Chapter Four #2
‘Relationships are complicated,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘I think my mother was very hurt by Dad’s leaving, and that she made some terrible decisions.
’ She blinked away from him, wishing she could so easily blot out the painful memories of that time in her life.
‘She used me to hurt him, because she loved him so much,’ she said quietly, surprised that the words almost seemed to rush out of her, as though desperate to be shared.
A pain she hated to contemplate, and a deeply held insecurity that if she let herself love she might turn into her mother gripped her heart, making it hard to speak for a moment.
‘Six months went by, in which she refused to let me see him.’
‘How is that possible?’
Rosie hesitated, even now feeling a loyalty to her mother, despite everything that had happened.
‘She said he was abusive.’
Aristotle was so silent, she turned to look at him, to see if he’d heard. It was clear from the tightening in his jaw that he had, but she couldn’t fathom what he was thinking.
‘I presume he wasn’t?’ His voice was held perfectly level.
‘Never,’ she disputed. ‘You might not like how quickly they got married after your dad passed away, but you know my father. You must know he’s one of the kindest, most gentle souls that’s ever lived.’
Aristotle’s eyes narrowed slightly.
‘Not to mention, he’s got top level police clearance. He had to, for the positions he’s held.’
Aristotle tilted his head once.
‘She almost jeopardized everything for him—his work, his relationship with me.’ She shook her head with a hint of anger.
She’d long ago come to terms with the desperation her mother had felt, that had driven her to such a low act.
‘She wasn’t in a good place,’ Rosie explained. ‘It was basically a huge disaster.’
‘And yet she retained custody of you.’
She nodded. ‘Even after everything that had happened, Dad thought it was for the best, for both of us. That Mum needed me.’
‘And what would have been best for you?’
She blinked quickly. How had she revealed so much to him? She’d never spoken so freely about this to anyone, even her father. These were wounds she kept buried deep, deep inside.
‘My mother did need me,’ she admitted. ‘At first, anyway. After a couple of years, she met someone else, got married, had other children. I was sent to boarding school.’
‘Why not to live with your father?’
She dropped her gaze. ‘She still didn’t want him to have me.’
He leaned forward in his chair on a soft curse, and his frame was large enough that with that one simple act he brought himself close enough to make it hard for her to breathe. They weren’t touching, and yet it felt almost as though he was invading every single one of her senses.
‘Hearing you talk about your childhood makes me think you understand this,’ he said, voice deep and raw. ‘We can give our child so much more than you had.’
‘But what if we can’t?’ she whispered. ‘What if we fight, like they fought?’
His eyes were locked to hers in a way she found it impossible to look away from. ‘We won’t.’
And he spoke with such confidence that she found it impossible to doubt him.
‘We will also have an iron-clad prenuptial agreement that will include custodial arrangements, should it ever reach the point we cannot make this marriage a success.’
She frowned. ‘Then why can’t we just fast forward to that?’
‘Because I would prefer to raise the baby together.’
She shook her head. ‘That makes no sense.’
‘We try the marriage,’ he said, voice firm. ‘If it really doesn’t work, we have options, but I am not prepared to give up before we’ve started.’
Strangely, she’d gone from viewing this marriage with panic, to pragmatism.
He was right, on so many levels. It made a very weird sort of sense, to marry him for the sake of their baby, and the life they could give it.
Her child would never know the pain of feeling torn between warring parents.
She didn’t like Aristotle—at all—but that didn’t mean they couldn’t form a truce, of sorts, in the interest of the baby.
‘So, the wedding,’ he said, staying where he was, and returning the conversation to the original topic. ‘Would you like to invite many friends? Shall we book a large venue? I can have my jet bring anyone over from the UK that you’d like included.’
‘Friends,’ she repeated, stricken. Not because thoughts of her own friends and colleagues left her cold, but because thoughts of his did. If she had her friends at the wedding, wouldn’t he have his?
‘Are you…inviting many people?’
His expression shifted slightly. ‘I don’t see the point,’ he said after a beat, shrugging one shoulder. ‘Our wedding matters most to us, and our families. But if you’d like to turn it into a bigger affair, I won’t stand in your way.’
‘No,’ she blurted out quickly. She couldn’t bear the thought of coming face to face with his friends again. Not after the conversation she’d overheard four and a half years earlier.
‘At least she’s got nice breasts… And you’re a hundred thou richer, not that you need it…’
So degrading. So awfully judgemental and rude. Even now, her cheeks heated with shame and hurt, anger and impotence.
She wished she’d stayed and confronted them all. Mostly, she wished she’d confronted Aristotle—told him she’d heard, that she knew he’d slept with her on a dare. Such a cruel, callous thing to have done.
She wished she’d stayed and listened to the rest, instead of turning on her heel and running away, biting back a sob until she was sure no one would hear.
Yet even now, embarrassment and mortification held her tongue still, so she didn’t say any of the things she’d thought over the years.
The fitting insults she’d wished she’d hurled at his feet.
It was like being doused in ice water. She felt it trickle through her veins, filling her with dread.
How could she be marrying this man? Having his baby?
‘Fine. Small and intimate. Would the chapel at my mother’s house suit?’
The chapel was one of the oldest buildings on the Machairas land.
Old stone that had been rendered a creamy white, with a red terracotta roof and arched windows down either side, it was at a high point of the sprawling estate, with sweeping views out over the city.
She could still vividly remember the first time she’d discovered it, as a teenager.
She’d pushed open the heavy timber door, not really expecting it to give, and sucked in a deep breath when it had.
Like magic, she’d thought at the time. The building had smelled musty, but that hadn’t mattered.
She’d crept over the wide timber floorboards, running her hands across the pews as she travelled up the aisle.
From the windows at the front, a huge bougainvillea could be seen, with splashes of almost neon pink a dramatic contrast to the cerulean blue of the sky.
She’d stood there and held her breath, wondering if there was any place more perfect on earth.
She still couldn’t say she’d found one.
‘That will be fine,’ she responded, ignoring the twisting in her heart.
She’d come to understand the history of the chapel, on successive visits to Greece.
Long before Melina was her stepmother, she’d taken Rosie under her wing, perhaps sensing, even then, a fellow lover of times long gone.
She’d talked about each of the buildings on the estate, their provenance, their significance.
Rosie knew, therefore, that for generations the Machairas family’s lives had been celebrated in this chapel—funerals, baptisms, and yes, weddings.
Though her father and stepmother had married instead from a large room in the house, and Rosie had understood that. The death of Kyrios Machairas had been so recent. As Aristotle had said, less than a year before their wedding, his funeral had been held in the chapel.
‘Now, let’s talk about how we tell them.’ Aristotle’s tone was businesslike once more, drawing her attention back to the present.
‘Tell who what?’
‘Your father and my mother.’
Her stomach dropped to the very bottom of the earth. She stared at him, lips parting.
Of course they had to be told, but Rosie hadn’t imagined the actual act of breaking this news.
She twisted her fingers, imagining her dad’s kindly face when he learned this.
He’d probably be relieved to discover that her determination to never marry and have children had been set aside.
Not to mention the fact it prevented her from travelling to some of the dangerous dig sites she tended to opt for.
‘Given the timeline,’ he said, nodding towards her stomach, ‘sooner makes sense.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She blew a breath from between her lips, steadying herself for what was to come. ‘You think it’s better if we pretend this is legitimate?’