But I don’t need sympathy from her. I don’t need it from anyone. What happened to my father was years ago and I’ve long since got past it.
‘I loved my father,’ I repeat, pressing my point home. ‘And all I wanted was to make him proud. But that wasn’t enough to save him and it only ended up devastating me, so I’m not doing that again. Not ever.’
Her eyes darken. ‘What about our child? Surely, you’ll love them?’
There’s an odd tension in me and I’m not sure why. Possibly it’s because discussing this is forcing me to revisit memories I never wanted to revisit, making me re-examine choices I’ve already made. Since my parents died, love has never been part of my life and I’ve never wanted it to be. I haven’t had any reason to regret that decision and I don’t regret it now. But she’s forcing me to look at that choice again, and I can’t brush it off, not when it’s about our baby.
‘Yes,’ I say carefully. ‘I will love our child. But to be very clear, that’s not something I have a choice about.’
She stares at me silently for a long moment. ‘So…loving someone else is a choice?’
‘Yes.’ I hold her gaze. ‘And if that’s something you want our marriage to have then you’re going to be disappointed.’
‘What about me? Don’t I get a say in that?’
I fold my arms. ‘You want love, dragonfly? Is that what you’re after?’
It’s not a question I want to ask, because I don’t know what I’ll do if she says she does. But just when the silence becomes too long, she lifts a shoulder and glances back down at the drawing. ‘No, of course not,’ she says. ‘I mean, I will at some point. But I don’t need it from you.’
Instantly the tension in me pulls tight. Because now all I can think about is who she would get it from and where. ‘You won’t get it from anyone while you’re married to me,’ I say through clenched teeth. ‘We’re staying faithful to each other, remember?’
Her pretty mouth hardens and I’m regretting that the warmth and closeness of five minutes before is already evaporating under the weight of this conversation. I don’t want her angry and I don’t want this tension between us. Not on Christmas Day, for God’s sake.
Making an effort to push aside my temper, I let out a breath, drop my arms and then hold out a hand. ‘Let’s not fight now, dragonfly. I have a few nice things prepared for this evening, and then tomorrow, we’ll marry.’
Surprise chases the golden sparks of temper from her eyes. ‘Tomorrow? Are you serious?’
‘Very,’ I confirm. ‘I’m an impatient man and the sooner we’re married, the better.’
‘Better for who?’ she asks, her gaze narrowing the way it often does when I say something she doesn’t like. ‘For you or me?’
‘For both of us.’ I still have my hand extended in her direction, waiting for her to take it. ‘You promised me, remember?’
For a second I think she won’t let me drop the subject, but then she sighs and reaches for my hand, her slender fingers threading through mine. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But I’m just warning you that the nice things you’ve prepared for tonight better be damn nice, otherwise there’ll be a riot.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Olympia
I can’t getwhat Rafael said about love out of my head. My thoughts circle around and around it, even as we settle to eat the Christmas dinner Rafael has prepared with his own hands. There is turkey and stuffing, and mashed potatoes and all sorts of other delicious side-dishes, and yet all I can think about is that he doesn’t want love. That he’ll love our child, but he won’t love me, and he was very clear about it.
I brushed it off, of course, telling myself that the disappointment I felt when he said that didn’t mean anything. That a marriage to him without love is perfectly fine. After all, he’s going to build me that beautiful studio he drew and he’s said that there are other nice surprises on the way, so there’s no point dwelling on it, and why ruin a perfectly lovely Christmas night arguing about love? Also, his reasons for not wanting anything to do with love make sense. It must have been horrific to lose his father in that way so no wonder he doesn’t want to put himself through it again.
I’m still telling myself that as we finish our Christmas dinner, then I’m distracted by what sounds like a helicopter. Rafael’s expression abruptly lightens. ‘Wait here,’ he says, then gets up from the dinner table and strides out of the room.
I’m tense, a little worried that the helicopter might be Ulysses making a desperate rescue bid. Then again, I told him not to come for me and hopefully he listened, and the helicopter currently touching down on the lawn outside the villa is here for other reasons.
Indeed, not ten minutes later, I hear Rafael come back inside, his deep voice issuing instructions to someone. Then the front door closes and there is silence.
I’m standing by the Christmas tree and looking at all the decorations on it, some of which appear to be handmade, when he strides suddenly into the living area, his arms full of bags and boxes.
I stare at him, open-mouthed, as he puts what he’s carrying down, then goes back out again, returning with yet more bags. He does this a couple more times until the whole living room is full of boxes and bags emblazoned with logos from various extremely expensive clothing labels, not to mention jewellery and make-up brands.
Rafael points to the rug in front of the fire. ‘Sit down, dragonfly. I have some gifts for you.’
‘So I see,’ I say, staring at the vast array cluttering the floor. ‘When did you get all of this?’
‘Last night.’ He fusses around with the boxes to clear a space for me. ‘After we left Athens. I wanted to make sure you have everything you need.’
