Page 20 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

He looked at her a moment. ‘You look tired,’ he said abruptly. ‘Worn down.’

She took the glass, met his eyes. ‘I’m a widow, Leandros. And I’ve no money. I’ve had to take a job with long hours and little pay. So, yes, I’m tired.’

He frowned. ‘I know your father died a while back, but surely he left you something?’

She took a sip of her cocktail. ‘He had nothing to leave,’ she said. ‘When I married Damian, Jonas paid my father’s debts, but put a charge on his estate. When my father died the charge was executed. There was no money to repay it, so... Well, Jonas foreclosed.’

Leandros was still frowning. ‘What about your mother’s family? I know you’d said they weren’t keen on her marriage.’

‘No—they wanted her to marry the man she’d been expected to marry until she came out to Greece on holiday and met my father.’

There was a sour taste in Leandros’s mouth suddenly.

Like mother like daughter...

‘So she jilted her English boyfriend to marry your father?’

Eliana did not answer him, only took another mouthful of her drink.

‘Have you no English family to turn to?’ he pursued.

This time she did answer. ‘There are only a couple of cousins now, and an aunt who was always jealous of my mother—she wouldn’t help. And anyway—’

She stopped short. He did not press her to continue. His veiled gaze rested on her. Her youthful dress, her tied-back hair and lack of make-up made her look younger than her age. More like the age she’d been when he’d romanced her, entranced by her natural, radiant beauty.

His expression hardened. She might have looked like an ingenue, wide-eyed and innocent, gazing at him so ardently, adoringly, whispering sweet nothings to him, but nothing was all that he had ever meant to her. She’d walked away from him without the slightest hesitation once his father had made it clear he’d cut his own son out of his inheritance, cut him off without the proverbial euro if they married.

She is venal, and worldly, and material wealth is all she cares about.

He spelt the words out in his head deliberately, harshly. He must remember them—not forget them.

Or I will never be free of her.

The sound of the house phone was welcome against such dark thoughts. He crossed to the sideboard to pick it up. He listened, hung up, and turned back to Eliana.

‘That’s my car. I must go.’ He paused. ‘I have no idea how long this dinner will go on, so don’t wait up. As I said, order whatever you want from room service. This suite comes with its own butler, so discuss it with him.’

She simply nodded, saying nothing. His eyes rested on her for one last moment. She looked...frail. That was the word.

He shook it from him. He hadn’t brought her here to pity her, but to get closure—finally to achieve that.

He strode towards the door and was gone.

Eliana lay in bed. After Leandros had left for his dinner she’d stood a moment, wondering what she should do, feeling strange. Had she really just had a cocktail with Leandros, all dressed up in his dinner jacket, as effortlessly devastating as he always was in a tuxedo? But then, of course, he was devastating at any time—any time at all...

She felt emotions flicker—conflicting, confusing. But how could they be anything else at seeing Leandros again—having him physically in front of her, with the sheer overwhelming impact on her that he’d always had—but for that to be dominated by all that now separated them.

She went across to the sofa, sat herself down on it, sipping her G and T, wanting the alcohol to numb her nerve-endings.

There was a complicated-looking remote control on the low table in front of her and she picked it up, clicking it. The mirror above the fireplace sprang into life—a wall-hung TV. She channel-surfed idly, not engaging, and then let it settle to an English language news station. Perhaps the miseries of the world would take her mind off the moment. So, too, might ordering dinner for herself—drinking on an empty stomach was not wise.

She picked up another handset, placed on the side table by the sofa, and got through to Reception, gave an order for dinner. She’d asked for something she could eat while watching TV, and was duly obliged, with the politely attentive butler setting out her repast on the coffee table, then taking his leave.

She ate, then took her empty plates through to the kitchen that came as part of the Résidence, and busied herself washing them up. Then she made herself a herbal tea and went back to the sofa. She found a nature programme, and then a history one—they whiled away the time.

She ought to relax. Here she was in a luxury hotel, with nothing to do but indulge herself. Yet she was strung out like a piece of wire.

After a while she gave up on the TV and retired to her bedroom. There was a well-stocked bookcase in the drawing room, many books in English, and she’d selected an old favourite—Persuasion.

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