Xenakis's Convenient Bride(21)

It was the uncompromising tone she had developed as Ophelia's nanny, but Stavros was no adolescent girl.

He pocketed her phone, voice steely. "No. You're not."

"Watch me," she bit out, and turned to the elevator.

"Don't bother calling a cab. One word from me and you're off the guest list at the dinner. You won't be allowed in."

It was a slap. Yet another door slammed in her face before she could take two steps on her quest. She turned.

"Don't. You. Dare." Her ears rang, like they were straining for the  sound of Dorian's cry. She could almost hear him. That was why she had  woken, that last morning. She had heard him, but it was a distant sound  and growing fainter. He wasn't dead. He was moving beyond her reach. Was  that the thump of helicopter blades? Or her panicked heart?

She would not go through this again. Not when she was so close this  time. Desperation pushed her forward, right up into his space.

"Do not stop me seeing Brandon or I will go directly to your grandfather  and tell him what a sham this marriage is." The words tripped and  hissed, stumbling over a tongue growing thick in her mouth.

"Well, you've tipped your hand, haven't you?" He clasped her arms. "If  you're going to make those sorts of threats, I'll put you on a plane  back to Greece right now, and tell my grandfather whatever the hell I  want."

"Oh, will you!" She slapped at his touch, shaking him off. "Like I  haven't been there before. For the same reason. How dare you try to stop  me? How dare you?"

"Calm down," he growled.

"Throw me out, then!" Fury erupted from the pit of her being, rising to  consume her, just like that midnight confrontation with her father. "You  want to tell me my baby is dead, too? Then blacken my eye? It adds a  nice touch of ugly desperation when you offer to prostitute yourself. Go  ahead! I'll need it out there." She pointed wildly to the window and  the bleak streets below.

He recoiled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She wanted to smash him in the face.

"What baby?" he ground out.

"My baby," she cried, hurling the words like hand grenades.         

     



 

She stood outside herself. She'd been out of control in those early  hours of the morning, too. Years of toeing the line around a father who  was quick to correct with a swing of his arm had disappeared. She hadn't  cared that she was pushing him past his limits. She had only wanted her  son back. She had wanted her father to quit saying those awful words  about Dorian being dead.

"Brandon took him. I've been trying to find him for six years and I finally have a chance to confront him, but you-"

She swiped at an irritating tickle on her cheek. Her trembling  fingertips came away smeared with black. She was crying. That was why  her throat felt like it was made of broken glass. Her chest was under a  piano, so tight she couldn't draw a breath that didn't hiss.

Her makeup was ruined and when she looked down, she saw little dots of  charcoal had dripped to stain her dress. Even if she somehow pulled her  appearance together, she couldn't confront Brandon with her emotions in  tatters.

This latest chance was dissolving, just like all the rest. How had she  let herself believe this time was different from the others?

Why did it always end like this?

She lifted her gaze, letting Stavros see how shattered she was. How  betrayed she was by his refusal to compromise. His imposition of his  will.

His act of cruelty.

"I got you what you wanted, but you... You're just like Brandon. Your  precious life has to be protected at the expense of everyone else's,  doesn't it? I knew what you were when I saw you, but I still-"

He jerked his head back, expression stunned, like she had punched him in the face.

She might have wondered how her words had struck so deeply if she hadn't been so devastated herself.

"I hate you. I hate myself."



He followed her to the bedroom. She had black tears dripping off her  chin, and she yanked at her stained gown. Wisps of her hair were coming  out of its upswept knot.

"Calli-"

"Leave me alone." Her voice was thick with rejection.

His heart lurched. He was at an utter loss. What the hell? Was this even real? A baby?

"Are you going to make me beg? You love it when I do that, don't you? Fine. I'm begging you, Stavros. Please leave me alone."

Her broken words were the flash burn of a Molotov cocktail to the chest,  leaving a hot, gaping hole where his heart resided. He stared at the  traumatized woman before him and the look in her eyes snapped something  in him. Something that had been golden and bright, something he hadn't  even realized had come to exist between them, or even how precious it  was.

It was gone now. Incinerated.

He could hardly breathe, but he made himself turn and leave. He made  himself give her this one little thing she wanted. Had begged for.

Your precious life has to be protected at the expense of everyone else's, doesn't it?

His father had told him to swim for shore. He had said he would be right  behind Stavros. But he hadn't been. The waves had been three feet high.  After one glance back, Stavros hadn't risked another. His life vest had  been the only thing that saved him, buoying him to the surface each  time the waves plunged him under.

Calli couldn't know that she had scored such a mortal blow with her  words, but Stavros reeled under the denunciation. He was to blame for  his father's death. He knew that.

He was still as selfish as that boy who had saved his own life at the  expense of his father's. Just look at his reaction tonight. He knew what  he had with Calli was more than he had a right to. He kept telling  himself it was a quid pro quo arrangement. That was how he justified  enjoying her. How he justified playing house in a way he had long  written off, not feeling entitled to it.

He poured himself a glass of the red wine that was open, bottle clinking  against the glass as he relived that moment of seeing her interest in  Brandon. Jealousy had seared through him. The depth that those talons  had sunk into him unnerved him and he took a quick sip, wishing it was  stronger, strong enough to burn the tension from the back of his throat.

He had ruthlessly shut down their evening because he had felt, yes, that his precious time with her was threatened.

He was still jealous. She had a son. With Brandon Underwood.

Once again he found himself wondering how his life would have been  different if he had stayed on the island. Would that boy be his?

A fresh snap sounded and his palm stung. Red wine soaked past the shards  of glass in his skin, changing shade as blood rose to mingle with the  dripping liquid.

Stavros swore and went to find the first-aid kit, leaving bloodstains on the tile.



There had been days over the years when Calli had let herself hope.  Times when she had a little money saved, or Takis sent a letter, or some  other thing happened and she would let herself believe that her time of  waiting was coming to an end. She would see Dorian again. Soon.         

     



 

Then the other shoe would drop. Her dreams would be dashed and she would  be overcome with grief all over again, crying so hard she was sure her  lifetime allotment was used up.

Each time, once the storm passed, she was left hollowed out and  desolate. Then, very slowly, she would gather herself and make a new  plan.

So she knew it wasn't over. It would never be over. If she didn't have  another chance tomorrow, she would make one for herself the next day, or  someday far in the future. She had done this before, too many times to  count.

It took courage to work herself up to taking action, though, especially  when the disappointment was so profound when it didn't work out. So she  didn't try to make a new plan tonight. Tomorrow she would figure out how  to proceed. Tonight was for accepting she had lost.

Again.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs to the loft. She remembered where she  was, curled up in the corner of the settee in the dark of Stavros's  penthouse bedroom. She had let her gown fall to the floor and stepped  out of it, then wrapped a blanket around her while she cried. Now she  was aching in the aftermath, filled with despair, blinking to focus her  swollen eyes on the lights of the city laid out like a carpet of stars  below her. Her heart weighed heavily in her chest.

Stavros had threatened to send her back to Greece, she recalled, which  didn't sound so bad, actually. Takis would take her in. She could see  Ophelia. At least she had that. She was terribly lonely here.

She glanced burning eyes toward the closet, wondering what she should pack. Her brain conjured nothing.

"It's late. I thought you'd be asleep," Stavros said.

She was tired. So tired.

So sad.

"I just wanted to ask him where Dorian was taken." Her voice barely  functioned beyond a whisper, flaky and dry. "Where he is now. That's  all."

She heard his breath hiss in, like her words had struck and hurt, but what did he know about pain?

"It wasn't about sex or getting back together with him. I would never  see Brandon again if I had a choice, but he's the only one who can tell  me what happened. His lawyers have been saying for years that nothing  even happened between us, but a baby isn't nothing."