Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife(40)

There weren’t the whoops and cheers she’d got at the meeting this time. Instead there was a kind of silent awe, a collective hope.

Georgios smiled at her and gently bowed his head. ‘Thank you, Mrs Delikaris. Now, lest we should all be quizzed—’ he glared at Spyros, whose expression was one of complete and utter horror ‘—I should like to finally raise that toast: to the candidates of this year’s election, and their wives.’

‘The candidates and their wives,’ the crowd repeated, raising their glasses.

‘And may the best man win.’

As Georgios descended from the podium amidst a round of applause, Rion stared at Libby, dumbfounded. Yes, he knew precisely what she’d meant when she’d described him as one of the people, but she’d nevertheless done everything in her power to help him.

It was the last thing he’d expected, but now he thought about it—about her reaction when she’d overheard Spyros, the things she’d said before about witnessing injustice around the world—he supposed it did add up. She might not want to be married to a man of his background, but it seemed she had compassion for those who could hope for nothing more.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered stiltedly in her ear as the crowd began to disperse.

Libby inclined her head in gratitude as they headed back towards the garden, but she didn’t allow herself to feel glad until Stephanos and the other members of his team came over to rejoice in the good fortune of Spyros’s outburst and the quick-wittedness of her response. Not because she wanted their thanks—Rion’s meant far more—but because she knew that unless she kept her guard up when she was alone with him she was in serious danger of telling him that she was in love with him.

Which, she told herself as the party continued in a blur of introductions, small talk and sipped champagne, would be an exceptionally foolish thing to do. Because she might have proof that all along he had been motivated by good, but she had no evidence that he’d retained any of the feelings that had once prompted him to propose all those years ago, or that he was capable of understanding why she’d left and moved forward. On the contrary, if their original agreement still stood—and he’d given her no indication that it didn’t—then tomorrow he would sign the divorce papers and be done with her.

By the time the crowds began to thin, and Libby found herself alone with him again, she’d almost built her defences back up.

‘Come on,’ he whispered, inclining his head towards the house. ‘We’ve done everything we can.’

Libby was glad. Her feet were sore and the muscles in her cheeks had begun to ache. Whilst she’d genuinely enjoyed talking to many of the local people, the awareness that she was being scrutinised had induced a kind of facial fatigue she hadn’t experienced since those parties at Ashworth Manor.

Yet her relief was accompanied by trepidation. Georgios was bound to have reserved them a double room, and unless she wanted to undo all their hard work tonight she had no choice but to stay in it—with Rion. And, whilst she’d spent the evening schooling her heart against him, she knew that would do her about as much good as a map of Metameikos in Malaga if he came anywhere near her.

‘Ah, Mr and Mrs Delikaris.’ She heard Georgios’s voice behind them as they walked through the atrium. ‘You’re off to bed? Not a moment too soon. Tomorrow is going to be a long day for you both.’ He lowered his voice and came in between them, placing his arms around their shoulders. ‘Come. I would prefer it if you kept this to yourselves, but I have reserved you the best room in the house.’

So good it had two beds? Libby wondered optimistically.

Georgios pressed a key into Rion’s hand and guided them down the main corridor that led off of the hallway, and then along a narrower one to the right, where the high walls were covered from floor to ceiling in beautiful neoclassical paintings.

Libby spun around, her concerns temporarily forgotten as she looked up in awe. ‘Is this part of the residence open to the public?’ she asked, wondering if she’d reached her conclusion that the new part of the town had nothing worth visiting too quickly.

‘Yes, of course,’ Georgios answered. ‘The mayoral residence really belongs to the people of Metameikos. The Mayor has permission to add to it—this wing was built by a mayor named Leander back in the eighteenth century, whilst the one we are headed to now was constructed by my predecessor—but really we’re just its guardians.’

She nodded in appreciation. ‘I’m a tour guide,’ she explained. ‘I run excursions for small groups. I’d love to add a trip here to the itinerary I’m currently working on.’