She firmed her lips. ‘It was truth-stating.’
He barely stopped his teeth from gritting. ‘It’s our wedding day, Vayle. Let’s not ruin it by arguing.’
She nodded. ‘Agreed. But you will still talk to your mother, yes? Attempt to put the past behind you?’
The earlier rush of winning, of embracing his new landscape, dimmed a little as he looked into her eyes. What if he failed? What if this would be him two decades from now, gazing at his own son after having failed him?
No. That would never happen. Not as long as he had breath in his body and a memory to keep him firmly on the new path he intended to choose. Snatching his flailing emotions back under control, he refocused on Vayle.
‘That’s what you negotiated on her behalf. So, yes, I’ll stick to it even if I don’t hold much hope of being swayed by anything she has to say.’ His smile felt mirthless and tight. ‘But you’ll do well not to push me.’
The end of the music punctuated his statement and he escorted her back to their table, despising that fervent wish to wind the clock back to five minutes ago.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WAS THEheight of pathetic behaviour to wander about like a hapless, jilted lover on his own wedding night. It was even more tragic to lie in bed on a night he should’ve treated like every other night, considering he’d only married for the sake of his son, and wish for his new wife’s warm, delectable body next to his.
He’d left her in that bed in Buenos Aires because he’d tried to convince himself he was done with her. And he’d almost been convinced of that.
Until all the talk of thunderclouds, sunshine and rainbows. To his disarming surprise, he’d found himself dwelling on that conversation for the rest of the wedding reception, wondering if there wasn’t some merit to Vayle’s argument. Wondering if this woman—who, against all odds, had chosen to keep his child and had striven to let him know he was to become a father because it wasthe right thing to do—wasn’t the enemy after all.
Impatient with himself—and, yes, finding it hard to accept he might have read her wrong—Nelios rose and tugged on his dressing gown. He told himself he didn’t hope she was losing sleep too; that maybe, if she happened to be awake, there would be a repeat of when she’d charged after him that night in Buenos Aires, slammed those small but firm hands on his chest and demanded he hear her out.
And, no, he didn’t hold his breath at all when he pulled open his door… To an empty corridor.
Ne, he was truly pathetic.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he picked a destination and stalked downstairs towards the ballroom of the manor, his footsteps echoing off the polished parquet floor like mocking taunts. Just hours ago, the room had been brimming with champagne, laughter and the glittering presence of his guests. Now it echoed with silence and the weight of his own frustration.
It was his wedding night, damn it. He should be upstairs with Vayle, tracing the delicate lace of her dress as he peeled it away, kissing down the curve of her neck and watching the firelight flicker over skin he longed to reacquaint himself with. Instead, he’d been banished by his own stupid agreement to what now felt like the dumbest clause ever written into a pre-nup.
No sex…foryears.
At the time, it had felt like a minor detail—an odd little addendum she’d requested with that careful tone of someone testing boundaries. He’d said yes with barely a pause, more focused on sealing the deal than questioning her motives. He hadn’t expected it to feel so vexing. Soimmediate.
Now, hindsight clawed at him like regret soaked in acid. What had he been thinking—that restraint would impress her? Win her over faster so she’d sign the document? He wanted his wife. Perhaps not desperately—he wasn’t an untried schoolboy, after all—but the need was there, residing beneath his not-so-calm surface. It was aching, maddening. And she wasn’t miles away. She was right there.
He glanced towards the sweeping staircase, half-tempted to storm up there and tear up the clause himself. But what would that prove—that he couldn’t honour a promise? That he was just another man ruled by his loins? No.
He clenched his jaw and turned back towards the bar, grabbing a bottle and pouring himself two fingers of scotch with more force than necessary. The amber liquid sloshed in the glass, mocking him.
Years…
Nelios took a slow sip, accepting that, for once in his life, he’d perhaps accepted a challenge he might not win.
He slept like crap, as predicted, dreaming of a house and living room he hadn’t seen in over two decades; of a place he’d believed was his sanctuary but had turned out to be false; of three adults deciding his fate, two of whom should never even have considered the abandonment they’d planned.
They’d sacrificed him formaterial things.
Nelios was aware there was a trough of questions still to be answered, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t lain awake endless nights, parsing every reason and accepting there was no rationale that could explain such a decision.Besides greed…
But he’d promised to hear Agnes out, he recalled as he abandoned his bed at dawn in favour of the study that came with the manor, feeling a lot more like himself as he faced a few hours of satisfying work. When the sound of husky laughter reached him an hour after sunrise, he rose from his desk and padded to the corner of the Edwardian bay windows that overlooked the terrace. Where Vayle was about to have her breakfast with a content-looking Angelos reclining in his rocking cot.
Tossing his tablet onto the desk, he walked out of the study. Her head snapped his way and he braced himself for the unique fizz of tangling with Vayle… Petralis. When no skirmish came his way, he told himself he wasn’t disappointed. That cordial relations worked for him. Going over to Angelos, he squatted next to the rocking cot, his insides turning over when soft brown eyes met his. ‘Kaliméra, Angelos.’
His son blinked, then burbled at him.
He turned to his wife.‘Kaliméra.’
