Page 3 of The Greek Tycoon's Unwilling Wife

What if it had all been a terrible mistake? If Andreas had not been asking for her at all but for someone else? Or what if…?

Her heart clenched at the thought of the possibility that Andreas had asked for her all right but that he had done so for reasons that were far from kind or even friendly. What if his motives were simply to add to the misery he had heaped on her a year ago?

‘Kyria Petrakos?’

Another voice, a male one this time—the voice from the telephone call—broke into her thoughts, making her turn, blinking hard in the shadowy hallway after the brilliance of the sun outside. A young man, tall, dark, was holding out his hand to her.

‘My name is Leander Gazonas. I work for Kyrie Petrakos. It was I who telephoned you.’

Leander’s handclasp was warm and firm, reassuringly so. It drove away some of the doubts and fears in Becca’s thoughts, and replaced them with new confidence and hope.

‘Thank you for getting in touch with me. I came as soon as I could.’

‘So would you like a drink—or a chance to freshen up? Medora will show you to your room.’

If a room had been put at her disposal then it seemed that, for the moment at least, Andreas was not just going to turn round and reject her again. But where was Andreas himself? How was he?

‘If it’s all right, I’d like to see my…’

The word died on her tongue and she found herself unable to actually say ‘my husband’ out loud.

‘I’d like to see Mr Petrakos, if that’s possible.’

If there was anything that brought home to her just how ambiguous her presence here was, it was this. The way that she was standing here, in the hallway of the home of the man who was, legally at least, her husband, waiting for an invitation to move into the house, while somewhere else in the building Andreas, the man she had promised to love, honour and cherish—and who had made the same vow to her—was…

Was what? Why was she being kept here, waiting like this? What had happened to Andreas? Where was he? Something about the look in Leander’s eyes made panic rise in her throat.

‘Is my husband all right? Where is he? How is he?’

‘Please don’t upset yourself, Mrs Petrakos.’

The tone was soothing, obviously meant to calm, but still there was something about the man’s expression, his careful control of his words that set her nerves on edge. It was obvious that there was something he was holding back.

‘Your husband is as well as can be expected. But he is still under a physician’s care. So perhaps it would be best if…’

‘No! No, it wouldn’t be best—I want to see him now!’

Becca actually flinched at the sound of her own voice. It was too high, too sharp, too tight—too everything— and she didn’t need the change that moved across the young man’s face, tightening every muscle, pressing his lips together, to tell her that she had overstepped some invisible mark, one she hadn’t been fully aware of. She didn’t have the right, the position, in this household, to make demands like that. She had no idea what orders Andreas had given before his accident or even after it. She didn’t even know whether he had given this Leander permission to contact her or if the young man had done it on his own initiative. And if that was the case…

‘Please…’ she added, unable to erase the raw note of desperation from her tone. ‘Can I see my husband now?’

She saw doubt in the face before her and was about to give in to the despair that swamped her. But then, just as she was debating whether to open her mouth and plead or simply to try to push past him and head into the house—she could remember much of the layout of the place from the brief time she had spent in it in the past—Leander obviously reconsidered.

‘Very well—if you will come this way.’

He would never know, Becca reflected, just how difficult she found it to keep behind him as he made his way up the wide, curving staircase and along the landing. With anxiety chewing at her thoughts, she wanted to rush ahead to get to Andreas’ room before he did. It was only when Leander came to a halt outside an unexpected door that she was thankful that she hadn’t. Because Andreas had obviously decided not to stay in the room that had been his when she had been at the villa before. The room that would have been theirs if the marriage hadn’t broken up as soon as it had begun. And as her footsteps slowed and stopped she knew that she should be grateful.

How could she ever have gone into that room, with all the memories it held? How could she have coped with the past being thrown right into her face as soon as the door opened, and she saw the bed on which Andreas had made her his?

Made her his and then rejected her without a second thought.

It would destroy her, she knew. Already the way that her heart was beating high up in her throat was choking off the air to her lungs and making her head swim so that she felt faint.

So she could only be grateful when Leander opened the door to a room she had never been into and stood there waiting for her to come past him.

Becca’s legs felt weak beneath her, shaking in apprehension as she forced herself to walk into the room. What would Andreas look like? What sort of a mood would he be in? He had been asking for her, yes—but why?

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