At some point in the future, Vayle would wonder what would’ve happened if Angelos hadn’t chosen then to wake up. If he’d continued sleeping, blissfully unaware of the tumult unfolding just feet away. But he hadn’t. And, now he’d decided it was time to remind the world—and his father—that he existed, nothing was going to stop him. The cry hitched to a stop for a handful of seconds, no doubt to give his mother the chance to do the right thing and shower his presence with endless adoration.
She went into the bedroom she shared with him, just as he decided her time was up. His impatient cry filled the room, quickening her last few steps. She was intensely aware that Nelios had followed close behind her. That she hadn’t answered his question and he meant to pry a response from her.
‘It’s okay, darling. I’m here. Shhh, no need to make such a ruckus,’ she crooned lovingly.
Then, the precious bundle in her arms and her heart in her throat, Vayle turned to where a statue-still Nelios stood frozen. Despite not moving, he occupied every square inch of the doorway until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see anything else but him. Or that convoluted parade of emotions which included shock, bewilderment and now, incredibly…jealousy?
She didn’t understand why his gaze darted towards where her left hand was tangled in the blanket. And, when it searched and apparently didn’t discover what he was looking for, recaptured her gaze. ‘You’re married?’
Why was his voice so hoarse? Soaccusatory?
‘You may have turned my life inside out a year ago, but I don’t believe I owe you any information now,’ she replied tartly.
Angelos whimpered, perhaps sensing the tension in the air. Or perhaps it was simply a demand for milk now he was awake. She shifted him in her arms, and again Nelios’s gaze darted to her left hand. She realised he was looking for a ring, and almost laughed.
‘It’s the twenty-first century, Nelios. A woman isn’t doomed to ruin simply because she has a child out of wedlock.’ Her inner hysteria threatened to spill over at the very thought of dating another man while pregnant and then going as far as to marry said mystery man—amidst the turbulence of having Nelios proceed with his plans to rip Vayle Hotel from her grasp, leaving them homeless and having to scramble to rearrange their lives. She would’ve needed to be Wonder Woman herself. And, while she was proud of herself for battling through the trials and tribulations of the past year, she was well-versed in what it felt like to approach breaking point. To teeter over the very edge of the abyss and force herself back just in time.
Another wave of shock travelled through him. ‘So the child is yours?’ he pressed a little jaggedly.
This time she frowned. ‘What are you talking about? Of course he is.’
She didn’t think it possible but he seemed to harden further, his breath locked in his towering body. Frantic eyes fell on Angelos, his gaze sharpening into probing drills. Whatever he saw made the great Nelios Petralis positivelystaggerfor the first time since she’d known him.
Perhaps it was the brown eyes her baby had inherited from him, or the tiniest hint of a dimple in his chin that would grow as prominent as his father’s one day. Or maybe it was an elemental feeling of recognition between father and son she wasn’t privy to. Angelos fell silent then beneath his father’s scrutiny, his wide eyes taking in the man who looked as though he was fighting a great inner battle. Whether he won or not was questionable because, when he next spoke, his voice remained gravel-rough.
‘I am going to ask you a question, Vayle. And I would be extremely appreciative if you didn’t play games with me.’
‘I don’t—’
‘How old is this child?’ he cut across her, his voice no longer shaken but scalpel-sharp.
Now, Vayle froze. ‘What? You know how old he is. He’s exactly three months next week. Why would you—?’
‘Vayle.’ His chest rose, held, fell, eyes turned midnight dark, pinning her in place. ‘Is this child… Is he mine?’
The cycle of outrage at the question came and went in split seconds because it occurred to her that she’d missed something—several ‘somethings’, as it turned out. Nelios Petralis wasn’t dim, far from it. He was the most astute man she knew. Yet, every sign pointed to him being in pitch darkness about his son’s existence. How was that even possible?
She stared down at her baby, the most precious thing in her life and felt something seismic move through her. A warning? A rallying cry?
Against what? Surely he wouldn’t…
Another bedroom door opened behind her, but the brief reprieve she yearned for to parse through what was happening never came because Agnes stepped out and immediately froze at the sight of her son.
‘Demetrius.’
‘That is no longer my name,’ Nelios growled, a mighty predator swinging his mighty paws. ‘If you respect nothing else, respect that,’ he said through gritted teeth.
She went sheet-white, and stumbled back against the door.
Nelios lunged towards her—so he wasn’t entirely unfeeling after all—but Agnes straightened before he reached her and he froze halfway between Vayle and his mother.
And there, caught in some invisible vortex, his head swung from his mother to her. ‘It’s now clear one of you orchestrated this. So I will ask again—is this child mine?’ he breathed.
She might have crafted things into being for Agnes’s sake, but Vayle resented the unfounded accusation. Her temper flared anew.
‘How dare you come here, all superior and indignant, asking questions you already know the answers to? You claim to despise games, which begs the question—what game areyouplaying? You might have ignored his existence up till now, but don’t you dare pretend you didn’t know you had a son!’
Nelios had never been in a war zone, beyond the one he’d been thrown into when he’d been too young and ill-equipped to withstand it. He’d never felt bullets whistle about his head though, sure, he knew only too well what the sound of flying fists felt like when they landed.
