The Marakaios Marriage. Кейт Хьюит

a deep breath, she splashed some water on her face and patted it dry. With one last determined look at her pale face in the mirror, she turned and headed back to their seats.

      Their dinners had arrived while Lindsay was in the bathroom, and she gazed at the linen napkins and tablecloth, the crystal wine glasses and the silver-domed chafing dishes, remembering how they’d travelled like this to Greece. How luxurious and decadent she’d felt, lounging with Antonios as they ate, heads bent together, murmuring and laughing, buoyant with happiness.

      Utterly different from the silent tension that snapped between them now.

      Antonios gestured to the dishes as she sat down. ‘I didn’t know what you wanted, so I ordered several things.’

      ‘I’m sure it’s all delicious.’ And yet she had no appetite. Antonios lifted the lid on her meal and she stared at the beef, its rich red-wine sauce pooling on her plate, and twisted her napkin in her lap as her stomach rebelled at even the thought of eating.

      ‘You are not hungry?’ Antonios asked, one eyebrow arched, and Lindsay shook her head.

      ‘No.’

      ‘You should eat anyway. Keep up your strength.’

      And God knew she needed what little she had. She picked up her fork and speared a piece of beef, putting it into her mouth and chewing mechanically. She couldn’t taste anything.

      Antonios noticed, one eyebrow lifting sardonically. ‘Not good enough for you?’ he queried, and she let out a little groan.

      ‘Don’t start, Antonios.’

      ‘I can’t help but wonder, when you had every luxury at your disposal, how you still managed to be so unhappy.’

      ‘There is more to life than luxuries, Antonios. There’s attention and support and care.’ So much for her resolution not to talk about things.

      ‘Are you saying I didn’t give you those?’ Antonios demanded.

      ‘No, you didn’t. Not the way I needed.’

      ‘You never told me what you needed.’

      ‘I tried,’ she said wearily. She felt too tired to be angry any more, even though the old hurt still burrowed deep.

      ‘When? When did you try?’

      ‘Time and time again. I told you I was uncomfortable at all the parties, never mind playing hostess—’

      His brow wrinkled and Lindsay knew he probably didn’t even remember the conversations she’d found so difficult and painful. ‘I told you it would get better in time,’ he finally answered. ‘That you just needed to let people get to know you.’

      ‘And I told you that was hard for me.’

      He shrugged her words aside, just as he had every time she’d tried to tell him before. ‘That’s not a reason to leave a marriage, Lindsay.’

      ‘Maybe not for you.’

      ‘Are you actually saying you left me simply because you didn’t like going to parties?’

      ‘No.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I left you because you never listened to me. Because you dumped me in Greece like another suitcase you’d acquired and never paid any attention to me again.’

      ‘I had to work, Lindsay.’

      ‘I know that. Trust me, Antonios, I know that. You worked all the time.’

      ‘You never acted like it bothered you—’

      She let out a laugh, high and shrill, the sound surprising them both. ‘You never change, do you? I’m trying to tell you how I felt and you just keep insisting I couldn’t have felt that way, that you never knew. This is why I left, Antonios.’ She gestured to the space between them. ‘Because the way we were together in real life, not in some fairy-tale bubble in New York, didn’t work. It made me miserable—more miserable than I’d ever been before—and that’s saying something.’

      He frowned. ‘What do you mean, that’s saying something?’

      ‘Never mind.’ She’d never told him about her mother, and never would. Some things were better left unsaid, best forgotten. Not that she could ever forget the way her mother had left.

       This isn’t what I expected.

      A hot lump of misery formed in Lindsay’s throat and she swallowed hard, trying to dislodge it. She didn’t want to cry, not on an aeroplane, not in front of Antonios.

      ‘Theos, Lindsay, if you’re not going to tell me things, how can I ever understand you?’

      ‘I don’t want you to understand me, Antonios,’ she answered thickly. ‘Not any more. All I want is a divorce. And I assume you want that, too.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘Do you really want to be with a wife who left you, who doesn’t love you?’

      Fire flashed in his eyes and she knew it had been a low and cruel blow. But if that was what it took to get Antonios to stop with his questions, then so be it.

      He leaned forward, his eyes still flashing, his mouth compressed. ‘Do I need to remind you of how much you loved me, Lindsay? Every night in New York. Every night we were together in Greece.’

      And, despite her misery, desire still scorched through her at the memory. ‘I’m not talking about in bed, Antonios.’

      ‘Because you certainly responded to me there. Even when you were supposedly drowning.’

      She closed her eyes, tried to fight the need his simply stated words caused to well up inside her. Sex had always been good between them, had been a respite from the misery she’d faced every day. Maybe that made her weak or wanton, to have craved a man who’d hurt her heart, but she had. From the moment they’d met, she had. And some treacherous part of her still craved him now.

      She felt Antonios’s hand on her knee and her eyes flew open. ‘What—?’

      ‘It didn’t take much to make you melt,’ he said softly, the words as caressing as his hand. His hand slid up her thigh, his fingers sure and seeking. Lindsay froze, trapped by his knowing gaze and his even more knowing hand. ‘I knew just where to touch you, Lindsay. Just how to make you scream. You screamed my name, do you remember?’

      Heat flooded through her and she had to fight to keep from responding to his caress. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered, but even to her own ears her voice sounded feeble.

      ‘Don’t what?’ he asked, his voice so soft and yet also menacing. ‘Don’t touch you?’ He slid his hand higher, cupping her between her legs. Just the press of his hand through her jeans made her stifle a moan as desire pulsed insistently through her.

      ‘What are you trying to prove, Antonios?’ she forced out, willing her body to stay still and not respond to his caress. ‘That I desire you? Fine. I do. I always did. It doesn’t change anything.’

      ‘It should,’ Antonios said, and he popped the button on her jeans, slid his hand down so his fingers brushed between her thighs, the sensation of his skin against hers so exquisite she gasped aloud, her eyes fluttering closed. Couldn’t keep her hips from lifting off the seat.

      Lindsay pressed her head back against the seat, memories and feelings crashing through her. He always had known just how to touch her, to please her. He still did, but there was no love or even kindness behind his calculated caresses now. With what felt like superhuman effort she opened her eyes, stared straight into his triumphant face, and said the thing that she knew would hurt him most.

      ‘You might make me come, Antonios, but you can’t make me love you.’

      He stared back at her, his expression freezing, and then in one deft movement he yanked his hand from her, unbuckled his seat belt and disappeared through the curtains.

      Lindsay sagged