Page 2 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

Yet his final words to her, his denunciation of her—scathing, bitter, contemptuous and cruel—were as clear as if they’d been spoken yesterday.

For a second her vision blurred, then cleared, bringing him back into focus. He had frozen, just as she had—but now he was walking towards her. Striding. Purposeful. Powerful.

Almost, she flinched away. But then, with a strength she had not had to summon for so, so long she steeled herself. Inwardly, she gave a kind of silent, manic laugh—after what life had done to her, why should she flinch from this blow now?

He came right up to her and she could see the lamplight slant across his features. Features once so familiar. Features now etched like acid on stone. Light glinted in his eyes, but it was a light that was darkness—darkness visible.

He stopped a mere metre from her. Eyes holding hers. Dark and condemning.

His expression changed minutely, and it was taking all her strength just to stand there, immobile, her shoulders steeled, her whole body steeled.

‘Well, well—Eliana.’

His voice was like a knife...a blade drawn down her cheek.

‘After so long. And as beautiful as ever.’

That dark, killing glint came again into his eyes.

‘Tell me, are you here to catch another husband? Another rich husband—the only kind you go for...?’

From somewhere—she didn’t know where—she found the willpower to hold her ground, outface the contempt unhidden in his taunt.

‘No,’ she answered. Her voice was cool...as cool as a mountain lake.

‘No?’ The taunt was still in his voice. ‘I’m sure there might be rich pickings to be had here tonight.’

She did not flush. She would not. ‘You must excuse me,’ she made herself say, her voice still cool. ‘I have yet to offer my congratulations to Andreas for being so fortunate as to gain Chloe as his bride-to-be.’

She made to move past him, but he was staying at her side as she headed across the terrace. He was speaking again.

‘And likewise I shall congratulate the happy bride-to-be on catching Andreas Manolis, with all his millions.’

Eliana threw a glance up at him. ‘Chloe has her own millions,’ she said.

‘Then it should prove a happy marriage indeed—with no impediment on either side.’

The cynicism—the unspoken accusation over their own thwarted marriage—was open in his voice, but she would not flinch. She simply headed inside. She would find Chloe, then escape.

Escape, escape, escape—dear God, just get out of here!

Her friend saw her, gave a cry of pleasure.

‘Elli, you came! I’m so, so pleased. Andreas—here is Eliana, one of my dearest friends for ever! And with her is—’

She stopped short. Suddenly silenced.

Leandros wanted to laugh, but if he did, he knew it would be a savage sound. A snarl. As it was, he leashed his response into a terse, tight-lipped throwaway.

‘Don’t read anything into it. It’s chance, that’s all.’

Malign chance—mocking him.

Had he known—had he had the slightest idea that Eliana would be here—he’d never have shown his face. But it was too late now.

He let Andreas’s parents introduce him to their son’s fiancée, and said whatever it was that the occasion required. As he uttered his pro forma good wishes, Eliana stepped a little aside, as if to increase the distance between them.

As if it were not infinite already.

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