He breathed out, long and slow, as if in response to her touch. ‘I feel for you, Captain Rebecca. I feel only for you.’
She let his statement settle on her subconscious. She wanted to believe him. She really wanted to allow herself to believe him. Because the way she was feeling now wasn’t commonplace in her life. This wasn’t a date with Angus from the sausage shop. This wasn’t appreciating the visual appeal of Kelvin Fletcher on Strictly. This was real. And this was close. And this was happening if she wanted it to…
Becky moved her hand, pressing it to Elias’s chest until she felt the thrum of his heartbeat pulsing against it. She wasn’t waiting the required number of seconds that Hazel’s book had suggested. She wasn’t going to wait any longer at all. With the olive trees surrounding them, those ancient walls the only barrier to the harbour, the water and the twinkling lights of Albania beyond, Becky drew Elias towards her, connecting their lips with a passion she had forgotten she owned.
And it was heavenly. She was in sole charge of this moment and she knew exactly what she wanted. Him. Elias. Doing unspeakable things to her for days.
He tasted of life’s sunniest moments, of lemon and bread and somehow seaside, and as his tongue danced with hers, slow then fast then teasing, Becky found herself tight to his body, enjoying every inch of that taut physique up close and very personal.
‘Becky,’ he breathed, separating them for a second.
‘You’re not going to run away again, are you?’ she asked, looking up at him, eyes moist with anticipation of hopefully more kisses to come.
‘No, not at all,’ he answered. ‘I just… want you to be sure this is what you want.’
‘I am sure,’ Becky answered positively. ‘This is what I want. Even if it means I die from the trying at some point.’ She smiled. ‘I mean…what a way to go.’
Elias smiled too and, with the history of more than a thousand nights around them, a very full moon the only illumination, Becky pulled him back to her and connected their lips again.
Forty-Eight
Kerasia Beach
‘Tell me more about your father,’ Elias said. ‘He sounds like someone who has shaped your life so much.’ He wrapped his arms around Becky, drawing her back into his body.
They were sitting on the white stones of Kerasia Beach, having walked through the garden of Villa Selino to the shore. It was still warm, possibly somewhere in the twenties, with definitely no need for a jacket or a wrap. The beach was deserted, the water gently shushing onto the pebbles. Becky felt content here. Sitting close to the sea, in the arms of this intriguing man she was finally getting to know more completely. It was like the best experimental sandwich she’d ever concocted.
After their visit to Kassiopi, Elias had driven them back here and neither of them had wanted the evening to end. It was edging towards 1 a.m. now and before she and Elias had made their way down to the ocean, Becky had popped her head around Petra’s bedroom door. Thankfully Petra was home and alone. Still clothed, one leg out of the light cover, hair still immaculately pinned up, the young woman was clutching hold of a well-worn teddy bear. On first glance she might have been ten years old…
‘My dad was inspirational to me,’ Becky replied without hesitation. ‘But in the quietest of ways. That’s who he was. Unassuming, shy almost, and very softly spoken.’ She paused, remembering. ‘He never said anything unless it was worth saying. Everything he put into words… it meant something.’ She turned her head a little, looking up at Elias. ‘Does that sound weird?’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘Communication is everything, I truly believe that. But that does not mean that you should talk for the sake of filling spaces. Sometimes a silence can say as much as a hundred words.’
He was so right. She sat quietly now and listened. The cicadas were chirruping from the eucalyptus trees at the edge of the beach, the fenders of boats nudged at the wooden dock, squeaking slightly, the ocean lapped and splashed.
‘I did not mean for us to stop talking,’ Elias told her. A light rumble of a laugh moved from inside him then hit the night air. Becky laughed too as he tightened his hug around her.
‘My sister and I stopped talking productively a long time ago. Before what happened with Dean and after our dad died and our mum moved away.’ Becky sighed. ‘I guess that’s as much my fault as it is hers. I think, when Mum decided to move, it hurt Megan. Whereas I saw it simply as my mum making a new start and wanting something different, you know, getting over having to look after someone who needed a lot of care. Megan, I think, saw it as a kind of abandonment. Not that she would say. And I did try. I always tried. But when it’s only one person trying it gets exhausting.’
‘Sometimes,’ Elias began, ‘it is too hard to talk.’ She felt him take a breath. ‘And sometimes, everyone tries to do the talking for you and… you are simply not ready.’
‘Is that how you’ve felt?’ Becky asked. ‘About Hestia?’
‘We were talking about your father,’ Elias reminded.
*
He may have made this huge step tonight by telling Becky about what had happened with his ex-wife, but it still felt incredibly raw.
‘Have you seen Hestia at all since you divorced?’
‘No,’ he said quickly.
‘Do her parents live in Liakada too?’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘But they do not live far away. In Episkepsi. It is a village not far from here.’
He couldn’t imagine seeing Hestia’s parents now any more than he could have imagined seeing them two years ago. What was there to say? What purpose would it serve? But he would like to think, if he saw them in passing, that he would say kalimera. And if he saw Hestia again? Would he say something? And, if so, what?
‘Hestia… she emailed me, after the divorce was finalised.’ He took a deep breath wriggling a little on the stones but not letting go of Becky.
‘What did she say?’
‘I did not read it. Not at first. Back then I saw her name and all kinds of feelings came out of me, and none of them were good. But, a few months after, when I was clearing my inbox, I saw that email again and, for some reason, I clicked on it.’
He remembered how it had felt to read the words. It had been Hestia reaching out, the Hestia he had met and fallen for, but more honest and a lot braver.
‘She apologised to me, more times than anyone really deserved to be apologised to, given the circumstances. And, in parts, she was saying sorry for being true to herself because, if you break everything down, that was the only thing she did. She was putting an end to a life she had never wanted and starting something she should always have followed. Yes, she hurt me, but she had also hurt herself every single day by pretending to be someone she was not.’
His anger about the situation had lessened after that email. He still hurt. He was still the owner of a business championing men in divorce proceedings, but the note had gone some way to helping him come to the realisation that there was absolutely nothing he could have done in that situation to stop the spontaneous combustion of his marriage.
‘Did you reply?’ Becky asked.
He took hold of one of her hands then. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘But I should have. Perhaps it is not too late.’ He toyed with her fingers. ‘I don’t know.’