I couldn’t tell Axios any of that. Even the simple joy of rediscovering my love of painting and finding the shops and galleries I’d sold my watercolours to seemed too sacred, too private to share with the man who looked at me with rancour and suspicion. Whose every breath seemed like a silent pledge to uncover my secrets.
My life. Lived on my terms.
That was what I’d sworn to myself that rainy afternoon in my hotel room after leaving Dr Trudeau’s office. For the most part, it had been.
Axios’s arrival had simply shortened the time I’d given mysel
f before checking off the last item on my list.
‘You’ll consider believing me after you’ve triple-checked everything I say?’
The unapologetic gleam in his eyes told me he intended to do exactly that. Tear through every new, unconditional friendship I’d formed along the way, every haven I’d sought refuge in.
My stomach churned at the thought of Axios finding out the true state of my health and exploiting it the way my father had done with my mother. It was that terrible thought more than anything else that cemented my decision to keep my secret.
If he found out my condition, he would wonder if the state of my health affected my suitability as a mother. Unlike my mother, my flaws weren’t outward. For the precious time being, I could hang on to that.
As for when I couldn’t...
‘All you need to know is that Andreos is yours and I’m prepared to return to Greece. If that’s what you want?’
His nostrils flared and his gaze raked my face for long sizzling seconds before his lips twisted. ‘Oh, yes, wife. The time has most definitely come for that. And whatever it is that you’re keeping from me, rest assured, I’ll find out.’
With that he stepped back.
Thinking he was going to leave me to grapple with the turmoil his unexpected arrival had caused, I watched, my heart speeding like a freight train, as he headed to the cot where Andreos slept.
Silence disturbed only by the slow stirring of the ceiling fan throbbed in the room as Axios stared down at the son he hadn’t accepted was his. His jaw clenched tight and his throat moved convulsively as he watched the rise and fall of the baby’s chest.
He remained frozen for so long I feared he’d take root there. When he turned abruptly and tugged a sleek phone from his pocket my senses tripped.
‘What are you doing?’
Eyes the colour of a stormy sky met mine as he hit a number and lifted the handset to his ear. ‘Getting the answers I need.’
The sharp orders he gave in Greek when the phone was answered didn’t surprise me. The irony that the one truth I’d told him was the one he was having a hard time accepting wasn’t lost on me. But, conversely, I understood. I too had wondered why fate would choose to lay both joy and sorrow on me in one fell swoop, leaving me with a choice that had seemed both simple and terrifying.
After all, my actions pointed to behaviour that would’ve left me suspicious too. And, considering what my own mother had done for the sake of freedom and love—an act that was an open secret in Nicrete—I didn’t blame Axios for wanting to verify that the baby he’d helped create was truly his.
When he was done making an appointment for his private doctor to visit his home in Athens the moment he returned, to take DNA samples for a paternity test, he hung up, his piercing regard staying on me as he tucked his phone away.
I ignored the blatant challenge and asked the question more important to me. ‘Is it going to hurt him?’
For the most fleeting second the charged look in his eyes dissipated. ‘No. I’m told all it requires is a swab from his cheek.’
I nodded. ‘Very well, then.’
He frowned, my easy acquiescence seemingly throwing him. But his face returned to its formidable hauteur in moments, and his strides were purposeful as he strode to the house phone and picked it up.
Before he dialled he turned to me. ‘Is the child okay to travel on a plane?’
‘The child’s name is Andreos. And I’d thank you not to make any plans without discussing them with me first.’
A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘Why? Did you not tell me that you intended to return to Greece?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘When exactly were you proposing to do that? When he was a year old? When he was five or perhaps ten?’ he grated out.