Page 33 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

They’d never consummated their marriage.

But why?

He looked down at her. And as he did the explanation came to him. The one and only obvious and ineluctable explanation.

‘Damian was gay,’ he said.

His voice was flat.

But his emotions were not.

Somewhere very deep inside him, emotion was welling—turbid but powerful, seeking entrance to his consciousness, seeking the light. But this was not the time for it.

She hadn’t answered him, but her gaze had shifted, and he knew without a doubt that that was the reason for what had happened just now. The reason that, after six years of marriage, she was still a virgin...

Or had been.

Until a few brutal moments ago...

Compunction knifed through him. Had he known—had he had the slightest suspicion—he would never—

‘Eliana, I am sorry.’ His voice was vehement. ‘But I never dreamt—How could I? If you had only said... Dear God, I would have been...’

‘I didn’t know it would hurt,’ she said.

Her voice was low and her eyes slipped past his again.

‘Not like that.’ She swallowed, and now her eyes did meet his. ‘And I am sorry too... I... I’ve shocked you. Shocked myself.’

He saw her start to tremble, saw beneath her lashes tears start to bead. He drew her against him, holding her, as carefully as if she were the rarest porcelain. His breathing was ragged still, but his heart-rate was slowing now, his body subsiding. Passion spent before it even was. But that did not matter...did not exist. All that mattered—all that existed—was his careful holding of her, appalled by his unintentional hurting of her. She was bundled up beneath the protective quilt, his arm around her.

After a while, he spoke. ‘Would...would a warm bath help, do you think?’ he heard himself ask. ‘I can draw it for you. It might be...soothing.’

She swallowed, nodding faintly. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice still low.

He slid from the bed, seizing the bathrobe from the door and wrapping himself in it, heading into the en suite bathroom and turning on the bath taps to full. Not too hot, just warm and...soothing, as he had said. Would bath salts help? Surely they might. And the scent of them, too, would be soothing. What else? What else could he do? Carry her into the bathroom, that was what.

He went back into the bedroom. She was still lying there, bundled up beneath the quilt, still in a foetal position.

‘Your bath’s all run,’ he said.

He didn’t ask, only drew back the quilt, scooping her up in one smooth movement. She felt as light as a feather and, naked as she was, he felt her to be terrifyingly vulnerable. He kept his eyes from her, out of consideration, lowering her to her feet beside the fragrantly full bathtub. He turned away, not wanting her to have him seeing her vulnerable nakedness.

‘I’ll... I’ll leave you to it,’ he said uncertainly, not knowing what else to do. A thought struck him. ‘There’s a shower cap, if you don’t want your hair to get wet...’

He closed the bathroom door, left her in peace and privacy. His thoughts were still all over the place, his emotions even more so. Disbelief was still uppermost, and things were rearranging themselves inside his head—things he had thought for six long years that now needed to be re-examined. Understood...

What kind of marriage did she have?

Obviously, not the kind that he had thought she had. Not the one that everyone else had thought she had. There had never been a whisper of Damian Makris’s sexual orientation that he had known of. But then... His expression darkened. With a domineering father like Damian’s, being gay was something no son would freely admit.

Did she know beforehand?

That was the question that burned now. The question he had to know the answer to—had to.

Because if she’d known...

Then she didn’t leave me for another man—not in that way. Not in the way that lacerated me, carved knives into my flesh...my heart...

---