Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife(43)

Rion balled his hand into a fist and fought the urge to take out his anger on an inanimate object in the absence of Thomas Ashworth himself. Gamoto! Ever since he’d learned that her father had kept her cut off, even after their separation, he’d known he was more than just a bigot. But this was something else. ‘You should have told me.’

She exhaled deeply. ‘I did try—in my own way.’

But maybe she should have tried harder, Libby thought for the first time as she registered the look of shock on his face. Because she’d never sat him down and made him understand what was at the root of her need to feel free and in control, any more than he’d told her about where his drive to provide for them really came from. They’d just both thought the other should understand instinctively, and she’d bolted when they hadn’t.

She shook her head, the tragedy of it piercing her heart as she realised how different things might have been if they’d known. But then again, maybe not. Because how could they have fought each other’s demons when they hadn’t been done fighting their own?

‘When did you try and tell me?’ he demanded.

He knew there was no way he’d forget a detail like that. She’d never once mentioned any fear of— Libby looked up at him with wide eyes, and suddenly the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Her expression took him right back to the day she’d walked away. No, she hadn’t mentioned a fear of enclosed spaces specifically, but she had always been desperate not to be left alone in that apartment, to go out and get a job and—

Rion squeezed his eyes tightly shut. But that had been because she couldn’t bear living in that hovel, hadn’t it? Suddenly the memory mixed with what Georgios had said downstairs, about his wife wanting to get a job. Libby had only ever spoken of working with pleasure. And, come to think of it, she’d never complained about the apartment itself. So had he been wrong? And, if he had been, what the hell else had he got wrong about her?

Nothing, a voice in the back of his mind ground out, refusing to let him go any further down that path and lay himself open to that level of pain all over again. Yes, maybe he had been wrong about the reason why she’d wanted to get a job, why she hadn’t wanted to be alone in the apartment, but it didn’t change the underlying reason why she’d gone. Why she was here now, demanding a divorce. That night after they’d been to the theatre she’d admitted it—she found being his wife humiliating. Because in her eyes he’d never, ever be good enough.

He forced his eyes open and stood up. ‘I’ll get you some more water.’

‘No—’ She reached out her hand and placed it on his forearm. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’

Rion clenched his teeth, just the feel of her fingertips on his skin causing a tightening in his groin. ‘Nevertheless, you should get some rest.’

He walked round to the opposite side of the room and Libby heard him turn on the bedside lamp. Her eyes remained fixed on the chair where he’d been sitting. She recognised that last look on his face. It was the one he’d worn that afternoon. He wanted her. He actually wanted her. And it wasn’t about control or defiance or the election. She knew it wasn’t. It was about those memories. Her heart blossomed. He wanted her, but he was fighting it because he thought she was still unwell, that it wasn’t what she wanted.

She drew in a deep breath, his thoughtfulness seeping into her heart, mixing with everything else that she’d discovered about him tonight. And even if she hadn’t left all her defences in the lift, then the remainder slid off the bed and slunk out of sight at that moment.

‘Rion, I don’t want…’ She heard him go still behind her, heard the nervous quiver in her own voice. ‘I don’t want you to fight this. I know I can’t. Not tonight.’

The tightness in Rion’s groin instantly intensified, but he didn’t move, simply carried on staring at the back of her head. Had that moment in the lift weakened her faculties and taken her defences with them, then? Or had thinking about her father simply reawakened her desire to rebel by having it off with the boy from nowhere?

It was the admission he’d been waiting for—another chance to wear her down, remind her that they were driven by just the same urges. But tonight he had to wonder whether the only thing he was really wearing down was his self-respect.

‘And what about tomorrow, Libby? Your defences will return with the sunrise?’

She turned to face him, her voice barely a whisper. ‘No, I doubt I’ll be able to fight it then either. Or the next day.’