’t.
Now, though, every night in his arms, she bared her soul to him, trying to show him what he meant to her. Without words, because at least her body had never lied, but whether he understood that or not, she didn’t know. He didn’t speak at night and, in the mornings, she always woke up alone.
Her heart ached as she glanced along the stone terrace towards the white villa. The dark wood-framed doors were steadfastly shut, as they had been the few days she’d been here, even though she kept hoping he would push them open and come and join her. But he hadn’t.
Maybe you should be the one to go to him.
The vice around her heart tightened. She could, but he might not want to see her. He might not want to listen to her, and then what would she do? All the people she’d ever loved had left her. First her father, by making a choice she was still furious about all these years later. and then her mother. Cancer hadn’t been a choice, but her mother hadn’t fought it. She’d succumbed quickly, as if she had no heart to keep on living.
No one wants to stay for you.
Her throat closed, more stupid tears were wavering behind her eyes. No, no one had. And the one man who might have, had she not ruined it the way he’d said back in Hong Kong, had cut himself off from her.
So what? Yes, life dealt you a crappy hand, but that’s all you’ll ever have if you don’t go out and fight for him. You had the determination to ruin him, now find that same determination and love him.
A small electric shock bolted through her, stealing her breath.
It was true. that stubborn determination to follow her goal had led her to his point, and nothing had really changed except the goal itself.
She loved him. She wanted him. She wanted this marriage to be real, but if she was going to make that happen, she couldn’t sit here wallowing in self-loathing. She couldn’t keep obsessing over her losses and miring herself in fury.
There was no way to change the past, what had happened, had happened. But she had the power to change her future.
To let go of her anger and choose love instead.
She had to go to him, talk to him. Tell him what she wanted, which was to spend the rest of her life making it up to him, because a life loving him was better than a life alone, with nothing but her rage to comfort her. And if he didn’t want that then…well, she’d have to deal with it.
Flora let out a breath, and with it she finally let go of the anger that had been fuelling her for years, the anger at her father’s choices and the unfairness of life that had taken her mother too, burning like a flame in her heart. Yet the flame didn’t flicker and go out. It began to burn. Brighter, more intensely, as a far more powerful feeling took its place.
It was sweeter and it ached, but it was right. It was true.
It was love.
Flora pushed herself from the chair and walked across the terrace to the doors. Inside was the cool stone of the floor of the living room and its heavy-beamed ceilings, with lots of couches and low armchairs all upholstered in white linen.
Apollo would be in his office, so she went down the hallway, pausing outside the door to take another breath to calm her nerves, before pushing it open.
It was empty though.
She searched the entire house without finding him, only to hear the sound of splashing coming from the pool on the other side of the house.
The pool area was built into the side of a cliff, with an infinity pool overlooking the sea, and a white stone terrace scattered with sun loungers.
Flora came out through the doors, stepping onto the warm white stone.
In the pool in front of her, one powerful olive-skinned arm rose and fell, as Apollo pulled himself through the water.
She stood for a moment, her heart full and aching in the cage of her ribs, watching him. He was graceful in the water, and strong, sleek as a shark.
Eventually, gathering her courage, Flora walked over to the edge of the pool and waited for him to notice her. He did another couple of laps before finally lifting his head from the water, raising his hands to push his wet hair back from his face. His green eyes were cold, no hint of welcome in them.
Flora’s mouth went dry, a combination of nerves and appreciation at how the water sheened his skin, emphasising every hard, cut muscle of his chest and abdomen.
‘Yes?’ he inquired imperiously. ‘What do you want?’
She swallowed. ‘Can I talk to you, please?’
‘I’m swimming.’
‘I know.’ She held his gaze, willing him to soften, even just a little. ‘But this is important.’
He said nothing for a moment. Then he put his hands on the side of the pool and pushed himself out, in a demonstration of effortless strength. The water streamed off his magnificent body, making him look more like Poseidon than Apollo, and the ache in her heart deepened.
How to measure her love for this man? How to encompass his beauty? Words weren’t enough and they never would be. Yet words were all she had.
He strode to one of the sun loungers and picked up the towel lying on it, then began to dry himself off. ‘Make it quick,’ he said curtly. ‘I have things to do.’
Flora steeled herself. She had no idea what he felt for her, if he even felt anything at all after Hong Kong. But she knew what she felt. That was real and she had to trust it. She had to trust herself and her love for him.
She had to cross the gulf between them, because if she didn’t try, she knew she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
‘Apollo,’ she said, as he wrapped the towel around his lean hips and stared at her. ‘What I said back in Hong Kong was true. I’m in love with you.’
If the words made an impression on him, he didn’t show it. ‘And?’
Maybe he doesn’t care.
He sounded so cold that it might very well be true. But then, if he didn’t care, why was he still so angry? A person only got really mad if they cared a great deal, didn’t they?
‘You’re angry still.’ She had to fight to hold his gaze.
His mouth was a hard line. ‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘I am.’
Well, that was the one thing she could count on with him, at least. He was honest. He’d never lied to her.
‘I can apologise again if you like,’ she went on determinedly. ‘I can apologise as many times as necessary.’
‘The first time was already more than enough.’
‘And yet you’re still angry.’
‘Did you really expect my feelings to change just like that? Because you offered me an apology?’ There was a distinct icy glitter in his eyes. ‘I told you that I won’t forgive you. I meant it.’
Was there really no way for her to bridge this space between them? Was there really no way back to him? She had try. She’d come this far.
Flora took a soft, silent breath. ‘My dad loved Mum and me, but he was never good with money. He was always into these get-rich-quick schemes, and Mum loved him so much she was blind to his faults. When he told her what he was doing, that the returns were too good not to invest everything, she supported him. He wanted to better our lives, to take care of us, that’s what he promised. Then he just…betrayed that promise. He betrayed us. He…didn’t care enough about us to stay, to help us through the devastation. He took the easy way out.’ She didn’t bother to hide her bitterness. She was going to be nothing but honest from now on. ‘So, I told you that we had to sell the house, and Mum had to get two jobs. It was all she could do to earn enough to keep our heads above water. I kept thinking how much easier it would be for her if she didn’t have me.’
Apollo didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move either, the expression on his face impassive.
‘She had no time for me,’ Flora went on, clasping her hands together to stop them from shaking. ‘She had no time for anything except work. I was in high school when she got sick. It was cancer, and I think she just gave up, because it was quick in the end. But I was so angry about it. I think… I was really angry at her for refusing the compensation money, and that if we’d had it, she wouldn’t have worked so hard and got sick. But being angry at her was unfair, and I felt it so very deeply, I had to have some outlet and so… I blamed Dad.’ Somehow she’d lost a little of her courage, so she turned to stare across at the ocean, since that was easier than looking at the stony expression on Apollo’s face. ‘I had no one after she died, only this anger at the unfairness of it all. Dad was gone, I couldn’t direct it at him, and I just felt…powerless. Eventually, I found myself reading everything about the collapse of your father’s scheme, about all the people involved. I saw that you’d been the one who’d convinced Dad to invest all his money. And I read that you’d turned your father in and escaped prosecution.’
The breeze lifted her hair on her shoulders and she wanted to turn around, to see if he was still there, still listening, but she didn’t. This was all the olive branch she could offer him and, if he refused to take it, that was his prerogative. ‘Your father had died in jail, so I couldn’t touch him anymore. But I could get to you. I could make you pay for what happened to my family, and so that’s what I set out to do.’ She watched a boat zigzag across the blue water. ‘I told myself it was justice, but it wasn’t. I was just so blinded by anger in the end. So sure of the truth. That you were a liar, a master manipulator. I was sure that you were only paying lip-service to all those good deeds you did, that your bluntness was coldness, ruthlessness. That you didn’t care.’ Had he gone? Was she only talking to thin air?
‘I wanted you, though,’ she forced herself to go on. ‘Even then, even when I told myself I hated you, I wanted you so badly. And then…’ Her voice cracked. ‘That two weeks we spent together was the happiest of my life. I didn’t know who you really were until then, and I didn’t realise that I’d been lying to myself. I wanted to believe that you were a terrible person so badly, because the only alternative was admitting that I was the terrible one. That I wasn’t important enough for my father to make a different choice, and my mother not to fight her illness.’
* * *
Apollo stared at Flora’s still figure. She wore a loose, tiered dress of white linen, held up by ties on each of her shoulders, and her black hair lay glossy and thick down her back.
He wanted to be angry with her. He wanted to turn his back on her and walk away. The past week since Hong Kong had been so difficult, even though he’d tried not to let it be. He thought pouring all of his anger and betrayal into her more-than-willing body every night in bed would help. He’d even told himself that he’d leave her wanting and unsatisfied, in punishment for what she’d done to him, but when the time came, he could never do it.
In bed, undone and abandoned in his arms, was the only time he knew she was honest with him, and the orgasms he wrung from her were always real. There was nothing fake about her response to him, and so he could never stop from proving that to himself.
Her background had come out now, and, as he’d thought, the media had driven itself into a frenzy over how he’d married the daughter of David Hunt, the victim of his father’s scheme, who’d killed himself over it. Apollo had issued a statement as soon as the first rumours had gathered momentum, informing the public that she’d taken an assumed name to escape publicity. There was still some speculation about them, but at least other, more important news was now starting to take precedence.
What he’d hoped was that, as the rumours ceased, his need for her would also cease. That he’d become tired of her, that the endless, aching desperation and obsession with her would fade, that his fury would fade along with it, and yet…
He couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t stop the response of his body to her, and something in his chest wouldn’t stop aching. He wanted be angry with her still, but the fierceness of that fire seemed to have burned itself out, leaving only glowing embers behind.
Anger wouldn’t help him anyway. Anger wouldn’t help the ache or the need or the hunger. It wouldn’t help the sense of betrayal that had cut to the heart of him. Being cold to her had only left him feeling hollow inside, as if in shutting her out, he was shutting out some vital part of himself that he needed for his very existence.
For the first time since that night in Hong Kong, Apollo tried to see her without the red haze of anger, and sort through what she’d told him.
Was it the truth, what she’d said about her parents? About how she’d lost everything? Or was it simply a tissue of lies to gain his sympathy? And all these protestations of love… Were they lies too? Did she mean it? She wanted him, oh, he knew that for certain, because her body didn’t lie, but love?
Well, he knew about love. He knew how it blinded you, how it stopped you from seeing the truth. After all, it had blinded him to the truth about his father, had made him believe all the lies Stavros had fed him.
If she loves you, then she’s blinded too. She won’t see your faults.
That was true, and he had many of them. He was, after all, his father’s son, and it was him who had led her father to his death. She must see that. She’d told him she was angry about the choices her father had made, but if he hadn’t been around, her father would never have made those choices in the first place.
Slowly, Flora turned around, her dark, grey gaze meeting his. She was pale, her hands still clasped tightly in front of her, but she didn’t flinch from him.
‘There,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you everything about me. Those are the reasons I did what I did, but they’re for your information only. They’re not meant as justifications.’ She took another breath. ‘I’m sorry that I made you lie. I’m sorry I took you in. I’m sorry I turned you into your father, but I’m not sorry that I fell in love with you.’ She lifted her chin in that determined way, because after all, she was a very determined woman. ‘You’ll never be him, Apollo. Everything you do, everything you are, is his polar opposite. You’re kind, protective and you care. I was stupid not to have seen that earlier. I let my anger blind me, but… It was love that made me see who you truly are. The most amazing man I’ve ever met.’
He hadn’t expected that, just as he didn’t expect the glow in those lovely grey eyes of hers. The glow of conviction. She believed what she’d said. She wasn’t lying to him now. She believed every word was the truth.
His heart tightened. He hadn’t known what that would mean to him, that she saw him in that way. That she didn’t see the man who’d been complicit in a scheme that had brought so many people to ruin. The man who’d believed his father’s lies, who’d let love blind him to the truth.
‘I know you believe that,’ he said. ‘But you’re wrong, Flora. It’s got nothing to do with anger. I loved my father, and that love blinded me to who he really was. A charlatan and a fraud. And I think it’s blinding you to who I really am too, because I’m none of those things.’
He expected her to turn away, but she didn’t. Instead she took a step forward, then another, slowly crossing the distance between them, until she was standing right in front of him. ‘I loved my father too, and I felt the same way about him when he died. It felt like a betrayal. As if love had blinded me too, but now… I think that’s wrong. Love is making me see clearly for the first time.’ She tilted her head back and looked straight at him, then she reached up and put a cool palm against his cheek. ‘You’re all of those things, Apollo. I know you don’t think you can trust me and I understand why. But you need to trust this, trust what I’m saying right now. You gave me the happiest two weeks of my life, and if that’s all I ever have—’
‘I killed your father, Flora,’ he interrupted hoarsely. ‘You can’t excuse—’
‘No.’ Her voice was firm, and very certain, as her thumb brushed along his cheekbone. ‘You didn’t kill him. You told me in Hong Kong that he made a choice, and you’re right. He did. I thought it was a selfish choice, and it caused me a lot of grief, a lot of heartache, but… I loved him. And maybe he thought that was his only option. I don’t know. But what I do know is that I can’t do anything about it now, neither of us can.’
‘If I hadn’t—’
‘Don’t, please,’ she interrupted once again, though this time her voice was gentle. ‘Don’t do that yourself. Don’t take the blame for what Dad did. You were young, and you wanted to please your father, and you didn’t know what Stavros was doing.’
Her touch on his cheek was soft, tender. He’d missed that touch. He’d missed it so much. ‘I should have known… I should have seen it.’
‘No, you shouldn’t. Like I said, you were young and—’
‘I wasn’t young with you.’
Regret settled on her delicate face like a weight. ‘You weren’t to know that either. You employed me, and you trusted me, and I broke that trust in the worst way possible. You’ll never know how sorry I am for it.’
She was sorry, he could see that now. There was something in her eyes, something that looked like…hope.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he couldn’t help but ask.
‘I thought you’d walk away, I thought you wouldn’t listen to me, but…you stayed.’ She took a breath, then dropped her hand. ‘You’re a better person than I’ll ever be.’
A better person… He wasn’t, he knew that, but she’d said all of that was in the past and there was nothing they could do about it now.
His father was dead and so was hers.
And she loved him…she loved him…
Was it true what she said about anger and love? Was it anger that blinded you? Was it love that made you see clearly?
Deep in his heart, Apollo felt something shift, begin to uncurl, to stretch out. To bloom.
He had lived in his own anger for a long time, had made it his familiar. It dogged him everywhere, at his heels wherever he went. It had made him make an effigy of his name and reputation, yet one made of glass that could shatter at the slightest breath. It was rigid and unbending. Unforgiving…
Flora had left that anger behind. It was obvious from the open and honest way she looked at him, letting him see everything in a way she’d never done before. Letting him see her vulnerability, her soul.
Was it that easy? And did he want to do the same? Could he lay his own anger at his father and himself aside? Was it worth it? And if he did, what would be there instead?
Apollo lifted a hand before he could stop himself, pulling an end of one of the ties holding her dress up, and then the other. The soft white cotton fell slowly from her body and she made no effort to stop it, simply looked up at him, the dark charcoal of her gaze clear and open.
She was naked beneath the cotton, her body still every bit as lovely as it had been the first time he’d seen it, her skin honeyed and golden in the sun.
‘Apollo,’ she murmured, lifting her arms to him, and he needed no more invitation than that. He got rid of his own towel and then, because after all there was still a piece of him that wanted to punish her a little bit more, he picked her up and took them both into the cool water of the pool.
She gasped and when he pulled her into his arms, pressing her back against the pool wall, she twined her legs around his waist as if she’d been doing it all her life.
‘Apollo,’ she repeated breathlessly as he looked into her eyes, watching the familiar flame of desire leap high.
She was wet and slippery and he was too, and he thought he could probably look into her eyes for ever, watching them darken in response to her desire, and his.
She’d left behind her anger. Admitted her pain. Had come to him and apologised for what she’d done, and he believed her. Her regret was real.
But he had a choice to make. He could either let his anger and hurt win, shut her out for ever, believe her to be a con woman, the way his father had been a conman. Or…he could let the past go. Let his father go, let his anger go.
You know what’s there, underneath all of that. You know.
Perhaps he did know. And perhaps it had been there for longer than he’d cared to admit. This obsession with her, this need for her… It wasn’t only physical. It had never been only physical. It was far more than that, it went deeper…
‘I have never believed in love, matia mou ,’ he murmured, brushing kisses over her forehead and nose, the petal softness of her cheek, and then, finally, her mouth. ‘I always thought it was a lie. It made you blind. Told you things that weren’t true.’
‘I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way,’ she said huskily. ‘I just want you.’
Apollo kissed her for a long time, then he lifted his mouth, positioned himself and thrust inside her, easily, naturally. She moaned softly, shuddering against the pool wall.
‘Tell me,’ he whispered against her mouth. ‘Tell me everything about you.’
He didn’t make it easy for her, with the insistent press of his hips against her, but she tried, he’d give her that. Telling him about her lonely childhood and how she’d always longed for siblings. How after her father had died, she’d pass the time when her mother was out by reading anything she could get her hands on. She didn’t flinch about her quest for revenge, and answered every question he asked without protest.
The gentle thrusting he was doing as she submitted to his questioning might have had something to do with that, but there was no denying her honesty.
She held back nothing.
And somewhere, in the pleasure that gripped them both, Apollo let go of his past, let go of his guilt and, most important of all, his anger, because he knew what lay under all of those things, and it was wonderful.
It turned out that Flora was right. It was surprisingly easy to let go of all those things, and once he had, he could see truly for the first time in his life.
This was what he wanted. Them, together. Flora in his arms. Flora as his wife. Flora as his future. It had never been his reputation or his good name. It had never been the accolades and nominations, all the awards and good press.
It began and ended with her.
And once he’d let love fill his heart, a powerful tide sweeping all his preconceptions and certainties aside, he could see the new landscape that it made. And it was beautiful. A new certainty. One to build a life on.
‘Your turn,’ she said, her voice breathless and gasping. ‘Tell me everything about you.’
But by then it was becoming impossible to think, so he only took her mouth as the climax gripped her, muffling her scream of release. Then he was following her, and this time he pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her eyes as the pleasure detonated inside him.
‘Oh, matia mou ,’ he murmured roughly, when he could speak. ‘I was wrong about love. You’re right, it doesn’t blind. It doesn’t lie. It helps me see the truth.’
Her breathing was starting to slow, but her grip on him didn’t loosen. ‘What truth?’
He looked into her eyes. ‘That I love you.’
She stilled, shock rippling over her lovely face. ‘What?’
‘I can either stay angry at you for ever, or I can let it go.’ He leaned forward and kissed her softly. ‘So I’m choosing to let it go. I’m choosing to trust you. I’m choosing to love you, Flora Constantinides.’
He didn’t need anything else, in that moment, because in that moment he knew.
All he’d ever needed was her.