One Kiss in... London: A Shameful Consequence / Ruthless Tycoon, Innocent Wife / Falling for her Convenient Husband

It was not jealousy that assailed him as he watched another man take her hand, it was something far deeper, something that incensed, and perhaps it incensed her, too, for she walked off from her husband. Nico saw her rather pointed drop of his hand as she went over to the breakfast buffet, and that knot of nervousness for her was back in his stomach.

You don’t mess with these people.

There were rules and there were ways, hundreds upon thousand of unspoken things that were expected, that were done without question, and there was a tinge of regret for telling Constantine she had choices, when in reality she had none.

‘I’m going to get some breakfast.’ He would break his rule for her—and not just about eating. He went into his pocket and pulled out his business card, not the one he gave his lovers. Nico had two phone numbers, one for women that rang frequently but was answered rarely and changed all too often, the other number his permanent one.

‘Kalimera,’ Nico said for the second time that morning as he joined her at the breakfast buffet.

‘Kalimera.’ She answered for herself, she certainly did not need Stavros’s prompting.

‘How are you?’ His voice was low and soft and the concern in it almost made her break down.

‘Trying to choose …’ And though her eyes wandered over the fruit, they were speaking not about fruit but in their own coded language.

‘Be careful.’ His hand was completely steady as he spooned some yoghurt into a bowl, but, as choices went, Connie made the wrong one, blueberries not the best fruit when one’s hand was shaking so.

‘Look, Constantine, if you need anything …’

‘It’s Connie,’ she muttered, because it was who she was, a girl from a village, the golden child of a family that had made good. And if she did what her heart told her to, then she would surely destroy them.

‘Not to me,’ Nico said, and then he placed the business card on the bench. When he’d safely gone, she collected it, the weight of paper heavy in her hand, but her heart lighter for it. Just a small slip of card, but it was, Connie knew, her most valued possession.

‘Eat later.’ Stavros was beside her. ‘We need to socialise.’

She turned to her husband. ‘We need to talk.’ But he wasn’t about to listen to her, so she did as she was told, but only for now, and as she turned she saw the concierge approach Nico. She had to stand and make small talk, while out of the corner of her eye she was watching him, how effortlessly elegant he looked. The restaurant blazed with Lathira’s and Xanos’s Sunday and wedding best. It reeked of perfume and was filled with clean-shaven or well made-up faces, gold on fingers and necks and ears. And there Nico stood, unshaven, almost, her heart shivered, unkempt, for his shirt was a bit crumpled and his trousers were the same ones he’d had on the day before. But he stood out, not for that reason. He stood out for he commanded attention in a way that new clothes and heavy Greek gold never could.

She watched as he left, as all the good in her life walked out of the room without a backward glance, and, as she had yesterday, she wanted to run to him.

To run with him.

To be free.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_1512cedb-646d-5bad-9b6c-ea206bc71cff)

‘I’VE changed my mind.’

The concierge was excellent, Nico decided, because apart from the bulge of veins in his neck, Nico would not have known the inconvenience he was causing. ‘I would like to stay for another night here in Xanos. For now, I would like a driver to be arranged, one who can take me around the island. I do not know for how long.’

It was no trouble, the concierge assured him, no trouble at all.

‘And …’ He turned and gave an unusual request, one he would not have given had he stopped to think about it. ‘My room is not to be disturbed.’

‘I will have the maids just deliver fresh towels and make up the bed.’

‘It is to be left,’ Nico said, and for the second time in a lifetime, he almost blushed.

And Nico tried not to notice a middle-aged couple being shepherded, protesting, out of a vehicle, their luggage unloaded. In just a few moments the concierge led him out to his driver, who was a local. His name was George, he informed Nico as he climbed in.

‘Anything you want to know, just ask.’ George turned and looked over his shoulder as the car slid off. ‘Have I driven you before?’

‘I’ve never been to Xanos,’ Nico said. ‘Perhaps in Lathira, or on the mainland.’

‘I’ve never been off the island.’ George shrugged. ‘You look familiar. Are you sure …?’

‘You’re mistaken,’ Nico said, because he did not like small talk, or pointless chatter, but ‘familiar’ was a word that would repeat in his soul throughout the day. George took him down streets and through the town, along the curved mountains, to viewpoints that looked out to the ocean, and Nico felt something he hadn’t even known was missing. He felt peace in the midst of confusion, a peace he had never known.

‘I want to see the south.’

That caused a flurry of grumbles from George. ‘It’s all changed now,’ he moaned. ‘You have to pay to go there. There’s only one road and there’s a toll—there’s even a watchman. They say it’s to keep the press away, but it’s as much to keep us locals out. He might not let us through …’

‘He’ll let me,’ Nico said, because it was never otherwise, and sure enough, as the tollman peered into the back of the car and saw Nico lounging there, they were waved on immediately.

‘It was always the poor side,’ George explained, and for once Nico wanted to hear from his driver and asked him questions, encouraged him to speak on. ‘The soil is more fertile in the north, that is where vines and orchards are, and the markets and ferry, too—really the south was just for local fishing, but not now.’

As the car swept along the beach road, even Nico, who was used to luxury, was taken aback by the contrast to the north of the island. Huge homes were carved into the rocky hillside. Yachts were out for their Sunday sail, but it had none of the charm of Puerto Banus; there was a certain sterility to the place and Nico was less than impressed.

‘It would be good for the island’s economy, though?’ Nico asked, because that the was the sort of talk he was interested in, but George shook his head. ‘They come here for seclusion, they don’t eat in our restaurants and the developer uses his own men for the building. Really, it has done nothing for us …’

Nico could see what he meant as they drove: the houses were stunning, vast properties that overlooked the ocean, but the main street was nothing like the bustling town of Xanos, the aroma-filled town centre on the north of the island where yesterday he had sat. Here it was a sanitized version, with an exclusive hotel and smart designer boutiques, trendy cafés and restaurants.

‘Which serve what foreigners think is Greek,’ George explained, and Nico found himself smiling as they drove on. ‘These aren’t done yet,’ George said. ‘This was how it once looked.’ And this was the real Xanos, Nico decided and told George to slow down. Simple houses were dotted in the hillside, but the once-loved gardens were now overgrown and neglected, the bulldozers idle for the weekend but waiting to move in soon. There was a small taverna they drove past, where tradesmen now ate and drank, George explained, and what was left of the locals, but soon they, too, would be gone.

‘They’re all sold,’ George said as Nico moved for his phone. ‘He bought up the lot—there are a few locals that lease from him, but only till the work is complete and he’s done with them.’

‘Who?’ Nico asked, but George didn’t know.

‘Some rich Australian.’ Lack of information didn’t stop Nico. Neither did the fact that it was Sunday. Even if it was her one weekend off, he rang an eternally patient Charlotte and told her to make enquiries and to get back to him. Then got out of the car and started walking.

He wandered for an hour or more, along the cobbled streets and up the stone steps to a couple of deserted properties. He found one that was a little larger, shaded by a vast fig tree, whose fruit lay rotting on the ground. The air thick with the scent of it but there was beauty in neglect, too; the paths were overgrown, the stone pool mossed and empty, but vivid cyclamen still burst from shaded pots and it wasn’t Puerto Banus that was tempting him now.

‘They’re not interested in selling.’ Charlotte soon got back to him. ‘Especially not on a Sunday.’

‘Get me a price,’ Nico said, because there always was one, and Nico was more specific with his instruction now, describing the house in detail, this the one that he wanted. He lingered a little longer, searching for answers to a question he didn’t know, then back to the old town they went. Nico was looking for something he did not understand, but his head was pounding by the time he was back at the hotel.

He went to the bar.

Told himself it did not matter that there was no sign of her.

He checked his phone for perhaps the fiftieth time, answering it promptly when it rang. He was curiously deflated when it was Charlotte on the other end. Even Nico’s eyes widened when his PA rang and gave him the price.

‘He’s not interested in negotiating,’ Charlotte relayed.

‘Who?’ Nico asked.

‘I just got a lawyer, and he wasn’t particularly chatty. That’s the price,’ Charlotte said. ‘Are you sure you’re not in Monte Carlo?’

He let out a grudging laugh.