Page 47 of The Heir Affair

‘I will have supper served in our room and we can discuss the wedding,’ he offered.

She jolted. The persuasive statement was edged with demand.

‘I—I’m not that hungry. And I’m really tired.’ That much at least was true because she’d never felt more exhausted and heartsore in her life. She needed time and space to process all these emotions. To make sense of what he’d done, before she told him she couldn’t go through with the wedding. ‘Would it be okay if I went to bed in my own room?’

He frowned, clearly not happy with the suggestion. But then he cupped her chin and lifted her gaze to his. ‘Is everything okay, Poppy?’

Nothing was okay, she realised, but even so the tiny bubble of hope refused to die. Forcing her to ask the question that mattered most of all.

‘After our marriage, where would you live, Xander?’

Maybe she’d got it all wrong. Maybe this didn’t have to be as bad as she thought. Maybe he wasn’t trying to control her, or take her choices away from her. Maybe he just wanted to make a much bigger commitment than she’d anticipated. And she was the one freaking out, because she’d never been able to handle too much change, all at once.

‘My business is in Athens, Poppy,’ he said, the hint of frustration like a bolt to her heart. ‘And I must travel a lot. For this reason, I cannot live with you and the child here. But I would visit often.’ He cupped her bottom to drag her against him. ‘And when and if our chemistry ever dies, this will always be your home because it will belong to you.’

The hope she’d nurtured for two whole weeks burst like a popped party balloon inside her.

He wasn’t giving her Parádeisos because he loved her. He was giving her this island to get her to agree to this marriage, which he was using to control her. And rob her of the autonomy she’d worked so hard to earn.

He kissed her lips, his tongue pressing seductively against hers. She opened her mouth instinctively, unable to resist the desire even now. But when he released her, she rushed to her room.

She showered off the scent of their lovemaking, then packed her rucksack with shaking fingers.

If she’d had the courage, she would have stayed until the morning, she would have told him how she really felt about his proposal and argued the point with him. But she felt too much like that broken child again, who had wanted her father to look at her as something other than a burden… And she couldn’t do it.

She’d told Xander she loved him, and he hadn’t even responded. The stricken look on his face kept coming back to her as she crept down to the dock in the moonlight.

The boat he’d taught her how to drive stood on the quay. She untied the line, and climbed on board, breathing a panicked sigh of relief when she found the key in the ignition.

She turned to glance up at the room where he slept, her heart shattering as she stroked the place where their baby was sleeping.

Eventually she would have to contact him, once their child was born.

As she turned the key, punched the ignition, and let the boat drift at half speed out to sea, her heart felt fragile and exhausted.

She loved Xander. She would probably always love him. But she couldn’t stay, when she was convinced now he would never love her in return.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Two weeks later

Poppy listened tothe rain pounding on the cottage’s slate roof, while dragging a bucket across the kitchen floor—which she’d spent yesterday scrubbing clean—to catch the drips leaking through the ceiling. The miserable weather outside was a perfect accompaniment to her miserable mood. All the panic and doubts she’d pushed to one side—while fleeing Xander and Parádeisos, while travelling back on the never-ending coach journey from hell to the UK, reopening her mum’s old cottage, and finding a job at the local supermarket—started to crowd in on her again.

On her first day off a week ago, she’d written him a long letter, to explain everything—why she couldn’t marry him, why a relationship between them would never work—and told him she would get in touch again once the baby was born to discuss visitation rights. She had no clue how exactly that was going to work, but she’d just have to cross that bridge when she came to it. Because she was still trying to cross the biggest bridge of all first—how on earth she was going to recover from the devastating loss of what she’d thought they were building together.

She returned to the living room. The old furniture she purchased—worn, mostly second-hand, but comfortable—reminded her of her mum. She pressed a hand to her chest, butknew the ache there was nothing to do with that old grinding grief that she’d spent the last eight years trying to escape. Funny to think she’d been too scared to come back here, to live here again. Only to have that loss feel comfortable now. Because it was nothing compared to the wrenching pain of losing Xander.

She let the sadness seep into her bones as she chucked another log on the open fire, but the leaping flames couldn’t warm her chilled skin—the way he had every time he’d put his arms around her.

She swore softly, hating the regret almost as much as the miserable grinding grief.

For goodness’ sake, Pops, get over yourself. You didn’t lose Xander. You lost the dream of him, of what you could be together, which was always your dream, not his.

She rubbed her pregnant belly, aware of the swooping pressure of the baby’s movement.

You’ve still got your baby. His baby. Who you can lavish with the love he didn’t want.

She jumped, the loud banging on the front door cutting through the thundering rainstorm and her maudlin thoughts.