Christakis's Rebellious Wife(43)
Nik lifted Betsy out of the helicopter as though she were fashioned of spun glass and Betsy suppressed a groan of frustration. Nik in rare conscience-stricken mode was entertaining for a while but she was convinced that the lion’s share of the problems she was suffering were down to her own obstinate refusal to make adjustments to her schedule. She hadn’t felt well but she had kept on pushing herself, determined to maintain the same workload and hours, refusing to consider that her condition might force changes on her usual routine. After all, she knew that most women worked through their pregnancies and had assumed she would be no different, but perhaps she ought to have sought medical advice when the fainting had started and she had realised that she was feeling consistently under par.
Nik set her down below the pine trees, where she breathed in the salt-laden air with a helpless sigh of pleasure and stood gazing down the grassed slope to the pale glistening stretch of beach washed by the surf. ‘It’s beautiful. Where do we stay?’
‘I built a house here.’
‘Did you? I assumed you had inherited your grandfather’s home,’ she said in surprise.
When she glanced at him enquiringly, his lean dark features were clenched hard, his eyes shuttered. ‘I signed it over to my mother, although island life is too quiet for her tastes and I have been told that she only makes occasional use of the property. We flew over it coming in. It’s that sprawling marble monstrosity on the cliffs. Did you notice it?’
‘Yes...the villa with the massive pool area?’
Tight-mouthed, he nodded confirmation with a jerk of his stubborn chin and splayed a hand to the base of her slender spine to lead her through the trees. ‘Lunch should be waiting for us. I want you to eat and go straight to bed—’
‘I’m not an invalid. You know, you never even mentioned that you owned a house here in Greece,’ Betsy reminded him as the trees slowly thinned out and an ultra-modern and graceful white villa surrounded by gloriously colourful gardens appeared in front of them. ‘Especially one so beautiful. Why didn’t you suggest we come here for our honeymoon?’
Nik gritted his even white teeth together, reluctant to admit that his memories of his time on the island had haunted him for years. ‘I originally built the house solely as an investment I intended to sell but I never got around to it. To be frank, I left the island to go to boarding school and, after my grandfather died, I had no good reason to return here—’
‘So not much in the way of sentimental attachment to this place, then?’ Betsy guessed, recognising the taut flex of long fingers against her spine, aware that he was very uneasy beneath the barrage of her questions and wondering why.
But then that was Nik, a fascinatingly complex male, layered with mystery with nothing as you expected and no information granted for free. It had always been that way and she had learned to live with that wall of reserve. When they were first married she had walked in awe of him and his achievements, unable to understand why such a magnificently handsome, clever and wealthy male should choose to marry a lowly waitress when he might have married some rich socialite or successful businesswoman instead. She had never stopped being grateful that he had picked her, which was why she had never felt she had the right to complain when he left her alone so much.
Every paradise has thorns, she had thought, striving to be practical, knowing that many women would have been content simply to have a beautiful home and a string of credit cards at their disposal. Loving him to distraction, however, had made Betsy much greedier for his time and attention. Unfortunately she didn’t think any human being would ever engage his interest to the extent that his business empire did, and wishing for more from him was like wishing for the moon.