Page 38 of Seasons of Sin

“To know what?” He was impatient and furious.

“Everything. When did it begin? Was she his first? Did he love her? Does he love her?”

Wanting to know meant she cared, and that meant, surely, that she loved her husband. That she wanted to go back to him. It was a painful, bitter, choking pill to swallow. “And? If he tells you everything you want to hear?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“This is ridiculous.”

“I’m so sorry.” She lifted a hand to his chest but he stepped backwards.

“No.” It was a sudden and emphatic denouncement. “You can’t have it both ways. I’m not yours to touch anymore. No more kisses. No more. You have chosen, and you must stick with your choice.” His dark eyes bore into hers, as though in looking he might comprehend. But he didn’t. He spun on his heel and moved with the appearance of nonchalance through Athens airport, towards his own first class lounge.

Saphire stared until he’d disappeared through the doors. The whole way, she waited for him to turn back, or change his mind; but he did not. And why would he have?

He was right.

She had made her choice.

And now she had to live by it.

The flight to London was too smooth, and too fast. Every minute that passed installed further grief in her heart, as it reminded her that she was moving further away from him.

When they touched down at Heathrow, she was filled with a sense of deep misery, not helped by the cab’s slow journey through central London.

Eventually, though, it began to meander through streets that were familiar. Names that she remembered shone at her from buildings, and cafes she’d run to on slow weekend mornings came into view.

This was her life. She’d lived here happily. Before the affair. Before Thaddeus. She had lived here, and she had been happy.

She would be again.

* * *

“You sound awful.”

Thaddeus shook his head ruefully; a smile was too much to muster. He stared out over Paris, his eyes taking in the glistening Eiffel Tower, the magnificent Arc De’Triomphe and the golden glow of the low-rise buildings in the late evening.

“Thank you,” he drawled. The evening was warm and Thaddeus wore only a pair of cotton boxer shorts. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that Saphire would walk up to him and wrap her arms around his waist; press kisses to his naked skin, as she had done so often on the island.

“Seriously, man. What’s up?” Rocco, from his townhouse in Rome, frowned at the quality of desolation in his friend’s tone. “This isn’t about that woman is it?”

Thad grimaced. “Saphire is her name.”

“Right. Mrs Saphire Arana,” Rocco drawled cynically. “Your married lover.”

His lips formed a grim slash in his face. Of course it was about Saphire. She was all he could think of. “No. I have just had a hell of a day.”

“You might be able to fool most people with that, but I know you better. What is it?”

Thad shook his head.

“What happened with you two after I left, anyway?”

“Thee mou,” he snapped. “What do you think happened? She went back to her husband. As was her plan all along.”

Rocco let out a low whistle. “When?”

“A few days ago.” Was her back still bearing the mark of his initials? Was her heart thinking of him? Was her body craving his touch? Was she in hell, as he was? “When I came to Paris.”