Married For The Greek's Convenience

The Xander she’d known didn’t exist. All she knew of the real Xander was his reputation, and that was of a man who didn’t suffer fools. If he had any affection left for her he wouldn’t have insisted they meet at St Francis.

She’d loved him once, with the whole of her heart. The morning she’d packed her suitcase full of excitement at the thought of flying to Diadonus, the island he lived on, to meet his family and begin their new life together, he’d pulled the rug out from under her. He’d told her that he’d made a mistake; that he didn’t love her, his family would hate her and he’d be returning to Diadonus alone.

Her lungs and stomach contracted into balls as the pain of that moment hit her afresh. But she would give anything to live it again, so she could keep her composure and not have his last memory of her being one where she could hardly breathe through the tears.

In their short time together on this island she would show nothing but her professional face. She would be polite and friendly. She would treat him exactly as she would any other client. She would smile and pretend he wasn’t a lying cheat who’d broken her heart.

The jet landed smoothly but that didn’t stop the nausea increasing. She hadn’t been this nervous since she’d walked out of her home and into the big wide world alone and unsupported.

The early evening sun still blazed over the pristine airport, casting the ground and small white terminal in a golden haze. She stepped off the jet, holding tightly to her carry-on case, purse and laptop bag. After the freezing New York temperatures, the warmth was welcome.

Before she’d travelled to St Francis, Elizabeth had never left the States, had hardly left New York. Then her granny had died and left some money for her only grandchild, her will stipulating clearly that she wanted Elizabeth to use some of it ‘to get out of this darn country and see something of the world’.

Her granny would be delighted to know Elizabeth’s work took her all over the world. And of all the places she’d been, this exclusive Caribbean island remained in her mind as the most beautiful place on earth...but the memory was tainted. It was as if the fine white sand had become tiny shards of glass and the clear blue Caribbean Sea, so enticing and welcoming, filled with poison.

An official in a golf buggy greeted her, gave her passport a cursory glance and whisked her off to the car park.

A rugged black four-by-four gleamed beside the terminal wall. At their approach, the driver got out, the setting sun enveloping him in the same haze as the surroundings.

Her heart leapt and her throat closed. It was Xander.

He strode towards her, his long legs covered by a pair of tan chinos, a short-sleeved pale blue shirt stretched across his honed torso, the brown hair she remembered as rumpled now cropped with a slight quiff at the front.

Her grip on her case tightened. He reached them, nodded at the driver and then fixed the sparkling blue eyes she’d once gazed into without blinking for what had seemed like hours on her...

Her insides turned to jelly. From deep in her chest a swell erupted; that awful need to burst into tears and sob. Where it came from she didn’t know, but she controlled it. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy and, she told herself, this would be the worst of it. That first time seeing and speaking to him again. That was always going to be the worst part and no amount of preparation could mitigate it.

‘Elizabeth,’ he said by way of greeting, stretching out a hand.

She’d always loved how he pronounced her name. Her mother always affected an English accent when she said it. Her father always addressed her as Lizzy but she suspected that had always been to needle her mother. From Xander’s wide, generous mouth, her name rolled like a caress.

There was nothing wide or generous about his mouth now, fixed as it was in a tight line.

Plastering the brightest, most toothsome smile she could muster to her face, she released her hold on the case and accepted his hand. ‘It’s great to see you again.’

His lips curved into a taut smile. ‘You’re looking well.’

‘Thank you.’ Still holding his hand, she used it for support to climb out of the golf buggy, pretending that every inch of her skin hadn’t started dancing at his touch.

He was as tall as she remembered but the years had given an added hardness to his physique and he’d gained an overall edginess she didn’t remember from before. The sparkle that had always been in his eyes was muted and faint lines had appeared on his face, yet somehow he was even better looking than he’d been a decade ago.

So gorgeous had he been that when he’d approached her on her arrival at La Maison Blanc Hotel and insisted on helping her with her luggage, she’d assumed he worked for the hotel. In hindsight, that he’d been wearing a pair of swim shorts and had had a towel slung over his shoulder should have been a giveaway that he was a guest rather than a hotel porter. That, and the fact the other porters had been wearing navy blue uniforms, right down to the silly hats they were forced to wear. Xander’s brown hair had been damp from a swim in the sea.

It had taken her a good ten minutes—enough time to check in and find her room—before she’d realised the drop-dead gorgeous young man with the infectious smile, sparkling blue eyes and a deep rich accent to die for wasn’t an employee but a fellow guest, and that he was helping her because he was interested in her. In her!

They’d arranged to meet at the pool bar an hour later. By the time she’d unpacked and changed she’d convinced herself she’d dreamt him up. But there he had been, exactly where he’d promised. Two cocktails later and she’d learned he was Greek, twenty years old, and a single traveller like herself. Dreamer that she was, she’d been convinced fate had brought them together.

‘Is this everything you’ve brought with you?’ Xander asked, taking in the physical changes time had brought on his wife. He’d known she would have changed over the years but he hadn’t expected it to be quite so profound.

Ten years ago she’d had the rounded features of a young woman. Now she was leaner, her cheekbones more defined. Large dark glasses stopped him seeing her eyes but she had a polish to her, a sophistication far removed from the wide-eyed ingénue who had captured his attention from the very first glance. That Elizabeth had been a fresh-faced open book.

This Elizabeth, the rampant curls he remembered straightened and glossed into long, tumbling waves, was professional and collected. She was dressed in slim-fitting dark grey jeans with studs across the pockets, and a fitted white shirt, which together emphasised her litheness. She could be anywhere, at a semiformal business meeting or out with friends for lunch. She was the perfect chameleon. Her looks were too striking for people not to look twice at her but she would fit in perfectly wherever she happened to be.

He carried her case to his Jeep. Elizabeth easily kept pace with him. He’d forgotten how long her legs were, and lengthened further by a pair of simple yet sexy black heels.

She was sexy. The way she carried herself. Her confidence. She was dazzling.

He pulled the passenger door open and waited until she’d taken her seat before closing it. Through the slight breeze he caught her delicate scent, which put the frangipani and butterfly jasmine St Francis was famed for to shame.

‘I’ve booked us a table at a restaurant on LuLu Beach,’ he said as he drove them out of the small airport, which mostly consisted of a landing strip and a pristine white hut. St Francis was one of the smaller Caribbean islands and had a colourful beauty that was world renowned. Not for nothing was it known as a honeymooner’s paradise.

He’d chosen St Francis for a myriad reasons. It hadn’t occurred to him that being on the island again would unsettle him so much. Sitting next to Elizabeth only unsettled him further, something he should have anticipated.

‘Sounds good,’ she said in the same easy tone she’d greeted him with. Yet, despite her friendliness, he detected a frost around her.

He could be imagining it, he supposed, but he doubted it. Meeting an ex wasn’t normally a big deal but what he and Elizabeth had shared had been different from all his other relationships.

His honesty when he’d left her had verged on brutal but he’d known it was necessary. If he’d strung it out it would have hurt her a lot more.

Had she kept quiet about their annulment’s failure as a means of punishing him; to make a bigamist of him if he’d married again? Had she spent a decade quietly biding her time for revenge?

Or did she genuinely not know they were still married?

He would learn the truth soon enough. Either way, a clean break had been the right thing to do and he had no regrets on that front. He’d disconnected the call from his mother and looked at the woman he’d married five days before and understood what a terrible mistake he’d made. His world was cut-throat and ruthless. If a woman raised in it like Ana couldn’t cope, what chance would a dreamer like Elizabeth have? She would never have been accepted or fitted into it.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at the LuLu Beach restaurant.

A waitress led them out to the terrace and to a table overlooking the beach. They sat opposite each other, both getting a good view of the tranquil surf lapping at the fine white sand like a loving puppy.

‘Water for me,’ Elizabeth said when asked what she wanted to drink.

‘Water?’ Xander queried.

‘Water.’

He shrugged and turned to the waitress. ‘One water and one bottle of beer.’

Once they were alone again he openly studied Elizabeth. The setting sun made the honey of her hair look like spun gold. ‘You look as though life has treated you well.’

He wished she would take those damned sunglasses off so he could see her eyes and gauge what she was really thinking. The sun was now set so low its glare reflected directly off them.

* * *

‘Thanks.’ Elizabeth resisted the urge to say she knew life had been treating him well. After all, Xander’s life had been all over the news and Internet for weeks.

She took a breath to calm the unexpected rage shooting through her.

Xander was her client and her clients’ private lives were none of her concern. The salacious stories about the other three men hadn’t bothered her in the slightest and she would not allow the burn that ravaged her brain whenever she imagined Xander acting out some of the described racier acts to cloud her judgement or control her emotions.