Page 48 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

“Of course.”

Emma leaned into his side, wanting to be close to him, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Come on. We should explore while we can; Costa will be ready soon.”

Emma was absolutely appalled to realise she’d barely thought of her dear old friend all day.

The call came from the hospital an hour or so later. The testing was finished, results now available, and Costa was resting comfortably. Vasilios seemed to immediately switch gears. The businessman was back, his focus clearly transferring from the pleasurable time they’d spent together to the prospect of Costa’s health, and how to tackle it.

It hadn’t really occurred to Emma that Vasilios might have a home in Paris, but of course he did. Not only a home, but an office building, staff and a fleet of cars, so before leaving the Louvre he used whatever magic was at his disposal and when they exited out of a side entrance into a delightfully formal garden, a sleek black SUV with heavily tinted windows was waiting for them.

Vasilios was brooding, sitting on one side of the back seat and Emma was very happy to leave him be, to lose herself in her own thoughts, and to surrender, a little, to the tiredness that was seeping through her bones. It was a tiredness borne of many things. Their day had been busy and they’d walked a long way, seen a great many things that had required all of Emma’s attention, but even the lead-up to this had been exhausting—her nights with Vasilios so full of passion and not enough sleep, so she found her eyes getting heavy as the car travelled the streets of Paris and Emma had to concentrate to stay awake.

The hospital was not far away, and even allowing for late afternoon peak hour traffic, they were at their destination within twenty minutes. Vasilios gave a few curt commands in French as he stepped out of the car; a moment later he was at Emma’s door, which she’d already opened, but he held open, eyes meeting hers, commanding them, and she felt a charge of electricity and a throb of feeling.

“It’s okay,” she said, because she had a sudden need to reassure him, but Vasilios’s frown was almost dismissive so Emma immediately felt silly for presuming a man like Vasilios wouldeverneed reassurance.

Inside the hospital, an impeccably dressed and very elegant woman greeted them with a red-lipped smile. “I am Yvonne, head of the centre. Please, come this way, Monsieur Valenti.”

Vasilios’s hand gently touched Emma’s back, bringing her with him, and she went, but at the door to a large office filled with designer Scandinavian furniture, Emma hesitated.

“I’ll wait,” she murmured to Vasilios. “Perhaps I should go to Costa.”

Vasilios looked at Emma, almost seemed to look through her, so piercing was his gaze, and then he shook his head once. “I’d like you with me.”

And hadn’t she promised she’d be with him until the end?

“I am afraid it is not good news, Monsieur, Mademoiselle.” Now the doctor encompassed Emma in her gaze. “Having obtained your grandfather’s scans from only last month, and compared them to those we took today, I can only tell you that his illness is considerably more aggressive than was first thought. It is quite remarkable he is feeling as well as he seems.” She leaned across the table, her eyes solicitous. “There is no treatment possibility.”

Vasilios was quiet, absorbing this. Emma’s eyes rested on him, sympathy and pain twisting inside her chest.

“I can’t accept that.”

The sympathy exploded. She put a hand on his knee, felt his skin flinch automatically, as though he was rejecting any attempt at comfort.

“I understand how difficult it is,” Yvonne said with a nod. “A terminal prognosis is never easy to process. However, the most important thing you can do now is focus on your grandfather’s comfort.” She softened her tone, flicked a glance towards Emma, a small, tight smile, then resumed. “He does not have long at all, Monsieur. Days, perhaps, and in that time, I would expect some decline in his wellbeing, his mental faculties. He will become more tired and require more substantial pain relief. We have a team of nursing staff who can come to your home, stay and care for him—,”

“I can care for him,” Emma whispered, tears filling her eyes. She thought she’d prepared for this, but how could she? She’d walked into a situation knowing how it would end. The world felt as though it had stopped spinning. Right from the beginning, Costa had told her: I’m dying. She’d left death behind her in Australia and here she’d found it again, in Italy, and she wasn’t ready.

“His medical needs now are exceedingly complex,” Yvonne said gently. “Your company and support will be invaluable, but I must insist—he belongs either in a hospice, such as this, or at home with medical supervision.” She continued to look at Vasilios, as though extracting something with her eyes, and in the end, she received a curt nod.

“Fine.” He turned to Emma. “We will accept help. For his medical needs only.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. She dashed it away quickly, nodded. It was obviously for the best. Costa would have whatever was necessary, and Vasilios would give it to him. That was, so very clearly, an act of love, that her heart couldn’t help but be affected.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” Costa said with a soft laugh, looking from one to the other, the next morning over breakfast.

Vasilios grimaced and Emma closed her eyes then forced a bright smile.

“I am dying,” he said, simply, the bald truth not seeming difficult for him at all. “I’ve had many months to accept this, to come to peace with it. I might even have been a little afraid, in the beginning, but there’s something now that brings me peace. Having you both here,” he looked from Emma to Vasilios and nodded slowly. “It’s the greatest gift. I am truly blessed.”

Emma lay with her head on Vasilios’s chest, listening to his heart, aware that for the last few nights, rather than leave the pool house, as had previously been his habit, he’d stayed, and she was so glad. Beyond their physical need for one another, there was something about the simplicity and domesticity of this that answered all her most secret fantasies, the ones she’d harboured as a little girl. It was exactly that: a fantasy. Almost a game of make-believe, because she knew it wouldn’t last, that it wasn’t even real. In his hour of need, Vasilios was leaning on her, but when this was over, she had no reason to think Vasilios wouldn’t transition back to the man he’d been before: resolute, hard-hearted, solitary. A lone wolf.

The thought made her throat thicken, so breathing became difficult, and she pushed it out of her head.

An intense wave of loss was coming; she could feel it. She wanted, more than anything, to avoid it, but she couldn’t. This time, she had warning. She could prepare herself, protect herself. It would all be okay. She said that over and over, in the hopes that sooner or later, she’d come to believe it.

“I know how you feel about it,” Costa’s voice was thready and weak, his skin pale. A week after the trip to Paris, it was clear the end was coming. “But this is important to me, Vasilios.”

Vasilios sat quietly at his grandfather’s bedside, bracing, as he permanently was now, for the inevitable loss. More loss. First his mother, then his father, his grandmother, and now Costa. Then, Vasilios would be completely alone.

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