Page 46 of Reclaimed By His Billion-Dollar Ring

It was not what he wanted—there was only one thing he wanted—but he could be patient if she wanted to collapse for a while...put her feet up, knock back a coffee, maybe even linger over a liqueur.

She shook her head. ‘Thank you, no,’ she said.

There was something different in her voice. Nikos frowned. She was walking through into the large reception room, with its stylish modern furniture. He followed her in, and as he did so she turned.

‘I have something to say to you,’ she said.

He paused, looking at her. There was something different in her face, too. Something in the set of her shoulders, the lift of her chin.

Out of nowhere, Niko felt his expression change—grow tense.

And then she was speaking. Her voice no longer merely crisp, but cutting like a knife. Slicing to the bone.

Her face was like a stone. ‘Whatever you expected of this marriage, Nikos, understand this. It will be a marriage in name only,’ she said, and her eyes were like gimlets, sharp and piercing. ‘You will not be laying a finger on me.’ She drew a breath—a harsh, hard sound, as hard as her expression. ‘Not now. Not ever,’ she said. ‘Never again.’

Calanthe felt weakness flood through her, debilitating and depleting—the aftermath of the tension that had racked her body from the moment she had sat alone in the car with Nikos.

She had said it—dear God, she had actually said it! Said what she had been waiting to say ever since she had given in to her terror for her father, yielded to what he longed for, what she dared not refuse when his brush with death had come so close and might yet come closer still.

What it had been absolutely essential for her to say had now been said. For Nikos to hear.

What I never wanted to tell him.

He was looking at her as if she were from another planet. She wanted to laugh, but laughter might break her apart, and she had used up all her strength today—the very last of it. She could take no more.

He made a start towards her, but she stepped back, a jerking, instinctive movement, forcing her legs to do so.

Then: ‘Why the hell,’ he said, ‘are you saying that?’

The incomprehension in his voice was absolute. She saw his face work.

‘Calanthe—what is going on? I know you’re tired—exhausted, probably...any wedding day is a strain.’ He took a breath—a ragged one. ‘Look, you can call it a day, OK? I’ll make some coffee and you can take it to bed with you. Have a shower, take your make-up off, get into bed.’ He took another breath. ‘I’ll sleep in the spare room. Give you peace and quiet. Give you space. Give you time.’

She looked at him. Keeping her face like stone. Her eyes like granite. Expressionless. Unyielding.

‘You could give me eternity, Nikos, and it wouldn’t be enough. You see...’ She heard the words coming from her. Words that had been eight years in the making. ‘You are the very last man on this earth that I would ever soil myself on or let near me again.’

She saw his expression change, his brows snap together.

‘Why?’ he said bluntly.

His face had closed, like a guillotine slicing down over it.

‘Because of what you did eight years ago,’ she answered.

Her legs would hardly hold her upright, but she forced them to do so.

His eyes flashed. She could see, as clear as day, that he was veiling what was in them.

He knows—he knows why I’ve said what I have. I can see it and he cannot hide it from me.

Bitterness filled her. And all the more when he said what he said next.

‘Because I ended things with you?’

He was making his voice sound open—but she knew that was the very last thing it was...

‘Calanthe, I told you—I said to you that very first day at Cape Sounion why I did it. I thought it was a summer romance only...feared that maybe...’

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