The Marakaios Marriage. Кейт Хьюит
for autumn.
‘Just across the street,’ Lindsay murmured. She crossed the street to a lane of faculty houses, made of clapboard and painted in different bright colours with front porches that held a few Adonirack chairs or a porch swing. She’d sat outside there, in the summers, watching the world go by. Always a spectator...until she’d met Antonios.
He’d woken her up, brought her into the land of the living. With him she’d felt more joy and excitement than she’d ever known before. She should have realized it couldn’t last, it hadn’t been real.
Antonios stood patiently while she fumbled for the keys; to her annoyance and shame her hands shook. He affected her that much. And not just him, but the whole reality he’d thrust so suddenly upon her. Going to Greece. Seeing his family again. Pretending to be his wife—his loving wife—again. Parties and dinners, endless social occasions, every moment in the spotlight...
‘Let me help you,’ Antonios said and, to her surprise, he almost sounded gentle. He took the key from her hand and fitted it into the lock, turning it easily before pushing the door open.
Lindsay muttered her thanks and stepped inside, breathed in the musty, dusty scent of her father’s house. It was strange to have Antonios here, to see this glimpse of her old life, the only life she’d known until he had burst into it.
She flipped on the light and watched him blink as he took in the narrow hallway, made even narrower by the bookshelves set against every wall, each one crammed to overflowing with books. More books were piled on the floor in teetering stacks; the dining room table was covered in textbooks and piles of papers. Lindsay was so used to it that she didn’t even notice the clutter any more, but she was conscious of it now, with Antonios here. She was uncomfortably aware of just how small and messy it all was. Yet it was also home, the place where she’d felt safe, where she and her father had been happy, or as happy as they knew how to be. She wouldn’t apologize for it.
She cleared her throat and turned towards the stairs. ‘I’ll just pack.’
‘Do you need any help?’
She turned back to Antonios, surprised by his solicitude. Or was he being patronizing? She couldn’t tell anything about him any more; his expression was veiled, his voice toneless, his movements controlled.
‘No,’ she answered, ‘I’m fine.’
He arched one dark eyebrow. ‘Are you really fine, Lindsay? Because just now your hands were shaking too much for you even to open your front door.’
She stiffened, colour rushing into her face. ‘Maybe that’s because you’re so angry, Antonios. It’s a little unsettling to be around someone like that.’
His mouth tightened. ‘You think I shouldn’t be angry?’
She closed her eyes briefly as weariness swept over her. ‘I don’t want to get into this discussion. We’ve both agreed it serves no purpose. I was just—’
‘Stating a fact,’ Antonios finished sardonically. ‘Of course. I’m sorry I can’t make this experience easier for you.’
Lindsay just shook her head, too tired and tense to argue. ‘Please, let’s not bicker and snipe at each other. I’m coming to Greece as you wanted. Can’t that be enough?’
His eyes blazed and he took a step towards her, colour slashing his cheekbones. ‘No, Lindsay, that is not remotely enough. But since it is all I have asked of you, and all I believe you are capable of, I will have to be satisfied.’
He stared at her for a long, taut moment; Lindsay could hear her breathing turn ragged as her heart beat harder. She felt trapped by his gaze, pinned as much by his contempt as her own pointless anger. And underneath the fury that simmered in Antonios’s gaze and hid in her own heart was the memory of when things had been different between them. When he’d taken her in his arms and made her body sing. When she’d thought she loved him.
Then he flicked his gaze away and, sagging with relief, she turned and went upstairs.
She dragged a suitcase out of the hall closet, forced herself to breathe more slowly. She could do this. She had to do this, not because she wanted a divorce so badly but because she owed it to Daphne. Her own mother had turned her back on her completely when she’d been no more than a child, and Daphne’s small kindnesses to her had been like water in a barren desert. But not enough water. Just a few drops dribbled on her parched lips, when she’d needed the oasis of her husband’s support and understanding, attention and care.
‘Lindsay?’ She heard the creak of the staircase as Antonios came upstairs, his broad shoulders nearly touching both walls as he loomed in the hallway, tall and dark, familiar and strange at the same time. ‘We need to leave shortly.’
‘I’ll try to hurry.’ She started throwing clothes into her suitcase, dimly aware that she had nothing appropriate for the kind of social occasions Antonios would expect her to attend. Formal dinners, a huge party for Daphne...as the largest local landowner and businessman, Antonios’s calendar had been full of social engagements. From the moment she’d arrived in Greece he’d expected her to be his hostess, to arrange seating for dinner parties, to chat effortlessly to everyone, to be charming and sparkling and always at his side, except when he’d left her for weeks on end to go on business trips. Lindsay didn’t know which had been worse: trying to manage alone or feeling ignored.
In any case, she hadn’t managed, not remotely. Being Antonios’s wife was a role she had been utterly unprepared for.
And now she’d have to go through it all again, all the social occasions and organizing, and, worse, it would be under his family’s suspicious gaze because she’d been gone for so long. Her breath hitched at the thought.
Don’t think about it. You can deal with that later. Just focus on the present.
The present, Lindsay acknowledged, was difficult enough.
‘You left plenty of clothes at the villa,’ Antonios told her. ‘You only need to pack a small amount.’
Lindsay pictured all the clothes back in their bedroom, the beautiful things Antonios had bought her in New York, before he’d taken her back to Greece. She’d forgotten about them, and the thought of them waiting for her there, hanging in the closet as if she’d never left, made her feel slightly sick.
‘I’ll just get my toiletries,’ she said, and turned to go to the bathroom down the hall. She had to move past him in the narrow hallway and, as she tried to slip past his powerful form, she could smell his aftershave and feel the press of his back against her breasts. For one heart-stopping second she longed to throw herself into his arms, wrap herself around him, feel the comforting heat of his body, the sensuous slide of his lips on hers. To feel wanted and cherished and safe again.
It was never going to happen.
Antonios moved to let her pass and her breath came out in a shuddering rush as she quickly slipped towards the bathroom and, caught between relief and despair, shut and locked the door.
Ten minutes later she’d packed one small case and Antonios brought it down to the hired car he had waiting in one of the college car parks. Lindsay slipped into the leather interior, laid her head back against the seat. She felt incredibly, unbearably tired.
‘Do you need to notify anyone?’ Antonios asked. ‘That you’re leaving?’
‘No.’ Her research, as he’d so bluntly pointed out, could wait. She’d stopped her work as a teaching assistant for introductory classes after her father had died last summer. Only nine months ago, and yet it felt like a lifetime.
It had been a lifetime.
‘No one will worry about you?’ Antonios asked. ‘Or wonder where you’ve gone?’
‘I’ll email my colleagues. They’ll understand.’
‘Did you tell them about me?’
‘You