Georgios looked delighted, but at the same time perplexed. ‘And you enjoy your work?’
‘Yes,’ Libby said sincerely. ‘I love it.’
He turned to Rion, rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. ‘Just like my wife! All my life I do the honourable thing—work hard so that she doesn’t have to—and then she insists on getting a job! I never understood it.’
His words forced Libby to do a double-take. What had he just said?
That he’d always tried to do the honourable thing and support his wife, and that he’d never been able to understand her desire to work?
Rapidly, Georgios’s words seeped into her mind, changing the colour of the past. After she and Rion had married she’d thought that he wanted to make his own way in the world, buy a better house, without any contribution from her. When he’d refused to admit that, she’d been convinced he was in denial, but suddenly she thought she understood. It hadn’t been a question of ambition, it had been a question of honour. And what had she done? Walked away.
As a whole new wave of guilt washed over her, Libby failed to notice that they’d slowed right down and that Georgios had just hit a square gold button in the wall. Because it had just occurred to her where that code of honour came from. It wasn’t just that he was Greek, it was that he’d had to watch helplessly as his mother had had to work day and night to support him and his brother.
And suddenly she saw why he had never comprehended that working and living alone was what she needed to feel free. Because freedom to his mother would have been a home, a husband to support her. Her heart turned over. Everything he’d given her.
Suddenly a loud ping broke through her thoughts. ‘Here we are. It’s on the top floor, straight in front of you as you exit the lift.’
Lift? Libby felt her pulse-rate rocket.
‘Um, I’d really rather take the stairs, if you don’t mind,’ she shot out abruptly, desperately flicking her eyes past Georgios and around the new wing, looking for a stairwell. ‘Walk off all those delicious hors d’oeuvres.’
Rion eyed her quizzically, unable to fathom her expression. She was probably just worried about what she might do if she found herself in an enclosed space with him. Good.
Georgios shook his head and tutted. ‘My son married an English girl too—barely eats a lettuce leaf! Hasn’t Rion told you that Greek men don’t like their women too skinny? Particularly if it means a longer journey to the bedroom.’ He chuckled softly, ushering her forward as the doors opened and Rion thanked him for his hospitality.
She wanted to back away from the lift, to have Rion look at her, automatically understand, and endorse her suggestion that they take the stairs—but then he still didn’t know some fundamental things about her, did he? And what would it say about their marriage to Georgios if she suddenly blurted out something like that now?
‘Sleep well,’ Georgios called after them as the doors slowly closed.
The second they shut Libby’s heart began to thunder in her chest and her breaths became short, sharp and raspy.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I don’t do lifts,’ she choked, pushing her hand up against the doors, leaning her head into the crook of her elbow and focussing on the crack, willing it to open.
Instantly Rion saw her words were an understatement and put his hands on her shoulders. He spun her round. ‘You’re claustrophobic?’
She nodded.
Gamoto! He hit every button on the lift’s panel to try and make it stop—at any floor he could. Why hadn’t she told him downstairs? He bent his knees slightly, so that his eyes were level with hers. Because if she had Georgios would have known something was amiss, he realised suddenly. A wave of guilt coursed through him.
They both quickly realised it was one of those lifts which obeyed commands in order and was going all the way up to the top floor first.
Visions of the walls closing in around her began to flood Libby’s mind, her temperature soared, and then the muscles in her neck went so weak that her chin lolled against her chest.
‘No,’ he said, firmly but gently. ‘I need you to keep looking at me.’
He placed his hands on either side of her face and guided her head upwards, so that her eyes were level with his again.
‘We’re not here,’ he said, very definitely, searching her face for inspiration, needing a memory he could use to transport her mind away from there. Somewhere open, out-of-doors, where they’d both been together. He was momentarily struck by how tragic it was that there was such a lack of options, even from the months of their marriage they’d spent together, but he didn’t have time to dwell on what that meant.