Page 45 of Virgin's Night with the Greek

Take over? What the hell? That wasn’t happening. He would not abdicate the responsibilities his father had given him. He would not fail.

‘I’m fine,’ Leo said through gritted teeth, a thumping headache beginning to develop at his right temple. ‘Everything is absolutely fine.’

A week later however, Leo had to admit it wasn’t fine. Something was very wrong indeed. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t eating. And his behaviour at the office had gone from bad to worse. He was snapping people’s heads off and snarling at anyone who got in his way. Zander had ordered him to stay at home before everyone jumped ship, and despite immensely disliking being told what to do, Leo had grudgingly agreed for the sake of the business.

Unfortunately, however, all that meant was that he had time on his hands in which to do nothing by prowl round his apartment, struggling and failing to keep a lid on the bubbling emotions seething away deep inside him and the thoughts generated by the conversation he’d had with his brother on the terrace whirling around his brain on some interminable loop.

He’d never considered stepping down before. He’d never even dared take a break until six weeks or so ago. To not continue his father’s legacy—the destiny that had been drummed into him practically from birth—would be a betrayal he could not contemplate.

But as he stalked into the kitchen to make himself the fourth coffee of the day even though it was only nine in the morning, he wondered if perhaps he was too close to be able to see the situation objectively.

What would an outsider think? What would Willow think? She’d had a few pertinent ideas about roles and responsibilities—not that she crossed his mind much. She’d be the first to tell him to stand aside and install Zander as CEO, and she’d be right. Because while Leo merely endured the position, his brother had relished it. He had a knack with people and was insanely driven. He was ruthless and brilliant. He’d always been the better man for the job.

He was also annoyingly perceptive because while Leo liked to tell himself that he rarely thought about Willow, the truth was that she was in his head all the damn time. She ruined his sleep. She disrupted his train of thought. He missed her more than he’d ever thought possible.

Could he have done the unthinkable and fallen in love with her?

In response to the question that flashed through his mind, Leo froze, ground coffee spilling all over the worktop.

No. He couldn’t. It was impossible. He’d sworn not to allow it.

And yet, when he ran through all the reasons she was wrong for him, he was suddenly able to counteract every single one of them. Streakless hair and unadorned ears now seemed dull. Far from fearing her influence, hewantedto hear her views and seek her input. He wasn’t destructive like his mother. He wasn’t weak like his father when it came to the personal. He had nothing to fear from emotion. The days he’d spent with Willow on Santorini, he’d felt alive, for the first time in years. Free from burden. Free to be himself. She’d made him feel invincible. The world wouldn’t collapse if he wasn’t in control of it 24-7. It hadn’t when he’d been away. And as for betraying his father’s legacy, surely he’d be preserving it by putting the best person in charge.

As the foundations of his existence fell away, so too did the walls around his heart. He did love Willow, he realised with a jolt as unleashed emotions began to batter him on all sides, stealing the breath from his lungs and draining the strength from his limbs so sharply he had to fumble for a chair. He probably had from the moment she’d stood up to him by the pool the afternoon they’d met. Why else would he have pursued her when every fibre of his being had warned him away? He’d dressed it up as guilt, the righting of wrongs, but fundamentally he’d just wanted her.

And he still did.

When he thought of his life without her, bleak, colourless, empty, it chilled him to the bone. When he counted the days and thought of her going through another period alone and in pain, it clawed at his chest. He wanted to protect her, support her, love her until the day he died, which with any luck would be decades from now.

So what was he going to do about it?

And more importantly, given her fears about love, would she ever let him?

Willow had spent the time she’d been back in London principally thanking her lucky stars that she’d escaped Leo’s powerful and potentially destructive orbit when she had.

Determined to consign her sojourn on Santorini to history, to wipe him from her head, she filled her diary with visits to her father and arrangements with her friends. She replenished her art materials, had new violet streaks put in her hair and updated her website to include the portrait of Selene and the stunningly positive press that it had generated.

She didn’t think about Leo. She didn’t wonder what he was doing or how he was and she didn’t even contemplate clicking on the links to some apparently gossipy articles that a friend had forwarded. She certainly didn’t fish out the sketchbooks stuffed with drawings of him that she’d stashed at the back of a drawer, flick through them and reminisce. Nor, when her period hit again, did she wish someone would give her a backrub and run her a bath. She just got on with things as she always had and always would.

So life was fine. Uneventful, safe, exactly as she wanted it. The sun was shining and London, with its population basking in the fine weather and spilling out of bars and into parks, looked great. She was busy as a bee, preparing to travel to Milan to paint one of the Italian countesses she’d met at that wedding reception all those weeks ago, and excited about getting back to work. She’d dodged a bullet with regards to feelings, and everything was great.

Until one morning a month after she’d returned, when she was rummaging in the drawer for a pencil, she caught sight of a loose sketch of Leo lying sprawled across the bed in Santorini, and it hit her like a blow to the stomach that nothing was great, that everything was, in fact, pretty bloody awful.

Clutching the drawing, pain slicing though her chest like a knife, Willow sank to the sofa and curled up in a ball, the tears she’d managed to keep at bay for weeks breaching the dam and streaming down her cheeks.

Who had she been kidding? Life might be uneventful and safe but it wasn’t what she wanted at all. The sun was shining and the city buzzed, but overherhead was an oppressively thick black cloud that threatened rain. The thought of Milan and getting back to work was the opposite of thrilling.

She missed Leo so much. More than she’d ever thought possible. She missed his smile and the way he’d looked at her as if trying to seek out every one of her hopes and fears. She wanted him badly and not just because he’d shown her pleasure, adventure and taken such good care of her. She’d loved talking to and arguing with him. He was endlessly fascinating and the days they’d lived like a couple had been the best of her life.

So much for keeping her heart safe. It had been at risk from the moment they’d met. If their relationship really had been purely physical, as she’d so foolishly believed, she wouldn’t have wanted things she ought not to want. She wouldn’t have done things she’d known were unwise. She’d paid lip service to preventing it, but she’d fallen head over heels in love with him regardless. She loved everything about him.

And it was a disaster. Because Leo did not feel the same way about her. He didn’t want her. He cared about her—or he had once upon a time—but he didn’t love her. How ironic to have overcome the obstacles that had tormented her for years by falling for someone unavailable.

She hadn’t had a lucky escape at all, she thought miserably, a fresh wave of wretchedness washing over her. She should have stayed and fought. For him. For them. She should have persuaded him that she was right for him. Because she was. On paper, yes, they were an unlikely match, but in reality they had a lot in common. They were both ambitious, driven, bound by circumstance. They each had one deceased parent and another not really deserving of the title. She’d never be cool and polished or sophisticated enough to carry off a white trouser suit with any sort of panache, but she believed they understood one another.

If he were by her side she’d have the confidence to overcome her fears and undergo the surgeries. She’d want to do everything in her power to improve her quality of life for herself and for him and to better the possibility of having the children he wanted. She would read the statistics over and over again until she believed them.

She wasn’t her father. Leo had been right—shewasstrong and resilient. And yes, something might happen to her, or to him, but then again, it might not. Surely it would be better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Her parents had adored each other. Maybe his continued grief was a price her father was willing to pay for that love.

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