She considered that. ‘Do you ever get lonely?’
‘No.’ Except, that wasn’t completely true. He was lonely, a lot of the time. But he relished that feeling, knowing it was the punishment he deserved, because of what he’d put his wife through. His wife who had deserved so much better.
‘I’d hate it.’
‘Why?’
‘I guess I’ve been lonely enough. My marriage was not happy, obviously, but, because of his job, I found it hard to meet people and really get to know them. I lost contact with a lot of my college friends. I felt alone, a lot. Now that we’re divorced, I want to restart my life. I want to find myself again. I know how trite that sounds, it’s just…’ She tapered off and lifted her shoulders.
‘It doesn’t sound trite.’ His own voice was hoarse. He thought of Isabella with a sense of desperation in his gut. Why hadn’t she divorced him? He hadn’t deserved her loyalty. Her love and devotion to a man like him had destroyed her. If only she’d done what Genevieve had and walked out. He ground his teeth together, the past too painful to spend much time on. ‘What was his job?’
She hesitated for a moment. ‘He’s a senator,’ she said, clearing her throat a little and looking away. ‘Very young, very driven, much admired.’
‘I see.’ The same could have been said for him. He’d been twenty-three, after all, when his private equity firm had become one of the biggest in the world. He’d worked tirelessly ever since, until Isabella’s death.
‘Everything was about his image,’ she murmured, sipping her coffee, keeping her delicate face averted from his. He reached out without intending to, tucking a curtain of dark hair behind her ear, so he could see her better. Heat spread through his body at the simple, innocent touch. ‘I guess that’s par for the course for a lot of politicians, but I wasn’t really prepared for the duality.’
Though they’d only just met, he could understand that. There was something so authentic and real about this woman, he could easily imagine her struggling with the other man’s public persona and his private actions.
‘So, fishing, huh?’ she asked, clunkily changing the subject.
To his surprise, he heard himself say, ‘I would go out with my father, early in the mornings, before the sun had come up. He died a long time ago, but I still hear his voice, when I cast in my line,’ he admitted, turning away again, this time to put down his coffee cup. They’d been able to coax out an okay living while his father lived, but afterwards, it had been desperate.
‘It’s the same for me, with sailing,’ she murmured. ‘My father taught me, before he died. I was twelve, and it felt like the whole world had fallen down around me. My mother was never particularly maternal, but my dad…he always had time for me,’ she said, smiling wistfully. ‘We would go out on his boat, and he was so patient, explaining everything as many times as he needed to.’ Her lips pulled to the side as she lost herself in thought. ‘It’s why I hired that damned boat,’ she muttered. ‘It was spur of the moment—a whim. I walked past the marina and saw them there, and justfelthim, beside me, encouraging me forward. Which is stupid, really, because no way would my dad—or the ghost of him, or whatever—ever put me in that kind of danger.’
Nikos thought about that—the legend of this island, the mythical stories of its creation—and ignored the obvious parallels. He’d never believed in all that nonsense, though someone inclined that way could have said the same thing: that he had been drawn here, by fate, or something like it.
‘In truth, he’d have been furious with me for setting out without checking the forecast,’ she admitted, on an uneven laugh.
‘The hire company should have warned you.’
‘They might have. I don’t speak Greek.’
He was surprised to feel a smile tugging at his lips. ‘You know your phone can translate for you?’
Heat flushed her cheeks. ‘I just wanted to get out on the water.’ Her gaze was focused on the flickering fire across the room. ‘I’ve felt trapped for so long, the freedom of the sea…’ She turned to face him. ‘It sounds stupid.’
‘No,’ he contradicted immediately, hating the vulnerability he sensed in her. Hating the feeling of history repeating itself. His wife had been miserable, yet he’d been too driven to succeed, to never again know the ache of hunger, the fear of poverty, to realise. He had seized every opportunity, flown across the globe, stayed in his office when she’d begged him to come home, because he couldn’t imagine neglecting his business.
So he’d neglected his wife—and lived to regret it, with every part of himself.
It was because of Isabella that he was so easily able to spot the signs now, to read the self-doubt. And while he hadn’t caused Genevieve’s situation, he couldn’t help but wonder if meeting her wasn’t giving him a second chance. An opportunity to do something good for someone, for once. It would never undo the damage he’d caused Isabella, though. Nothing could, and he would carry that guilt for a lifetime, always atoning for the error of his ways. ‘I understand it,’ he said. ‘The same is true for me, out here. There is a sense of freedom that comes of this life.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘This is a pretty extreme version of freedom, though,’ she pointed out, flicking him a small smile.
He dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘It’s right for me.’
Her eyes swept his face, thoughtfully. ‘When did you last leave the island?’
‘About three months ago.’
‘Oh!’ Her reaction was easy to interpret.
‘That surprises you?’
‘Yes, honestly. You seem almost to be carved out of the cliff face,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t know if I can picture you anywhere else.’
‘I never stay away long.’
