‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry that I didn’t warn you. Sorry that I just left you there last night.’ He took a heavy breath. ‘I’m sorry that you had to find out just what sort of man your father is.’
She saw his expression alter, his face set. Absently, with a part of her brain that was working even though it shouldn’t be, because it was quite irrelevant, she was aware all over again of just how incredibly good-looking he was, with his deep-set, long-lashed, dark, dark eyes and his sculpted mouth, and his chiselled jawline and sable hair.
Unwillingly, in her head, she heard her father’s hateful words score into her. ‘Every woman in Athens will envy you—’
She tore them from her. Tore away everything else he’d said. Every outrageous, appalling word...
How could he even think it—let alone assume it?
But she wouldn’t think about what he’d said. Wouldn’t give it the time of day.
The man sitting beside her—the man her despicable, monstrous father had said such things about—was speaking again, his voice sombre and heavy.
‘Stavros Coustakis is not known for caring about other people,’ he said tersely. ‘But he is known for manipulating people for his own ends.’
Rosalie felt his gaze on her, as if he was assessing how she was going to take what he was telling her. She stilled. Heard him go on.
‘That’s what he’s been trying to do with me—and...’ He paused, his dark eyes now holding hers quite deliberately. ‘It’s what he’s tried to do with you.’
His mouth thinned again, and he drummed his fingers on the dashboard.
‘Look, like it or not, we do need to talk. There are things I need to explain to you. Things you need to know. But not in this cramped car.’ He suddenly gunned the engine, which made a low, throaty noise. ‘I’ll take you to lunch.’ He held up a hand, as if she were going to protest. ‘Then afterwards I’ll get you to the airport, okay?’
Rosalie’s face worked. He was being different, somehow. It was as if he were speaking to her for the first time. Speaking honestly—not concealing anything. And that, she realised slowly, was why he’d been so brusque with her in London.
Because he knew all along what I’d be facing when I met my father.
Well, now she knew, too—and it had devastated her. Repulsed her.
She nodded numbly. ‘Okay,’ she said, her voice low. She was not able to summon the energy to say anything else.
In her lap she twisted his handkerchief, then busied herself stuffing it into her handbag. He would hardly want it now, all soggy and used.
She sat back, exhausted suddenly. It had all been too much. Much too much. Too much for anything except sitting here, staring out of the window, saying nothing, letting Alexandros Lakaris drive her wherever it was he was taking her.
Where it was was the seaside.
She surfaced from the numbness in her head sometime later, and stared through the windscreen at the expanse of bright blue sunlit sea appearing as they reached the coast.
‘Welcome to the Aegean,’ said Alexandros Lakaris.
He pulled up outside a swish-looking restaurant on the seafront, flanking an even swisher-looking marina, where swisher yet yachts bobbed at their moorings.
He got out, and Rosalie found herself doing likewise—found herself breathing in the warm, fresh, salty air, lifting her face to the bright sunshine as it shone down on that blue, blue sea. Out of nowhere she felt the oppression and misery encompassing her lift a fraction.
She looked about her. There was a promenade opposite the restaurant and people were sauntering along. There was a pebbly, shingly beach beyond, and an air of leisure and relaxation.
‘This is where Athenians come to get out of the city,’ Alexandros Lakaris was saying.
‘It’s lovely,’ Rosalie heard herself reply, and she heard her voice warming, in spite of all the misery still locked inside her.
‘It’s not the best the Aegean has to offer, but it’s good for somewhere so close to Athens. Anyway, let’s get some lunch.’
He steered her into the restaurant, which wasn’t too busy, and they were soon seated at a table that was indoors, but open to the pavement seating area of the restaurant. Menus were set in front of them, and with a start Rosalie realised she was hungry.
After the emotions of the morning it seemed like a balm to her to be doing something so simple as sitting here, ordering lunch. Even though she still seemed to be drained dry, incapable of thought or decision.
I’ll just go with what’s happening at the moment. I can’t do anything else—not now.
The food appeared swiftly. They’d both ordered fish, and it was served grilled, with rice and fresh salad, and it was, Rosalie discovered, extremely tasty.
Alexandros Lakaris didn’t make conversation, just let her eat in silence. But it was a silence she could cope with, even welcome. The warm breeze off the sea caught at the tablecloth, fluttered the flags on the yachts, and the sun was still dancing off the little waves on the sea. It was calm, peaceful, and she was grateful for it. Glad of it.
She pushed her empty plate away. Her misery felt less now.
‘Better?’ Alexandros Lakaris asked.
She nodded. He was still being different from the way he’d been with her in London. It was as if something were changing between them, though she didn’t quite know what. He beckoned to the waiter to remove their plates, ordered coffee, looked back at Rosalie.
‘Then I think it’s time we talked,’ he said.
Xandros sat back, his eyes resting on the face of Stavros Coustakis’s daughter, who had just had had her hopeless dreams about her father ripped from her and the ugly truth shoved in her face. He gave an inward sigh, compunction smiting him. Yes, he should have warned her—but he hadn’t, and now he must make up for that omission.
She was looking a little better than she had when he’d found her storming away from the Coustakis mansion—that, at least, was something.
He felt emotion pluck at him. Taking her into his arms as she’d sobbed out her rage and misery had been an instinctive gesture. But it had felt good to hold her in his arms...good to feel her soft, slender body folded against his. Good to let his gaze rest on her.
Okay, any make-up she might have been wearing had been washed off in her flood of understandable tears, but her beauty was undimmed for all that.
He felt thoughts flickering somewhere deep in his brain—thoughts he shouldn’t grant admittance, but which went on flickering all the same.
He did his best to ignore them.
‘Whatever your father may have told you, this is what you need to know,’ he began.