Powerful Greek, Unworldly Wife

Up until that point she hadn’t realised that she’d forgotten to dry herself. ‘I…didn’t have anything to change into.’

Leandro reached out a hand and touched her damp hair with a frown of exasperation. ‘You didn’t bring any clothes.’

‘I left my suitcase on the train,’ she muttered. ‘I was…upset. And I’m only staying in London for one night. It will be fine.’ She wished she could feel angry again. The anger had given her energy to cope with the difficult situation. Without it, she felt nothing but exhaustion.

His hand dropped to his side. ‘You still have clothes here. Wear them.’

‘You kept my clothes?’ Shocked, Millie stared up at him and his cold, unemotional appraisal chilled her.

‘I hate waste and I find them useful for overnight guests.’

The barb sank deep, the pain resting alongside the earlier wounds he’d inflicted, and she wondered why it was that emotional agony could be so much more traumatic than physical wounds.

He’d dismissed her from his life so easily.

Millie thought about all the bleak, lonely hours she’d spent agonising over whether or not she was right to have walked out—about the tears she’d shed. The times she’d wondered whether he was thinking about her. Whether he cared about their break-up.

Well, she had her answer now.

He was just fine. He’d moved on—apparently with effortless ease. Which just proved that he’d never loved her. He’d married her on impulse. He’d seen her as a novelty. Unfortunately it hadn’t taken long for her novelty value to wear off. When they’d been living in their own little world everything had been fine. It had been when they’d returned to his world that the problems had started.

Did you really think you’d be able to hold him? Her sister’s sympathetic question was embedded in her brain, like a soundtrack that refused to stop playing.

‘The baby.’ Knowing that the only way she was going to be able to hold it together was if she didn’t dwell on how she felt, Millie forced herself to ask the question. ‘Who has been looking after him?’

‘Two nannies. Change your clothes,’ Leandro said roughly. ‘The last thing I need is you with pneumonia.’

‘I’m not cold.’

‘Then why are you shivering?’

Did he honestly not know? She wanted to hit him for not understanding her feelings. He possessed confidence by the barrel-load and that natural self-assurance seemed to prevent him understanding those to whom life didn’t come quite so easily. What did a man like Leandro Demetrios know about insecurity? He didn’t have a clue.

Neither had he shown any remorse for the way their relationship had ended. In fact, he’d made it obvious that he thought she’d been in the wrong.

Maybe other women would have turned a blind eye, but she wasn’t like that.

‘I’m shivering because I’m finding this situation…’ She struggled to find a suitably neutral word. ‘Difficult.’

‘Difficult?’ His sensual mouth formed a grim, taut line in his handsome face. ‘You haven’t begun to experience difficult yet, agape mou. But you will.’

What did he mean by that?

What could possibly be worse than being forced into the company of the man she adored and hadn’t been able to satisfy, and forced to care for the child he’d had with another woman? At the moment that challenge felt like the very essence of difficulty.

Feeling as though she was balancing precariously on the edge of a deep, dark pit, Millie took a deep breath. ‘I’d like to see my nephew.’ She drew the edges of her damp cardigan around her. She was shivering so hard she might have been in the Arctic, rather than his warm bedroom. ‘Where’s the baby?’

‘Sleeping. What else did you expect at this hour?’ His mouth grim, he strode across the bedroom and into the dressing room, emerging moments later with some clothes in his hands. ‘Put these on. At least they’re dry.’

‘They’re my old jeans.’ She frowned down at them. ‘The ones I wore when I first met you.’

‘This isn’t a trip down memory lane,’ he gritted. ‘It’s an attempt to get you out of wet clothes. Get back in that bathroom. And this time when you come out, make sure you’re dry.’

With a sigh, Millie turned back into the bathroom. The lights came on automatically and she stopped, remembering how that had amused her when he’d first brought her to this house. She’d walked in and out of all the rooms, feeling as though she’d walked into a vision of the future. Lights that came on when someone walked into a room, heating sensors, a house that vacuumed itself—Leandro exploited cuttingedge technology in every aspect of his life, and for her it had been like walking into a fantasy.

Trying not to think how the fantasy had ended, Millie stripped off her wet clothes, rubbed her cold skin with a warm towel and pulled on the jeans and silky green jumper he’d handed her.

She glanced in the enormous mirror and decided that the lighting had been designed specifically to highlight her imperfections. She looked nothing like a billionaire’s wife.

Emerging from the bathroom, her eyes clashed with his. ‘Now can I see the baby? I just…’ She swallowed. ‘I just want to look at him, that’s all.’ To get it over with. Part of her was so afraid she wouldn’t be able to do it.

This was a test, and she wasn’t sure whether she was going to pass or fail.

Leandro yanked a towel from the rail and starting rubbing her hair. ‘You’ve been in that bathroom twice and your hair is still soaking.’

‘You need to invest in a device that automatically dries someone’s hair if it’s wet.’

Something flickered in his eyes and she knew he was thinking of the time when he’d first brought her here and she’d played with the technology like a child with a new toy. ‘What were you doing all that time?’

Thinking about him. About her life.

Trying to find the strength to do this.

‘I was playing hide and seek with the lights. They’re a bit bright for me.’ Millie winced as his methodical rubbing became a little too brisk and tried not to think about the fact that he was turning her hair into a tangled mess.

What did it matter? What did smooth, perfect hair matter at this point in their relationship? They were way past the point where her appearance was an issue.

Leandro slung the towel over the heated rail. ‘That will do.’

‘Yes, there’s no point in working on something that’s never going to come up to scratch,’ Millie muttered, and he frowned sharply.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing.’ Trying to forget her appearance, Millie lifted her chin. ‘I want to see the baby.’ At least the baby wouldn’t care whether her hair was blow-dried or not.

She felt inadequate and out of place in this man’s life, but she was here because the baby needed her. It was abandoned. Unloved. Like her…

For a whole year she’d locked herself away—protected herself from the outside world. And if it hadn’t been for the baby she would have stayed in her hiding place. Not that she’d needed to hide. Leandro hadn’t come to look for her, had he? She’d left, but he hadn’t followed.

Leandro gave her a long, hard look, as if asking himself a question.

Knowing with absolute certainty what that question was, Millie walked towards the bedroom door.

‘You can see the baby,’ he drawled as they walked out of the room. ‘But don’t wake him up.’

The comment surprised her. Why would he care whether she woke the baby or not? She’d thought he would have been only too anxious for her to remove the child and get out of his life.

Millie glanced at the paintings, reflecting that most normal people had to go to art galleries to see pieces like this. Leandro could admire them on his way to the bathroom.