Page 38 of The Billionaire's Demand

Her eyes went to him now. He was standing a little way from her, but not far, leaning on the railing, looking out over the river at the passing scenery as Paris gave way to the countryside of Normandy. He looked relaxed, at ease, and she was glad—and grateful.

With feminine instinct and a little pang, she knew that his discovery that her marriage to Damian had been celibate had come as welcome news. That it had lessened, in some way, his sense of rejection by her when she had married Damian and not him.

Does he think it part of the retribution I deserved? To be denied a normal marriage with the husband I had chosen over him?

No—there had been no sense of that in him. And that knowledge, that certainty that came from somewhere she knew not where, warmed her.

Her expression softened as her gaze fixed on him, the breeze ruffling his sable hair, the sleeves of his jumper pushed up to show his strong, tanned forearms as he leant against the railing. And the way he was being with her now warmed her too.

He’d been different from the moment she’d woken. Woken from that dream—the sweetest dream in all the world. A dream that had, as she’d woken, suddenly been no dream. Leandros truly had held her close, protected her, all night long...

Emotion welled in her, but there was sadness too. Sadness for all that might have been in her life. It pierced her now, the knowledge that however last evening and last night had changed things between them, it could never make right all that had gone wrong.

But for now, in this moment, this day, during this time with him, given to her as a blessing that she had never thought could be hers, what she had was enough.

‘You can see why Monet loved his gardens so much,’ Leandros said. ‘Immortalising them in so many paintings.’

After the tour of Monet’s house and gardens, he had repaired with Eliana for a late lunch in a nearby restaurant with a vine-covered terrace, busy with other visitors. The day was still warm enough to sit out, though he was glad of his lightweight sweater. Eliana wore a short-sleeved top with a matching bolero-style cardigan around her shoulders, paired with a flared skirt—all part of the wardrobe he’d supplied her with the previous day.

His gaze lingered—and yet it was not the gaze of the previous day, veiled and assessing, holding at bay the part of his mind that was deploring the rashness of his decision to have anything to do with Eliana ever again, presenting her with an outward civility that masked the turbid, bitter emotions that warred with the driving desire for all that he sought only to sate and quench. To be free of for ever by indulging it. To taste and take the beauty that tormented him...

No, now it was less her beauty that held him—more her expression. He wanted to read it—be reassured by it.

‘It was a good place to live out his life,’ she answered now, her tone ruminative. ‘There is always peace to be found in a garden.’

There was a softness in her eyes, as if she were thinking of more than Monet’s garden.

‘The garden at your father’s villa was beautiful, as I remember,’ he heard himself saying.

‘Yes, it was always a comfort to him—as was the villa itself. He loved them dearly. I was always glad—’

She broke off, busying herself with breaking open her bread roll as they waited for their food to arrive.

‘Glad?’ he prompted.

She lifted her eyes and looked across at him. ‘Glad he was able to end his days there.’

‘Were you able to be with him?’

‘Yes—Jonas granted me that, and I was grateful. After his stroke, my father...lingered...for two months. I stayed there for the duration.’

Leandros’s eyes rested on her. There was a sadness in her face now, and he felt it pull at him.

‘I...I heard that the villa will now pass to Damian’s cousin.’ He felt uncomfortable saying it, but he did not mean it cruelly. Just the reverse.

Her marriage had not been easy. For whatever venal reason she’d made it, she had paid a high price for the rich living that was so important to her that she could not do without it.

She could not face poverty—even with me to share it with. She wanted what she was born to, and the threat of losing it made her reject me.

‘Yes. Vassily will get it now—unless Jonas sells it, or pulls it down and replaces it with something modern, then sells that at a greater profit still. It’s his business, after all, and how he made his money. Construction.’

‘Or destruction,’ Leandros riposted tightly. ‘I only visited once, but it deserves keeping—whoever owns it.’

Leandros frowned again. Her father-in-law had driven a hard bargain when Eliana had married his son.

But it gave her what she wanted—she lived the high life with Damian.

Even if a celibate one...

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