‘But now everything’s changed! Now everything’s going to be wonderful!’
The sadness had vanished from her voice and her face had brightened. She rested her gaze on Xandros, looking at him expectantly. Ruthlessly, he kept his own gaze inexpressive by sheer effort of will, though her sorry tale of all she’d been through had stung him.
I should tell her what Stavros is like! I should tell her not to push her hopes too high! Not to pin them on him at all!
But he could not bring himself to see her crash down so brutally.
And she’s not my problem—not my concern!
That was what he had to remember. He slammed the stern instruction into himself. Just as he had to remember that, however amazing she looked—and he had not expected her to look anything like that—he should keep his instinctive male reaction to her firmly checked. It was at the very least...irrelevant.
I’m just taking her to Stavros—that’s all.
And as for that—well, however much of a crushing disappointment Stavros Coustakis would turn out to be, even having a father like Stavros was better than the life she’d been leading up till now, wasn’t it?
She’ll get something from him, surely? Even if it takes lawyers or the tabloids to screw it out of him!
She was speaking again now, and he realised she’d asked a question. A question he didn’t want to answer.
‘So, how did he find out about me?’
Xandros’s expression shuttered even more. ‘Like I said yesterday, that’s a discussion for you to have with him.’
To his relief, she only nodded, and moved on to another question.
‘What else can you tell me about him? You said he’s been successful in life, but in what way?’
‘Construction, mostly,’ Xandros answered, relieved the topic had moved on. ‘But he’s branched out since—insurance, financing...that kind of thing. He’s a very shrewd businessman.’
‘I’m glad for him,’ she said. Then she paused, her expression changing, her manicured hands playing with the strap of her soft leather bag. She frowned. ‘What about...well, his personal life? You see,’ she went on in a rush, ‘it’s dawned on me that...that I might not be his only offspring!’
She lifted her eyes to Xandros—Stavros’s distinctive grey-green eyes.
‘Is he married?’ she asked. There was a nervousness in her voice that he could actually hear.
He shook his head. ‘He’s widowed. His wife died some years ago. But...’ He paused. ‘But they had a daughter. A few years younger than you. Ariadne.’
He saw her eyes widen.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful! I have a sister! Oh, you don’t know how wonderful that sounds! Will I meet her?’
Xandros shook his head again. ‘She’s abroad at the moment.’ He tried not to sound evasive.
‘Oh, that’s a shame! I hope... I hope she won’t mind having a sister...’
Xandros’s expression tightened. Who knew what Ariadne would think about this unknown daughter of her father arriving out of nowhere?
‘Do you know her? My sister?’
The artless question was unanswerable. Not without explanations he had no intention of giving. So he only nodded, and to his relief realised his phone was ringing.
With a murmured ‘Excuse me...’ he answered it, grateful for the reprieve.
It was a reprieve he kept going till they arrived at Heathrow. Wading into the grim details of Stavros Coustakis’s Machiavellian machinations was not something he was prepared to do.
He glanced sideways at the daughter Stavros had summoned to take the place of the daughter he’d disowned.
She’ll cope with the situation when she discovers it—she’ll have to!
And whether she would cope or not—whichever it was—it was not his problem and not his business. Because, for all his impulsive decision to take Rosalie Jones out to Greece to claim what she could of the heritage she’d been denied all her life, on one thing he remained adamant. Nothing—absolutely nothing—would induce him to fall in with her father’s ludicrous plan for him to marry Ariadne’s sister just to achieve the merger he was set on.
However stunningly beautiful she’d turned out to be...and however hard it was to drag his eyes from her...
Tiredness was lapping at Rosalie. Though it had been absolutely fantastic to enjoy her very first plane flight in first class, where champagne and a gourmet dinner had been served, and she’d loved nestling into her soft, capacious leather seat, flicking through complimentary high-fashion magazines as if to the manor born, the flight had been long and they’d landed in near darkness.
Greece, she’d discovered, was two hours ahead of the UK, and it would be nearly another hour before they arrived at her father’s. He lived, so Alexandros Lakaris had informed her when she’d asked, in one of the most exclusive suburbs of Athens.
She couldn’t wait to get there! To finally meet her father! But even all her excited anticipation couldn’t stop her energy levels dropping away as they drove away from the airport. She felt flat, suddenly, and out of nowhere apprehensive.
‘We’re nearly there now.’
The voice at her side made her turn her head from peering out of the car window, though there wasn’t much to be seen outside. It was so strange to think that she was in a foreign land.
But it isn’t foreign! That’s the whole point! It’s the land of my father, and I’m as much Greek as I am British!
Yet as she made out the road signs in Greek lettering, and all the shopfronts, the traffic driving on the ‘wrong’ side of the road, it all seemed very alien.
The car was turning off the busy main road now, nosing down quieter roads that became spacious and tree-lined and less brightly lit by street lamps. At either side high walls girded the mansions hidden behind them, glimpsed only through steel gates. The car turned again, down yet another wide avenue, and then slowed in front of a pair of steel electronic gates. The driver spoke into a grille, and the gates swung open.
Rosalie felt her nerves tauten, her hands clutching at her handbag on her lap. The car moved slowly forward, over a crunching gravel carriage sweep, to pull up at the entrance to a white-fronted mansion, with wide steps leading up to huge double doors. The driver was getting out, opening her door.
She turned to the man who had brought her here, lifting her out of her grim, grinding, cheerless life in the East End of London to deposit her here at her father’s house.
‘Thank you for bringing me,’ she said.
She made her voice bright, though she didn’t feel bright. She felt nervous, but she wouldn’t let it show.