Too pretty to be a housekeeper, the tabloids had screamed when Demetrius had married her, then paraded her in front of the world.
He hadn’t taken that from her, Molly thought with a rush of that same old love that got her into trouble. Nothing ever dimmed Isabel’s spirits for long, and unlike many in her position, all of her looks were natural. No work.
At the moment, she looked rueful. “I’m not a total disaster, then,” Isabel said with that self-awareness that always took Molly by surprise. “That’s something.”
“Of course you’re not a disaster,” she replied.
Isabel sat back in her chair, her bowl filled with pasta and aged parmesan steaming before her. “Go on then. Tell me what the damage is.”
And Molly had intended to do exactly that. She had practiced fiery speeches on the plane ride home, each more bracing than the last. Hard truths were needed, she’d assured herself. It was high time she and Isabel came to terms.
It was always easier to fight with the people she loved in the abstract. Or the person she loved, to be more precise. Because it was only this one. Only and ever her beautiful, reckless mother, who for all her faults, loved Molly completely. Unconditionally. Even if that might not look the way Molly wished it would—like those long-ago fancy dress evenings, kitted out in costume jewels and pretending they were in Italy—it was real.
Molly knew that she could say anything to her mother. Isabel’s guilt was a real thing. She had no qualm whatsoever about admitting fault, and apologizing, and taking it if Molly needed to shout at her.
But somehow, tonight, Molly felt that shouting at Isabel would be giving horrible Constantine Skalas exactly what he wanted.
I will need time to consider your charming proposal, she had told him with a regal disdain in that office.
Think of it less as a proposal and more as a lifeboat you do not deserve, he had replied, looking maddeningly handsome and inexcusably sure of himself. As if he already knew, as she did, that there was almost no way to get out of it and like it or not, she would be slinking back to him to do precisely as he commanded.
Still, she needed a bit of space, first. She needed to recalibrate. Because she’d expected that her temper would be involved, and she’d known deep down that what he would ask of her would feel unbearable, but what she hadn’t expected was her response to him. That wildfire that raged in her still, and led to an insidious little voice inside wondering if really, it wouldn’t be too bad, would it?
She’d wanted to rail at Isabel. It wasn’t enough that Isabel had dragged her into the Skalases’ harsh and cruel, glittering diamond-edge of a world back then, but now she was forced to return to it. To hand herself over to the architect of her first and greatest despair.
You are entirely too full of yourself, Constantine, she had told him. No wonder you’re so easily dismissed when you don’t have a blackmail scheme in your back pocket.
You are welcome to dismiss me, if you like, he had said in return. He’d even sounded encouraging. My understanding is that you love that little house of yours in London. What a shame it would be if you were forced to sell it, to keep both you and your mother afloat in these uncertain times. He had smiled when she glared at him. Alternatively, you can return in two days’ time, ready and willing to begin our torrid affair.
She was still having trouble with that. An affair with Constantine when she’d barely survived a kiss? A torrid affair?
What would become of her?
“You’re awfully quiet,” Isabel said softly. She blew out a breath. “Is it that terrible?”
And Molly couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tear out another chunk of her mother’s heart. Because that was the trouble with Isabel. Yes, she was impetuous and ambitious and had always had ideas far above her station. It was tempting to think of it as thoughtlessness, but it wasn’t. It was that heart of hers. Big and foolish, and entirely too willing to think the best of terrible people.
Molly knew. She had the same one in her chest.
“No, Mum,” she said, and summoned up a smile. “It’s really not bad at all. Who could have guessed that in all these years since last we saw him, Constantine Skalas stumbled over conscience?”
“No one will believe that,” her mother replied dryly. “Least of all me.”
“Well, he has,” Molly lied. “You can rest easy. He needs me to play a role, that’s all.”
Isabel frowned. “If the man needs an actress, he has the whole of the West End at his disposal, to say nothing of his liking for all of those bland little Hollywood types. Why would he need you?”
“He’s far too well-known to go out and hire someone. This little spot of blackmail helps him save face, that’s all.”
Molly almost believed herself, she sounded so matter-of-fact. She smiled, then kept smiling, even though her mother’s gaze was entirely too knowing.
Maybe, if she just kept smiling, she would convince herself, too.
“And who knows?” she asked merrily. “It might even be fun.”
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS NOT until Molly reappeared at the house in Skiathos two days later that Constantine admitted to himself that he hadn’t actually known if she was coming back at all.
And
