Page 17 of The Forgotten Wife

“Yes, you wanted to go home,” Nick drawled from his seat beside her, “so that is where I’ve brought you. Althea will always be your home,pethi mou.”

“You know I damned well didn’t mean here, or you chose to deliberately misunderstand. I meant my apartment in Brighton, the place I’ve been living for the past six months. Tell your pilot to change course immediately.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” he informed her, and with a flick of his wrist disposed of the newspaper on a nearby table. “After what you’ve been through, you need time to recuperate. I’ve seen your flat. You can barely swing a cat in there, never mind hold a man of my size. You’ll recuperate here, in yourhome, in comfort.” His tone coaxed indulgently, as if he addressed a petulant child.

Feeling the steel trap of his indomitable control close around her, she bit out rashly, “So you intend to hold me hostage, too?” she accused.

In a split second, the indulgent humour left his face. Gripping

the arms of his seat, his eyes flashed ice at her. “You dare to compare what happened to you to this? To compare me to that thug?” He’d paled beneath his olive skin, his body tense with palpable fury.

The twinge of shame pricking her conscience wasn’t enough to sway her.

“This isn’t my home. And I don’t need you around to recuperate. Don’t forget, I have my own family who’ll be there for me if and when I need them.”

He eased back into his chair. “I am your husband and the only family you need,” he responded. The hard smile on his face oozed challenging arrogance.

“You’re joking, aren’t you? I may have worn your ring and chosen to bear your name, but you were a far cry from a husband.”

“Why, because I didn’t fit into some mould you’d pre-cast in your mind?”

“Because you never saw me as a wife, not in any meaningful sense. You only wanted a biddable bed partner and someone to trot out when a photo op was needed.” She whipped her head back to the window and saw the ground rising up fast. Too fast. “Nick, I demand you tell your pilot to turn this plane around and take me home?—”

It was too late. The plane touched down with scarcely a bump and rolled toward the end of the short runway.

Nick’s triumphant smile was the last straw. Her fingers flew to release the seatbelt.

“If you won’t do it, I’ll tell him myself.” She tried to get out of her seat, but with effortless ease, Nick’s hand clamped down on her arm.

His touch immobilized her, along with the steel in his voice. “No, you will not.” The American accent acquired from his mother and thickened by several years spent in the U.S. was now missing as his Greek autocracy flared to life. “My pilots take instruction from no one but me. Besides, do you have any idea how many flights they’ve flown in the past forty-eight hours? Are you hell-bent on adding to their fatigue by making unreasonable demands?”

“Of course not?—”

“Then sit down and keep your seatbelt on until the plane has come to a complete stop.” The last sentence was recited in a mock sing-song voice used by flight attendants the world over and was no doubt meant to amuse, but it fell far short of the mark.

“Let me go,” she said calmly, hating him for the position he’d placed her in.

His gaze rested on her for several heartbeats, then he released her.

“You’re angry with me, but I’m doing this with your best interest in mind.”

She laughed, a mirthless sound that scraped her throat. “God, you haven’t changed. As long as I end up doing exactly what you want, everything you say is in my best interest, isn’t it, Nick? I don’t know whether to be angry or sad about that.”

His lids swept down to shield his eyes. When he lifted them, his expression was carefully neutral. “Take your time to explore your feelings. And let me know when you decide which emotion you feel. Welcome home,yineka mou.”

She was well and truly trapped. Because, damn him, Nick was right. Unless he gave specific instructions to the contrary,there was no way she could get off the island. The nearest landfall, another island similar to this one, was also owned by the Andreakos family, more specifically, Alex. And after his brusque caution not to get into any more trouble, she didn’t imagine he’d help her leave.

Nick had smoothed the way for her travel through the Greek Embassy in Morocco, but without him or her passport—which was still in Mwana’s possession—she wouldn’t be able to board a flight back to England.

And as for the family she’d so proudly trotted out a minute ago, the moment her parents found out she was with Nick, they’d ignore any pleas from her to get her out of here.

After all, weren’t they one of the reasons she’d left England in the first place? To get away from the constant pressure to “sort out this silliness with Nick”?

She’d refused to tell anyone but her best friend, Liz, why she’d walked out on Nick, and she wasn’t about to admit to the whole world why her marriage had ended after six short months. She had her pride, if nothing else.

The aching memory held her rigid in her seat, until the plane’s brakes jarred her from her thoughts.

Ignoring the hand Nick held out to her, she released her belt and stood up. She cursed the weakness in her body and pain in her bandaged feet as she moved with slow stiffness to the door.

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