Chapter Fifteen #2
‘No,’ he denied instantly, moving to capture her hands in his and lift them between their chests.
‘You were honest with me. You were brave and saw the truth in your heart, while I ran from it like a coward. I don’t want to run any more.
I want to love you, for the rest of my life, Rosemary.
Not for the baby, but for you. You have no idea how badly I want to bring you home with me and simply revel in having you there.
In being able to see you, touch you, wake up next to you, share meals with you, hear you laugh.
It is you I want. You I am obsessed with. ’
She gasped, sucking in a sharp breath as his words unfolded inside of her.
‘I have missed you,’ he said, dropping his forehead and pressing it to hers. ‘So much more than I can ever put into words.’
She bit into her lip, completely understanding.
‘But if you let me, I will spend a lifetime trying. I will spend every day we are gifted together showing you how much you mean to me.’
‘Oh, Aristotle,’ she murmured, lifting a hand and cupping his stubbled cheek. ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a very skilled negotiator?’
He was silent, as if uncertain whether that was the affirmative answer he so obviously needed. She tilted her face then, shifting their brows from connecting, moving so her lips brushed his.
‘I love you,’ she murmured against them.
‘I didn’t mean it like a teenage crush, though I’ve felt that for you, too.
When I told you I love you, I meant it like this—real, forever, life-changing love.
You are a part of me, Aristotle Machairas, and you have been for a long, long time. That’s not going anywhere.’
‘And nor am I.’ He hesitated in an uncharacteristic act of uncertainty. ‘Will you come home with me?’
She tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider that. But Aristotle, clearly still feeling as though he was running over quicksand, shook his head and swallowed a curse.
He knelt then, holding her hands in front of him, pressing a kiss to her fingers.
‘I love you, Rosemary Richardson. You are deep inside my heart; all the goodness and light in my being comes from having known you and now, being free to love you. I didn’t understand the truth of this when I suggested we get married—’
‘Suggested?’ she interrupted through tearful laughter.
‘Okay, arranged.’
She laughed again. ‘Sure, we’ll go with that.’
‘But even then, I knew I couldn’t let you go again.
I had been craving you in a way that had felled me to my knees.
The baby was a chance to have you in my life.
But it was always about you, and me, and this.
’ He shifted their joined hands to his chest, tapping near his heart.
‘I love you, and nothing would make me happier than if you would agree to marry me for real. Not because you have any hint of fear in your heart, but because you know I am your other half, as much as you are mine.’
She waited just as long as she could. After all, it had been a long month of missing him; he could handle a few moments more of emotional torture. But only a few moments. And then, she was dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around his waist.
‘You are my everything,’ she said. ‘Of course I’ll marry you.’
The paperwork was all in place, and for a somewhat exorbitant fee, the minister managed to clear his schedule for the following afternoon. Rosie’s mother returned, though not without a few muttered complaints about the last abandoned wedding.
Rosie didn’t care. She practically floated on cloud nine as she walked down the aisle of the Machairas family chapel towards her groom, and her destiny. There was not a hint of uncertainty, a smudge of doubt that this was right for her, and them.
He was her everything.
He was her future.
And one day someone would look back on this time, on their ancient past, and learn the lessons of life and love from Rosemary and Aristotle’s example.
On the day their baby was born—two weeks early, demonstrating their father’s determined impatience—Rosemary was consulting on a small dig on the outskirts of Athens.
No physical exertion was involved; she was simply providing advice on techniques and storage options at the very start of the project.
Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t practically salivating at the thought of being involved, down the track.
The only saving grace was that her waters hadn’t broken in the middle of the meeting.
Instead, she’d felt the sharpening of a vague discomfort she’d known since morning, and as the conversation continued, the pains had grown more intense and come more quickly together, so towards the end she let out a small wince and groan.
‘You’re in labour,’ a woman about ten years her senior said, putting a hand on her forearm. Then, to the team, ‘She’s having the baby!’
‘Here?’ One of the older archaeologists leading the research looked askance.
‘Not if I can help it,’ Rosemary muttered, pulling her phone from her bag and typing a quick message to Aristotle:
I’m in labour
‘I’ll take you to the hospital,’ the same woman offered.
‘I have a car, thank you.’
‘Let me help you to it.’
As the sleek chauffeur-driven Machairas limousine pulled into traffic, Rosie ran a hand over her stomach and smiled serenely. While their baby’s sense of timing might have been all Aristotle, their love of history was clearly her.
A bouncing Machairas baby boy entered the world with an indignant scream and a hefty nine-and-a-half-pound frame right on dusk.
Strange, in a way, that as the brightness of the day faded, all the light burst fully into Aristotle and Rosie’s world.
Aristotle, who’d been by Rosie’s side the entire time, was as overwhelmed by love for their child as she was.
Their family, in the waiting room, could scarcely wait to see this new addition, and as soon as Rosie gave the signal, Glen, Melina and Rosie’s mother and stepfather came quickly into the room.
They named him Telemachus—Mack—Machairas after Telemachus of the Odyssey.
How could they not? It was a story which held so much significance for both of them—Aristotle had long since realised that hearing Rosemary talk about reading the Odyssey was perhaps the first moment he’d started, deep down, to suspect that he loved her, and could never let her go.
For Rosemary, Aristotle’s incredible gift of the ancient copy of the book had forced her to admit her feelings.
But more than that, Telemachus was an instrument for bringing his parents back together, a force that allowed their love to thrive.
Though their love was now so much bigger than their son, they couldn’t deny the valuable part he’d played in bringing them together.
Rosie had thought she might miss travelling and working on digs, but she became such a respected figure in the Greek archaeological community that there was no shortage of work in the country she was offered, and these were easy enough to travel to with her husband and son, or to commute.
They hated to be apart, and avoided it wherever possible.
It was little wonder that only two years after Mack’s hasty arrival, a daughter was born—Anastasia, named for Aristotle’s birth mother.
She was a part of him, after all. Though his father had made it all so much more difficult than it needed to be, Aristotle understood.
He would also move heaven and earth to protect the woman he loved.
It was Melina, in the end, who’d helped uncover details of his birth mother’s past, to learn at least enough about her to start to form a fuller picture of who he was and where he came from.
Ultimately, though, while the information was important for him to have, nothing made him feel more complete, more whole, than the love of his wife and children.
He was grateful every day for the fact that Rosemary’s father had taken a job at their estate, and come into their lives. With him, he’d brought Rosemary, like a breath of fresh air, the promise of his future, the anchor point for any stormy sea he might face.
His destiny, his love, his heart, for all time.