Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife(23)

Or maybe it just conveniently happens to be the most politically neutral location in Metameikos, the voice of reason piped up in the back of her mind as she walked along the promenade towards the new town, the boats changing from small fishing vessels coming in from a morning’s work to enormous yachts with last night’s empty champagne bottles strewn across the deck, their curtains drawn tight. For if Metameikos did mean something else to him, then surely the few times he’d spoken about it he wouldn’t have done so reluctantly. And maybe he knows that having been raised here gives his bid for power an added credibility? Yes, now she thought about it, it was obvious that that was the reason why he’d chosen to run for office in his home town—it increased his chances of winning. That, and the fact that, as Metameikos was the only independent province in Greece, if he did win his power would be far greater than if he’d simply become a member of the vouli in Athens. She cursed herself for wanting so desperately to believe she’d been mistaken about him when she knew it was so futile, and carried on.

After only half an hour of wandering between the enormous, characterless, whitewashed villas that comprised the new town, Libby came to the decision that it was far too generic to warrant inclusion on any tour, and went back in the direction from which she’d come. She spent the rest of the morning in and out of a tiny museum that had been set up by a few of the locals who were keen to profit in a small way from the few tourists who ventured down the coast. The lady working there, who turned out to be a dear friend of Eurycleia’s, was a mine of information, pointing out all the local sites of historical interest and keenly offering ideas when Libby suggested she might be interested in securing accommodation for small groups.

After taking lunch at the taverna across the street, where she sampled some delicious sea bream that had been caught by the local fishermen that morning, Libby decided to head back to the house, filled with enthusiasm for plotting out a potential itinerary based on what she’d discovered so far. Until she passed the amphitheatre, and was reminded that running any such tour would involve being virtually on his doorstep. It made her stomach roll so unpleasantly that she was almost tempted to report back to Kate that the whole of Metameikos was unsuitable for tours.

But that feeling will pass once you’re divorced—once you’ve forced him to regret trying to control you like this, she reassured herself as she reached the house and let herself in through the back door, ignoring the army of doubts that sprang up in response.

‘Where have you been?’ He was hunched forward on a stool at the breakfast bar when she entered the kitchen, eating bruschetta with one hand whilst tapping away on his laptop with the other, but he stopped both and fixed condemning eyes on her the second she entered.

‘Oh, you know—here and there,’ she said waspishly, wanting to feel glad that his anger meant she’d successfully pushed him one step closer to signing the divorce papers, but feeling the opposite.

‘You don’t think I deserve to know your whereabouts?’

‘You haven’t cared about my whereabouts for the last five years.’

‘Things are different now.’

No, they weren’t. He hadn’t suddenly started caring. All he meant was that now where she was and what she did reflected on him. ‘Perhaps you should have checked that I agree with you on that.’

‘I rather thought a basic code of conduct was implicit.’

‘Did you?’ she said scathingly, sucking air between her teeth and tapping her forefinger against her chin. ‘Oh, dear. So you mean that you were gambling on my code of conduct coinciding with yours? I really think we ought to have compared notes first. But if we must do it retrospectively, let’s see… There was that gorgeous young waiter this morning, and I just presumed that it was okay to—’

‘Don’t play games with me, Libby,’ he growled, instantly reaching out his hand to encircle her wrist.

The sheer eroticism of his thumb on her pulse-point made her bravado falter. ‘I only popped out to do some research for work.’

The tension in Rion’s shoulders eased marginally. When he’d woken up and found her gone he’d thought—he didn’t know what he’d thought. That she’d left him again, he supposed, or that she was out making plans to. ‘Then perhaps if you’re going to be popping out in future it would be courteous if you could let me know where you’re going—or at the very least how I can contact you if I needed to find out.’

‘You’re asking me for my phone number?’