Page 24 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

One of the vendeuses had discreetly inquired whether she would like to avail herself of the fashion house’s own-brand make-up selection, and she had done so. She hadn’t used it lavishly, just applied some tawny eyeshadow and mascara, and a tinted lip gloss to give a soft sheen to her lips, finishing off with a spray of the fashion house’s latest perfume. She’d redressed her hair too, changing it from the plain ponytail to a stylish French pleat fastened with faux tortoiseshell combs.

As she’d put the final touches to her face and hair, she’d told herself that it was because her outfit deserved it. That it was part of her attempt to make amends to Leandros...

But it was more than that, she knew. Knew it when she saw his eyes resting on her with approval in them—and more than approval.

He used to look at me like that all the time. Is that what I’m yearning for? To recapture that?

She put the thought aside—it was too painful, too difficult.

Too tangled.

Instead, she simply said, ‘I’ve bought quite a lot—you said I should.’

He made no demur, merely settled the hefty bill to cover a good half a dozen carrier bags bearing the fashion house’s name with the flick of a platinum credit card.

‘Now for evening dresses—but not here,’ he said.

They got back into the dutifully waiting car, and the carrier bags were stashed neatly in the capacious boot by the chauffeur. Leandros named a fashion house that Eliana knew made a speciality of ultra-alluring designs. She’d never shopped there. It had been too sophisticated for when she’d been young, and not conservative enough to please her father-in-law. As for Damian—well, he’d just wanted her to wear whatever his father had wanted her to wear. That had been his sole concern—not contesting his father’s dictates or defying his will. Except, of course—

She pulled her mind away. Gave herself over to what was happening now. This time it was Leandros making the choices, not her. Well, if that was what he wanted, that was his call. This whole expedition was his call, after all. She would not be keeping any of these clothes when her time with him was over. However venal he thought her, she would not prove it to him in that, at least. Even if she could not defend herself for her past actions and they would stain her for ever...

She was grateful to him for diverting her thoughts, her painful memories, by saying, ‘Time for some sightseeing—shall we see what’s happening to Notre Dame?’

‘Why not?’ she said.

She kept her voice studiedly neutral. But it was an effort. Somehow, when she’d just been wearing her poverty-stricken, cheap-of-necessity clothes, making no effort to look good, it had been easier—easier to ignore, or downplay at least, the impact Leandros had on her. But now, chic and elegant, with her flattering hairstyle and a touch of make-up to enhance her appearance, she was more conscious than ever of the man sitting beside her in the confines of the chauffeur-driven car.

More like old times. When I only wanted to look good for him, to revel in his finding me beautiful. I thrilled to see him looking at me...wanting only to gaze at him in return...feeling myself melting inside...

Deliberately, she made herself look out of the window, away from the temptation that was Leandros, and away from the memories she should not allow herself, for those times had gone for ever. Instead, she watched as the car crossed over to the Île de la Cité, closing in on the great cathedral.

‘It’s still in repair after the catastrophic fire a few years ago,’ Leandros was saying. ‘But we can look at the outside. Would you care for that?’

‘Why not?’ said Eliana again.

They got out, walking on to the great concourse by the west front. It was milling with tourists, and there were plenty of noticeboards showing the extent of the original damage and what was being done to restore it. She saw Leandros gazing up at the solid, four-square towers, at the Romanesque arch between them with its ornate carvings.

‘I first came here with my father,’ he said. ‘We went up on to the roof, saw the gargoyles. Great for a twelve-year-old.’

There was a fond, reminiscent note to his voice. He had been close to his father, Eliana knew. Although their fathers had been very different, it was something she and Leandros had had in common, and they’d talked about it sometimes. Unlike her, sadly, Leandros had no memories of his mother—she had died when he was a baby.

He glanced at her now. ‘I know your father didn’t like travelling, and his health was not great, but why didn’t you take off as a teenager, Eliana? Do Europe with your friends?’

She wondered why he was bothering to ask, but she answered all the same.

‘My father would have worried about me,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t want to leave him.’

‘You were very sheltered,’ he said slowly. ‘Cossetted.’

His eyes were resting on her, and what she saw in them hurt.

‘I didn’t think you were spoilt, simply...naive. Entitled, I suppose, but not really realising it. I didn’t think it mattered. As my wife, you’d have everything you could want, so what would it matter if you’d grown up taking that for granted, expecting to go on being looked after, cossetted, for the rest of your life?’ His voice changed, hardened. ‘How wrong I was.’

Eliana was silent. What could she say? Nothing in her defence—nothing at all. Instead, she started to walk away a little, as if studying some other aspect of the cathedral. But she was taking little of it in.

He thought me entitled, but after the desolation of losing my mother, my father feared me leaving home, leaving him. It made him shower me with gifts and protect me, which I let him do because I knew it gave him comfort to do so...made him feel...safe. Just as I knew that he was glad that, since I was so keen on marrying, at least it was to someone who would be based in Athens, not too far away.

It was painful to remember...painful to think that. And pointless too. Her father was dead, and she had never married Leandros...

---