Page 11 of The Billionaire's Demand

‘I’m due in Paris tomorrow. I propose I fly up here again then, and we’ll fly to Paris from here. Don’t bother packing—we’ll hit the fashion houses first thing. Give me your current phone number and I’ll text you the time you’ll need to be at the airport.’

He was being brisk and businesslike, and he was glad of it. He looked across at her, waiting for her reply. She’d picked up her cutlery again, and was absorbed, it seemed, in eating her own fish.

‘Eliana?’ he prompted.

She didn’t look up, and he waited a moment longer.

‘Do you require something on account? Is that it?’ he said. ‘If so, I expect I can run to that.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his wallet. ‘If you have expenses here to settle, will this cover it?’

He extracted a few hundred-euro notes and put them by her place.

She stopped eating. Pushed them away from her. Looked across at him.

‘Thank you, but no,’ she said politely. ‘And thank you,’ she went on, in the same polite voice, ‘but no, in fact, to your kind invitation to go to Paris with you and keep you company in bed.’

He paused again. Then: ‘Why not?’ He kept his tone casual.

‘The past is gone, Leandros. I don’t want to try and exhume it. What would be the point?’

‘The point, Eliana,’ he spelt out deliberately, ‘is what I have already said. I will bankroll you, get you back on your feet. You’ll be able to start again—look for another rich man to marry you. You can’t do that,’ he said, and his voice was drier than ever, ‘from some dump in a backstreet in Thessaloniki.’

He drained his glass of wine and went on eating, as did she. For all its non-gourmet status, the food was good, and he ate with a will now. He didn’t say anything more—he’d let Eliana think over what he’d offered her.

When they’d both finished eating, he settled the bill, then got to his feet.

Leandros was guiding her outside, into the warm air. The seafront stretched along the wide bay. City-dwellers were making their evening volta, strolling along—a familiar scene at this hour of the day along every seafront in Greece.

‘Let’s walk a bit,’ he said to her.

Passively, she fell into step beside him. She was still in a daze, unable to believe what was happening. That Leandros had reappeared like this—and what he’d said to her.

Unbelievable.

Unbelievable that he should have said it—or thought she might agree.

Suddenly, he spoke.

‘We used to do this every evening—do you remember? In Chania, walking along the curve of the harbour that time when we went to Crete?’

Eliana felt her heart catch. How could she not remember her hand being held fast in his, as if he would never let her go?

But it was me who let him go—went to another man.

Pain—so familiar, so impossible to relinquish—stabbed at her for what she’d done.

‘That was a good holiday...’

Leandros was speaking again. There was reminiscence in his voice, but then it changed to hold wry humour.

‘You insisted on separate bedrooms.’

Suddenly, he stopped, stepping in front of Eliana. His hands closed over her shoulders. Stilling her. Freezing her. He looked down at her, his face stark in the street light.

‘Had...had we not had separate bedrooms all the time back then...’

He drew a breath. She heard it—heard the intensity in his voice when he spoke again.

‘You would not would have left me.’

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