Page 49 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

They consumed their indulgences companionably. But then they did everything companionably. And so much more than merely companionably...

As if the last six years had never been. As if this truly were our honeymoon—the one we should have had together.

Shadows flickered in his eyes.

But she hadn’t wanted that—hadn’t wanted a honeymoon with him.

So why now? This time with me?

He could not think it was for the reason he’d first put to her. Not any longer. How could it be? She’d refused to let him buy any more clothes for her. Refused, even more tellingly, when he’d stopped outside a jeweller’s and invited her to tell him what she liked best in the display.

‘But I want to get you something—a souvenir from Paris,’ he’d said.

She’d only shaken her head, then taken his hand to continue their walk.

They were doing a lot of walking, seeing all the sights, and he was delighting in showing them to her—from the Eiffel Tower to the Pantheon, from Napoleon’s tomb to the Arc de Triomphe. They’d wandered through the Tuileries gardens and along the Champs-Elysées, strolled through the Latin Quarter, stopping for coffee at the cafés made famous by the French philosophes and intellectuals and artists, sampling the rich bounty of Paris’s art galleries... There was so much to see...impossible to do it all in just one visit.

He’d said as much over dinner one evening, at the restaurant he’d taken her to—one of the most renowned in Paris, to which she’d worn another of the evening gowns he’d chosen for her in a rich vermilion. It had taken his breath away when she’d emerged from her bedroom in all her splendour. The bedroom that was now really only her dressing room...serving no other purpose.

Because each night—each blissful night—she was his...completely his. Ardent and passionate, her desire matching his. Night after night.

‘There is still so much to see,’ he’d said to her that night across the candlelit table. ‘Too much for a single visit.’

Had it been the candlelight flickering on her face that had made it look shadowed? She hadn’t answered him, only smiled and praised the wine, lifted her glass.

He’d lifted his, and tilted it to her. ‘To our next visit,’ he had said.

Yet even as he’d said the words he’d wondered if he should. Wondered again now, as they emptied the box of patisserie between them.

This time with her—could it last? Should it last?

I wanted to bring her here to free myself of her.

Perhaps he should remember that...

He closed the empty box. The delights inside, those sweet indulgences, were all gone. Consumed.

Eliana was getting to her feet, dusting the crumbs off her.

‘My fingers are all sticky. I need to rinse them in the pond.’

His were as well, and he followed her, depositing the empty box in a bin, its purpose served. The water in the pond was cool as he dabbled his fingers, shaking them dry.

‘You used to pick the nuts off the baklava—’

Eliana’s reminder plucked at him. That time with her back then had been as sweet as this time now. But it had passed. This time would pass too.

Maybe I should just be content with what we have now and then let it go.

Just as he must let go the poisoned past between them, he must let Eliana go...slip out of his life.

He must move on from her.

But not quite yet.

He smiled as he looked down at her, perched on the stone edge of the pond, rinsing her fingers.

‘How do you fancy seeing if we can hire a model yacht to race?’ he invited.

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