Chapter Sixteen
Konstantinos watched her fight them down. Tears intended to bring him closer. Intended to make him react.
He wouldn’t.
He’d let her in. Beneath his skin. She’d got into his head.
He’d been ready to walk away from today, because he’d wanted to protect her.
But she was never going to do it, anyway.
Renew their vows. She’d planned this all along.
To subdue him with her honesty. To leave him up there—alone—at the altar.
He’d given her ammunition. Told her where she could wound him most. He’d told her things he’d told no one. He’d given her the bullets, and she’d brought the gun. Loaded it while he watched. She’d shot him with words of love.
She’s not trying to kill you.
But she was. He knew.
Love was a weakness. It was why his mother had never loved him.
Because if she had loved him, she never would have walked into the sea.
She never would have abandoned him. She never would have put him second best to her depression, or to the hate she felt for his father.
She never would have left him behind. If he had not loved his mother, he would have stayed on the shore.
He would not have fought against the tide to save her.
He would have called for help—for larger arms. But he’d been weak.
His love—his panic—had let her drown. Because love was a selfish emotion.
‘Sign it,’ he demanded again, and he caught it too late. The fire heating his demand.
A tear dripped from her chin. ‘Where do I need to sign?’ She walked over to the desk, faced him from the other side, and took the pen from his fingers. She reached for the papers. Her fingers trembling. ‘Here?’ she asked, turning the document to face her. ‘Only on the front page?’
‘And pages two, three and six,’ he confirmed, grateful for the barrier between them. Grateful he didn’t have to stand close. Grateful he couldn’t smell her now. Because it would make him ill, he assured himself. A scent he’d always thought of as hers.
The pen hovered above the first box.
Her eyes flitted over the page.
She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. Ducked her head and signed all the pages.
She closed the document. Slid it over to him.
‘What happens next?’
‘My lawyer will have it in the hour,’ he said. ‘As we are both Greek citizens and our divorce is by mutual consent, it could take a few weeks. I will ensure it is less.’
She didn’t look at him again. She stood. Walked away from him and reached for the door—
‘Poppy?’
She turned, and it flashed in her eyes. He recognised it. Hope. Hope this had all been a terrible mistake.
It wasn’t.
He’d crush the light in her eyes.
Just as she had intended to crush him.
‘Don’t forget this,’ he said, and reached into the drawer again. He held it out for her to collect. A single piece of paper.
She walked back over to him and put her hand out for it. Her gaze dipped. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Léon’s debt.’
She clasped it on one end whilst he held the other.
Their eyes locked over it.
‘I keep my promises,’ he reminded her. ‘Unlike you.’
Her face fell.
‘Goodbye, Poppy.’
He pushed himself to his feet. Turned his back on her and walked to the window. Watched the display of new arrivals. New ants. All too bright. All too…fake. None of it was real. Not out there. Not in here. She was right. It was all a show.
A lie.
He closed his eyes. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know she moved closer. He felt her there. Behind him. Too close. Her stature was so small compared to his height. His build. But how largely her presence overshadowed him. Oh, so floral was her scent. Only hers. Only ever Poppy’s.
It overwhelmed him now.
His heart, he hated it. How it pumped, harder. Responded to her even now.
‘Goodbye, Konstantinos.’
The clink of metal on wood pierced his eardrums. Her rings.
No longer did his heart hammer. It stopped beating. His lungs, they froze. But his ears, oversensitised, they listened to her light footsteps as she turned. The ruffle of her silk skirts. He heard the door open. Heard her pause.
The silence pulsed.
The lock clicked.
His fingers went to his throat. He yanked free the knot. But still he could not breathe.
He thudded to his knees. Placed his hands on the floor, palm-side down.
He wasn’t hyperventilating. His body, it was responding to the near-fatal attack of his wife.
He was in control.
He sucked in air through his nostrils—exhaled through his mouth.
Then why did his heart hurt?
Why could he not breathe?
Why did this feel like…death?
Anger quickened Poppy’s step through the corridor with a too high ceiling and too many windows. Too many streaks of sunlight glared into her eyes. Made the tears she held back blur her vision.
He’d had no intention of starting again.
He was the liar.
He’d lied about stopping the games.
He’d dismissed her as if she were no one.
She reached out, steadied herself with each step against the wall.
She should have trusted her instincts and run away the minute she’d felt something was wrong. Because now everything was wrong. Nothing was the way it should be. But at least now she knew.
He’d let her get close. He’d let her open herself up to him. He’d let her fall in love with him. And he’d known he was always going to send her away.
He was worse than her father.
He was a monster.
She moved down the corridor to the lift.
She hit the button to call it. Repeatedly. Watched the sundial above its doors move. Oh, so slowly, it climbed upwards to where she was. On the top floor.
No one would come up here, on this side of the monastery. They’d all be in the chapel on the hill. Waiting. But the urgency to get out, to leave, it pulsed through her. She needed out. Off the island. She needed to be far away from him. And maybe then it would stop hurting.
It didn’t before.
She looked down at the crumpled document in her hand. She smoothed it out against her thigh.
She blinked away the mist, looked back down the corridor of green walls to the oak door and iron hinges, locking her out here. On the outside.
A muffled sound ripped free from her mouth.
Flashes of Konstantinos at Isaak’s grave tore through her. The sound his mouth had made. So raw. That had been real.
The lift doors opened. She walked inside, her chest heaving. She collapsed against the back wall.
Her heart cracked.
The tears didn’t trickle.
They spilt down her cheeks in waves.
A sob tore free from her throat.
He’d retreated behind his walls of control. He’d twisted her love until it became something ugly. Selfish betrayal. She hadn’t meant to betray him. She…
He had stopped playing games. He’d fallen in love with her, too. But how could she expect him to give her what he’d never had?
The doors closed.
It was too late to change her mind now.
She’d messed it all up.
She was quivering. Shaking. Tears rolled down her cheeks. It raked through her. Emotion after breathtaking emotion.
She didn’t fight it.
She cried for him. For her. For Isaak. She cried for the happily-ever-after they could have had, but their pasts had stolen it. But most of all, Poppy cried for all the words said too late to save their marriage.
It was over.