‘You look exquisite. I can see why red’s your favourite colour.’
Her cheeks heated, no doubt flaming into the shade of her dress. ‘Thank you. But it’s too generous a gift.’
‘It’s nothing less than you deserve for all you’ve done. But sadly for now we must work. Perhaps later...?’
He raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy smile. A flush of warmth stole over her, Christo’s invitation was clear. She could say yes and see what came of it.
Memories of that drizzly day in New York flooded into her consciousness. His hard, aroused body. Those deep, drugging kisses. A heavy pulse beat between her legs...
No, she had a part to play. That was all she could trust. Nothing more.
‘You work too hard,’ she said, focusing on what they had to do tonight.
Christo surveyed the crowd, as if he was making sure everyone appeared satisfied. But Thea could see what others didn’t notice. The tightness around his eyes. The dull shadows underneath.
‘My father would be proud.’ He let out a slow breath, looked down at the floor. ‘“Fun, fun, fun. That’s all you want to have,” he’d say to me. Other boys at school had holidays with their families. Hector sent me to work picking olives. I was nine.’
The thought of him being sent out to work so young was...shocking. She’d sometimes wondered about Christo as a small boy, what had made him the man he was. He always seemed so serious she wasn’t sure he knew how to have fun. Perhaps with good reason.
She stared out at the throng of people. At least they seemed to be enjoying themselves as waiters threaded in and out with food and wine.
She said, ‘That’s—’
‘Life. I learned long ago not to care.’
Thea wasn’t so sure. His voice sounded flat and dead, as if he had to force himself not to dwell on it.
‘Your father must be sorry he can’t be here tonight,’ she said.
Christo pinned her with his gaze, eyes hard and stormy. Time ticked for a few heartbeats, too much unsaid between them.
‘I’m sure he is.’
‘What about your mother?’ Where had she been when her son was sent away to pick olives as a little boy? ‘Surely she’ll want to celebrate your success?’
‘Ha! My mother?’ He tensed, a muscle at the side of his jaw ticking. ‘She’s never cared. Always claimed I was an impossible child. Why would she feign interest now? The woman’s as maternal as a cuckoo.’
How could his mother say such a thing? But his words explained too much. At least she’d had one parent love her unconditionally, and Alexis too. Didn’t he have anyone?
‘Christo...’ Thea placed a hand on his arm, trying to offer some small comfort.
He shrugged her away. Snagged two glasses of champagne from a waiter and handed one chilled flute to her with a brittle smile.
‘We should talk to some guests.’
His words spoke only of obligation. She didn’t want to talk to the guests. She wanted to wrap her arms around the wounded boy she’d glimpsed in his tired eyes. The one driven by his father, abandoned by his mother. But he’d reject her sympathy, she was sure.
So instead she followed Christo into the crowd, the crush surrounding them. He patted people on the back, made small talk, smiled. But the smile didn’t meet his eyes.
Thea smiled too, playing her part. No one commented on her tattoos, as she’d feared. A heady rush thrummed through her. She’d never hide them again. They weren’t wounds. They spoke instead of her strength and survival.
As they turned to talk with yet another person who wanted a piece of her husband she saw them. In a corner. Talking to someone she didn’t know. Her father and Demetri.
A tight knot of nausea gripped her belly. She stiffened.
Christo glanced in the direction she was looking. Then he frowned, turning to face her. She peered around him, unable to take her eyes from the two men.
Like a predator watching its prey, Demetri’s cold stare met hers. Her heart raced, preparing for flight. She’d lived in a kind of peace without them in the same house. But even another continent was too close.
She wrapped her arms round her waist.
‘I won’t let them near you,’ Christo said.
He slid his hand to the dip in her back and rested it there. The touch steadied her heart. His solid presence calmed the tightness in her stomach.
He looked over his shoulder, then back to her. ‘Forget them. I have a small surprise for you.’
His voice was soft and low, as if soothing a terrified animal. He kept his body between her and the men of her family.
Thea realised he was shielding her from their gaze. She believed Christo now. As long as she was with him he’d protect her from Tito and Demetri. She shook off the sticky tendrils of fear. Those men would only win if she let them.
‘My dress and jewels weren’t enough of a surprise?’
His features darkened into that glorious brooding which made her heart skip a beat. With one hand he swept her hair back over her shoulder and toyed with an earring. When had his touching her become normal?
Thea allowed herself to melt into it, heat pooling in her belly. For a small while her world was reduced to Christo’s gentle caress, encouraging the pretence that this could be something different. And for a brief, bright moment she wished it was real.
He shrugged. ‘They’re trinkets.’
She shook herself out of the dream, her stomach twisting, wondering how often he bestowed ‘trinkets’ upon other women.
What on earth was happening to her? She’d no right to these thoughts. Theirs was a convenient arrangement, and most women in this situation would be overjoyed by expensive gifts. She should learn to become one of them.
Thea gave him what she hoped was a gracious smile. ‘How long are you going to keep me wondering?’
‘Not long. I’ve invited Elena tonight.’
Her heart leapt with real
