CHAPTER SEVEN
THREEEMOTIONSWENT through Emmie at the phone call, in a chain reaction.
The first was anger. She hated the person calling, whoever it might be. And she was none too pleased at her husband for answering his phone, either.
Then anger was washed away by relief as she realized what she’d nearly let happen: a total collapse of her willpower. Theo had been caressing her hair, both of them still wet from splashing in the surf, his dark eyes smiling down at her, beneath the bluffs and shade of the olive tree. She’d kissed him almost without thinking.
If not for the interruption of the phone call, they might have made love right then and there on the beach, beneath the eyes of any random shepherd passing by on the bluffs above. Really, she should be grateful to the unknown caller for preventing that disaster.
But as her husband paced the beach with his phone, speaking low in Greek, Emmie didn’t feel exactly grateful. Her gaze slid over the tanned muscles of his bare back, the hard curve of his backside in the swim trunks, down his powerful thighs and calves, laced with dark hair as she watched him walk back and forth with his bare feet on the white sand.
Her husband’s tone was increasingly tense, as if he were trying to convince the caller of something. Then she heard him clearly say a name amid all his impenetrable Greek. A woman’s name. Sofia.
And Emmie felt a brand-new emotion. The strongest of all.
Fear.
Theo hadn’t walked away with his phone to be polite, she realized; he didn’t want her to know what he was talking about.
Or to whom.
“Who’s Sofia?” she’d blurted out as he’d turned to face her. And his expression turned dark.
“You were listening? To my private phone call?”
“I—I didn’t mean to,” she stammered. Her cheeks went hot. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“Couldn’t help but intrude? Even though I walked away from you and spoke in a language I know you don’t understand? You still make these accusations!”
“Accusations?” she gasped. What accusations?
“It’s late.” Scowling, he reached for his shirt, then the bag. “I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
She felt somehow embarrassed, ashamed, as if she’d been rude and nosy, as if she were the one to blame for the sudden chill between them. She tried to keep up with her husband’s long stride, carrying the sagging blanket in her arms as they hurried up the long, winding road back to the village. But how was it her fault? He was clearly keeping secrets from her—and not very well. With so many dark hints, it was almost as if he were goading her to ask questions!
Whatever the reason, Emmie didn’t like to be at odds. As they reached the tiny hotel room, she turned to him and said quietly, “Maybe we should talk.”
“No time.” Yanking off his beach clothes, he didn’t even bother to hide his naked body from her as he pulled on a sleek long-sleeved black shirt and tailored black trousers. “I’m already running late. I’ll be back in a few hours. Pack your things. I’ll escort you to the yacht when I return.”
“Okay,” she said falteringly. “Have a good—”
But he’d already left, the door slamming closed behind him.
Emmie showered alone in the tiny en suite. When she came out into the bedroom, wrapped in a white towel, the tiny bedroom, which had previously seemed so cozy and tight, seemed cavernous in its emptiness.
Where had Theo gone? What was his errand?
Who was Sofia?
All her earlier happiness had evaporated like mist in sun. Slowly, she pulled on cotton panties and bra and a floral sundress she’d bought at the tourist shop in the village. Brushing her long damp hair, she pulled it back in a ponytail. In the small mirror, she noticed her skin had a healthy glow from the sun.
Or maybe it was from her sudden surge of rage.
How dare Theo treat her like this? Emmie was not his secretary anymore, paid to serve his interests, at his pleasure. She was his wife. She deserved to know these secrets he kept hinting at!
Setting her jaw, she pulled on sandals, grabbed her straw bag and stomped out of the hotel room to look for him.
Ten minutes later, her anger had turned to despair. She would not find him—of course she wouldn’t, not if he didn’t want her to. It was so unfair. How could Theo make her so miserable, even though she wasn’t even sleeping with him? What was the point of denying them both the pleasure, if she was just going to end up miserable anyway?
Walking up the cobblestoned street, she felt a lump in her throat. She put on cheap sunglasses from her bag to hide the tears in her eyes.
Her lips parted when she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man, in a black shirt and trousers which seemed much too formal for the island, walking down a narrow alley with a pretty young black-haired woman. They walked side by side, not touching, but something about the way they spoke quietly insinuated a certain...intimacy.
Emmie ducked back behind a corner, then peeked around it, watching as they continued down the hill toward the marina. Furtively, a little guiltily, she followed the couple down the paths to the docks.
Theo and the unknown girl—Sofia?—walked down the largest wooden dock toward a vintage wooden speedboat waiting with a uniformed crew member at the steering wheel. Farther out in the harbor, Emmie saw her husband’s gleaming, modern yacht, named Future 2, replacing Theo’s starter yacht Future of a decade before. She’d never been on either yacht as his secretary.
Emmie watched as he helped the girl climb into the waiting speedboat. On impulse, she bolted toward the marina.
“No!” she cried, running down the wooden dock. “Wait!”
Theo stared back at her with shock. Turning, he spoke in a low voice to the black-haired girl, who shrugged.
As Emmie reached the end, she threw herself into the small speedboat, still panting from her sprint. Theo caught her as she fell. Setting her aright, he glared at her, then let her go, folding his arms.
“I gave you specific instructions. To remain at the hotel.”
“I’m not your secretary. You can’t give me orders.” Emmie’s cheeks burned as she turned to the pretty brunette. Sticking out her hand, she said politely, “Hi, I’m Emmie. I assume you’re Sofia?”
The girl glanced briefly at Theo, then said, “Yes?”
Was that a question or answer? Emmie couldn’t tell if she even understood English. As they shook hands, the brunette raised her eyebrow at Theo, who gave a small, disgusted shake of his head.
“Go,” he ordered the boat’s driver. The crewman pressed on the gas, whirling the speedboat from the docks toward the yacht in the bay. Other than the loud engine, there was silence. No one tried to explain anything to Emmie.
“So.” Emmie licked her lips, feeling awkward and foolish. “What’s this all about?”
The girl just looked out at the water.
“Fran?ais?”Emmie tried hopefully in her schoolgirl French. Still nothing. And the only Greek word she knew was efaristo, which seemed highly inappropriate for her current feelings.
“Since you insisted on coming,” Theo told Emmie coldly, “sit down and try not to be a nuisance.”
Nuisance? Sitting abruptly in a cushioned seat, Emmie ground her teeth as she looked back at the vanishing shoreline and charming village clinging to the rocks. She’d give him nuisance.
The speedboat soon arrived at the enormous yacht, and they were assisted up the steps by uniformed crew, then kicked off their shoes, as apparently everyone went in socks and bare feet on yachts. Not as glamorous as she’d imagined, Emmie thought, surveying her own chipped toenail polish dourly.
They reached the wide deck, with its comfortable chairs and views in every direction. As the yacht started to move, a different member of the crew pushed a flute of champagne into Theo’s hand, then the girl’s, then even Emmie’s.
She looked at the crystal flute, bewildered. Why would anyone give a pregnant woman champagne? In fact, it seemed strange that Theo and the dark-haired girl had champagne, too. Neither seemed to be celebrating.
If anything, her husband looked haunted, his dark eyes shadowed as he kept glancing down at the waiflike brunette. The girl just gripped the yacht’s railing and stared out at the sea, her expression pitiable.
Emmie didn’t understand any of this.
Holding her untasted flute, Emmie went inside the sliding glass door and handed it to a member of the crew in a white short-sleeved shirt and shorts. “Here, thank you very much, but I don’t need this.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Taking it readily, he touched his cap respectfully and turned away. She stopped him.
“Excuse me, but...um...where are we going?”
The young man looked confused. “To the other side of the island, ma’am. For the best view.”
“Ah. Yes. Of course. Thank you,” she said, nodding sagely, as she’d sometimes seen her father and brothers do when they had no idea what someone was talking about. Going back out on the open deck, she hugged herself in the warm Greek wind as the yacht sliced through the ocean waves. She looked across the deck toward Theo and the girl.
She couldn’t imagine him taking a mistress, not after just two days of marriage, and parading her in front of Emmie! No, surely not. There had to be some other explanation for why he’d come to Lyra, a place he clearly hated, to go on a yachting excursion in secret. With a pretty brunette.
Didn’t there?
It didn’t take long for them to reach the other side of the island. From this side, the shore was rocky, brown, bare of trees, far from civilization. Her eyes widened when she saw the burned-out ruin of a building clinging alone to the side. A grand old house, long since destroyed.
Going to Theo, she whispered, “What is that?”
His dark eyes brooded as he stared back at the island, gripping the railing. He said flatly, “A house.”
“I can see that.” Staring at the shell, she thought of Daphne du Maurier’s tragic burned Manderley. “But whose?”
Turning to her, he bit out coldly, “Mine.”
“Oh,” Emmie said, confused. There was nothing left but the mansion’s blackened bones, faded by sun, in ruins for years or even decades. Then she noticed men in hard hats, small from this distance, waiting beside the ruin, a small battalion with heavy machinery, excavators, loaders, bulldozers. She frowned, trying to make sense of it. She said faintly, “You’re here to rebuild?”
“No. To destroy.” Looking out at the site with grim satisfaction, Theo gestured to the captain, who spoke quietly into a phone. He turned back to Emmie with cold black eyes. “And to answer your question, Sofia is my sister.”
Theo watched across the water as men in hard hats, having received the go-ahead, plowed forward with two excavators and a bulldozer, knocking down the last charred walls of the dilapidated house.
Nearby, he heard a choked sniffle. Sofia was gripping the railing, her dark eyes filled with anguish as she looked out at their former home in the twilight.
Without a word, he went to stand beside her. Unsure how to offer comfort, he put his arm around her uncertainly. She leaned against him, silently weeping, never looking away from the island, as the last vestiges of their childhood home were flattened and wiped off the face of the earth.
Looking down, Theo dimly saw a flute in his hand. He’d ordered the very best champagne from his cellar specifically for the occasion. But when he’d pictured this day, destroying the property now that it was his at last, he’d thought he’d feel a sense of joy, triumph—or at least relief.
Instead Theo felt sick, his insides churning. Glancing behind him on the deck, he saw Emmie watching him. He felt her gaze. Her silence. She’d been startled when he’d said Sofia was his sister, but she hadn’t asked any questions. Now, he was suddenly afraid it was because she didn’t need to. More than anyone else, she’d always had a knack for seeing past his defenses, even as his secretary.
And now...
His throat tightened.
Cold. Cold. He had to be cold. To show emotion was weakness. A man had to be strong, or both he and the people he loved would suffer. He had to be ice.
“Cheers,” Theo forced himself to say in English, holding up his flute. Sofia stared at him with black tearstained eyes, then finally lifted her own. He clinked his glass against hers, and they each managed a sip of champagne. Reaching into his pocket, he handed her the small brown paper-wrapped package he’d taken from his office safe.
Setting her glass down on a nearby table, she looked at the small package. She said in Greek, “Is it...?”
“Naí.”Yes.
Unwrapping it, she pulled out a small gold locket. Clutching it tightly in her hand, she shuddered. “Thank you,” she said in a whisper, then took a deep breath. “But...”
“But?”
She looked back at the ruin. “I want to be there.”
Theo swallowed. His voice was harsher than he intended as he said, “We’re close enough.”
“I want the dirt beneath my feet.”
“No,” he said helplessly, but even as he said it, he knew he would do it. After everything he’d done—and everything he hadn’t done—he owed her anything she wanted, and more.
Setting his jaw, Theo turned to the captain and spoke a few quiet words. After conferring into his phone, the man replied in the same language.
Theo returned to his sister. “The site’s not safe. They still need to fill in the foundation and pull any remaining materials.”
She simply lifted her eyes to his, waiting.
Theo sighed. He’d tried to talk Sofia out of coming here today. His original plan had been to film the house’s destruction, then send the video to her in Paris. He’d been delayed by his rush back to stop Emmie’s wedding in New York. Then Sofia had informed him she’d flown in from Paris to be on the island when the demolition happened.
So he’d revised the plan. He and his bride would sail past Lyra on the yacht, as if by chance, right as the house was demolished. He’d let Emmie believe he was filming the demolition of an interesting ruin, nothing more, then he’d send the video to Sofia at the tiny, unused cottage in the village that she’d inherited from her adoptive family.
But the one-day delay caused by the yacht’s needed repair had ended that plan, too. He’d known from the moment he stepped onto Lyra that he didn’t want Emmie with him when the house was razed. Having to act casual, to show no emotion, to hide his feelings from her would have been difficult. So he’d decided to leave her at the hotel and go alone on his yacht to film the event from a distance.
Then Sofia had called that afternoon to say she’d changed her mind. She was determined to come with him today and see the teardown in person, and no amount of his arguing had persuaded her otherwise.
First Sofia, now Emmie. Why did the two women he cared about the most insist on fighting his efforts to protect them from pain? Their pain—and his?
Theo looked down at his dark-haired sister. When he’d knocked on her door that afternoon, it had been the first time he’d seen her in person since she was five. He’d had to blink hard to hide the sting in his eyes as he’d hugged her. In some ways, she would always be that child to him. A child who’d deserved a better brother than Theo. And still did.
Now, Sofia set her jaw. “I don’t care about safe. I need this, Theo.” Her gaze wandered back to the ruin on the hill. “Otherwise, part of me will always be trapped there.”
He glanced back at Emmie, still standing alone at the railing a few feet away, pretending she wasn’t interested in their discussion, pretending she wasn’t offended that they continued to speak Greek in front of her. Theo and Sofia could have easily spoken English; his sister spoke the language well, along with French and German and Spanish. He’d paid for her to attend good schools across Europe.
It was a miracle some enterprising journalist hadn’t discovered Theo’s whole sordid childhood. The confusion of his five different surnames as a boy had probably helped. It was only after his uncle had brought him to America at sixteen that he’d used his long-dead father’s surname of Katrakis.
The name Theo had at fifteen, when his mother and stepfather died, had been Papadopolous. His stepfather’s name. It had also been Sofia’s surname before she was adopted. The neighbor had adopted only Sofia, not Theo. Who wouldn’t want a sweet little orphan girl? Who would ever want a hardened, violent, grief-stricken teenage boy?
His heart was pounding strangely. He felt beads of sweat on his forehead in spite of the cooling breeze. He glanced sideways at Emmie. She was staring down over the slanted sunlight into the dark water below, her shoulders tight beneath the thin straps of her floral sundress.
How he wished she’d just stayed at the hotel. He would have retrieved her after this was all over and done with, and they’d have sailed off into the sunset. She wouldn’t have known about Sofia or the house, he’d have had nothing to evade, and they both would have been happier.
“Well, Theo?” Sofia asked in Greek. “Can we?”
“Fine,” he said heavily. His belly roiled at the thought of setting foot there. But as he looked at his little sister’s pale, haunted face, he knew any pain would be worth it to give her the slightest bit of peace.
As he and Sofia left, he saw the question in Emmie’s eyes and answered it with a shake of his head. He didn’t want her to accompany them. Because he couldn’t tell her the truth about their past, his and Sofia’s. And he didn’t want to lie to her.
After putting on their shoes, he led Sofia down the steep steps into the small speedboat.
Looking up, Theo had one last glance of Emmie watching from the top deck, the lowering red and orange sun shining through her hair like gold, her expression darkened by shadow. Then the boat took them swiftly—far too swiftly—to shore.
The old dock was long gone, so they had to hop out and wade through knee-deep water. He offered to carry Sofia, but she shook her head. They stumbled onto the beach he’d once paced as a desperate teenager, scared out of his mind.
Theo stopped and looked back at the sun setting over the horizon. Except for the silhouette of the yacht, the view was the same now that it had been then. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the same panic, the frantic beat of his heart.
Theo was relieved when Sofia called to him, breaking the spell. Together, they trudged the overgrown path up the dry, rocky hill, sea water sluicing off their bare legs and squishing in their shoes.
The big house had been scraped away. When they reached the edge of the site, he stopped to speak to one of the hired demolishers.
His sister staggered forward. Falling to her knees, she touched the dry earth where her bedroom had been, then covered her face with a sob. Theo watched, his shoulders taut, his eyes dry. Digging a hole with her hands, Sofia she took the small gold locket from her pocket and dropped it in. She filled in the hole, smoothing dirt over it. Then she looked down at the cracked stone walls of the old basement on the other side of the structure, half-destroyed and filled with debris, little more than a hole in the ground.
“Tell them to yank it out,” she said in a low voice. “Every single stone.”
The sun was dying, bleeding red across the sea, by the time they returned to the yacht. Theo’s steps were heavy as Sofia fled to the cushioned seats on deck, to sit alone in shadows with her grief. Emmie was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is my wife?” he asked.
“I believe she was fatigued after dinner,” the captain replied, “and went to rest in your quarters, sir.”
Theo was glad he didn’t have to worry about hiding his feelings from her. Being strong in the face of Sofia’s grief and pain was difficult enough. He went to sit by his sister, holding her as she cried.
The yacht swiftly returned to the village harbor. Once they were at anchor, he and Sofia took a speedboat to the dock. Sending staffers back to the taverna hotel to pay his bill and collect his and Emmie’s things, Theo walked Sofia to her little stone house on the edge of town, a summer cottage now rarely used by her adoptive family. When he left her at her door, she gave him a trembling smile, her eyes luminous.
“Thank you, Theo,” she said and hugged him. “I’ll be...better now.”
Feeling a lump in his throat, he hugged her back. His voice was hoarse as he pulled away. “You deserve every happiness, Sofia.” He hesitated. “If I can ever do anything for you, anything at all... Money, help, a quiet word in the right ear...”
Wiping her eyes, she whispered, “Just having you back in my life is all I ever wanted.”
With a jerky nod, he turned away. But as Theo returned to the yacht, where his beautiful bride and glamorous honeymoon waited, Theo did not feel better. His muscles ached. His throat hurt. His soul felt sore.
He knew, even if Sofia did not, that his sister was better-off without him in her life. Today surely proved that. He thought of how Sofia had wept, her knees in the dirt, and closed his eyes, sick at heart. However much she might wish otherwise, she’d never forget he was the one to blame.
Reaching the yacht, he stood at the railing, watching as the pearlescent moon rose softly over the Aegean. He thought of drinking whiskey, or maybe guzzling the barely touched Dom Pérignon. He thought of burying himself in work, prepping for his upcoming pitch, the latest iteration of his dream project in Paris he’d pursued for years. None of it appealed.
Only one thing could save him.
Going through the yacht’s sliding glass doors, he went down the hall to his private suite. In the darkness, he found his wife sleeping in the large bed.
He woke her with a kiss.
“Theo,” she murmured. “What—”
His hand moved to her breast beneath her white sleeveless nightgown, as her lips parted, gasping against his. He deepened the kiss, pressing her back against the bed. He was desperate to touch her, to taste her skin. She wrenched away.
“Stop.”
Startled, he stared at her in the slender dagger of moonlight pooling on the bed. She took a deep breath.
“Tell me,” she said quietly. “About today.”
Theo stiffened. It wasn’t enough that Sofia knew his failures. Now Emmie wanted some rope to hang him with as well? “It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter.”
She looked up at him. Saw right through him.
“What am I to you? Just the mother of your child? An accessory on your arm that you put in a box when you’re done?”
He glared at her. “You know you’re more.”
“Do I?” She looked down at her hands, interlaced tightly over the blanket. “I want our marriage to work. But how can I feel like your partner, or even your friend, when you don’t tell me anything?”
Theo set his jaw. “I don’t want to talk about the past. Ever. It’s not a happy story. Forget it. As I have—”
But as he moved toward her again, intending to kiss her into submission, she stopped him with a small hand pressed firmly to his chest. Her eyes pierced his. “Either explain, or get out.”
Theo stared at her, his heart pounding. Snatching up a pillow, he rose from the bed. He turned to leave.
Then he stopped, staring blankly at the open door.
Emmie was his wife. If he kept her in the dark, yes, he’d remain safely in control. She couldn’t despise him for his past or use it against him.
But what would it mean for their marriage? Now that she knew he was hiding something awful, how long would it be before any chance of intimacy between them—physical or otherwise—was utterly destroyed?
Theo turned back to face her. “Fine,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”