DAMON? HOW COULD Damon possibly be parked outside her door?
For a moment Lizzie couldn’t catch her breath, she was so shocked. Damon had followed her to London! She hadn’t even had a chance to collect her thoughts properly after receiving his lawyer’s letter yesterday—other than to call a family solicitor and make an appointment.
She froze behind the shutters of her room as she checked out the sleek black car parked outside the front door. The windows were tinted, so she couldn’t see the driver, but she knew who it was. There was only one man who changed his car as often as his shirt, and always for a newer, sleeker model.
Better to have this out with him now, she concluded as she glanced at the letter, still lying on the table by the phone where she’d left it. Stavros had given her some time off, allowing her the chance to think her way through this nightmare. He’d winkled the truth out of her when he’d heard the tension in her voice.
Stavros had been furious too. He couldn’t believe it of Damon, he’d said, adding that any lawyer sent by Damon Gavros would have to come through him first.
From being a wily matchmaker, Stavros had turned on a sixpence into Lizzie’s staunchest defender. He’d wanted to send his wife over right away, to comfort her, but Lizzie had said she could handle things on her own. And she would, Lizzie determined.
She drew a deep, steadying breath before opening the front door. This wasn’t the first hurdle she’d faced by any means, but perhaps it was the highest.
‘Lizzie?’ Damon called out. ‘I know you’re in there. Please open the door.’
She took a few shaking breaths and then swung the door wide. No way did she want Damon thinking that she was hiding from him.
Resolutions were one thing, but seeing Damon again was another. At least he was prepared for the vagaries of the London weather, she registered, taking in his heavy jacket and tough, workmanlike boots. Damon would look hot in a monk’s robes, and in a thick sweater and jeans he looked as darkly, wickedly stunning as usual—while she felt exhausted and hurt, and above all furiously angry.
Her body should recoil from him after what he’d done, but nothing had changed where that was concerned. Her heart still raced and her breathing still quickened at the sight of him. Worse. Her body yearned as if it had no sense—but this time there was anger in the mix.
‘Yes?’ she demanded crisply. ‘What do you want?’
‘Theos, Lizzie!’ he exclaimed. ‘Thank God you’re home.’ He raked his hair in a familiar gesture. ‘Let me in. We need to talk—’
‘More talking?’ she said, still barring his way.
‘We have to talk when our daughter’s involved,’ he insisted.
Damon was a picture of power and dominance standing on the damp London street, while she had prepared for nothing and was wearing a faded old top, pyjama bottoms, and a pair of furry slippers on her feet. Her face was scrubbed clean of make-up and her hair was scraped back. Not her armour of choice, but she’d take it.
‘Our daughter?’ she queried. ‘Are you sure about that?’
Damon’s frown deepened. ‘Of course I’m sure. Can I come in now?’
She stood back, and tensed as he brushed past her. She’d forgotten how big he was. This entire London house would fit into the hallway of his beachside mansion. She hesitated before opening the door to her bedsit, hardly able to imagine that they’d both fit inside.
She didn’t waste time on pleasantries—especially as Damon didn’t look around with interest, as she might have expected, but focused solely on her face. Going to the table, she picked up the letter and fanned it in front of him.
Lifting her chin to stare him in the eyes, she demanded, ‘Did you authorise this?’
Damon’s expression blackened as he recognised the name on the top of the letterhead. ‘Of course not. What is it?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No, I don’t,’ he insisted. ‘When did it arrive?’
‘It was waiting for me when I got home.’
‘May I?’
For the first time since she’d known him, she saw that Damon was badly thrown. She could hear it in his voice and see it in the deepness of the furrows between his eyes.
She handed him the letter and he read it quickly.
‘Lizzie.’ His eyes flicked up to meet her angry stare. ‘I didn’t ask for this.’
‘So this firm of lawyers doesn’t act for you?’
‘You know it does. It must have been a terrible shock for you to recognise the name from your father’s trial. I’m sure that’s something you won’t easily forgot.’
‘Compassion? From you?’ She huffed a laugh.
Could she believe him? Lizzie wondered. She wanted to, but sometimes it seemed that her whole life had been spent battling the disappointment of being let down.
‘I felt sick to the stomach when I saw that letter.’
‘This letter—this request for a DNA test,’ he said, with what she was sure was genuine disgust, ‘has nothing to do with me. Believe me, Lizzie. It’s a matter of trust. You have to believe me.’
‘I don’t have to do anything.’
‘You said you trusted me on the island,’ Damon said steadily. ‘Do you trust me now?’
She wanted to—so badly—but the past always stood in her way. ‘I don’t know what to think,’ she confessed.
It didn’t help that Damon’s blistering glamour carried all the sultry heat of a Greek afternoon, which lent an aura of unreality to everything that was happening in the familiar surroundings of her small, cosy home. He could light up the damp London street without any help from the lamps outside, but could she trust him?
She really didn’t know, Lizzie realised.
She felt as if she were being squeezed between Damon’s lawyers, Damon’s money, Damon, and an opulent lifestyle that was utterly alien to her. It was next to impossible to extract any judgement from that.
‘I didn’t send this,’ he repeated softly, staring her in the eyes. ‘I didn’t ask for this letter to be drafted, let alone mailed to you. Your word is enough for me, Lizzie.’
Her word was enough for him? Trust was the most valuable currency of all in Lizzie’s life, so why was she still holding back?
Because she had to make decisions for Thea too, Lizzie realised. This wasn’t about her. It never had been. And she didn’t know if she would ever feel confident enough to invite Damon in to their exclusive club of two.
‘Will you be staying long?’ she asked formally, feeling awkward, feeling edgy, feeling uncertain, when certainty was what she had to feel where everything to do with Thea was concerned.
‘Apparently not,’ Damon said dryly, putting the letter back on the table.
‘I meant in London.’
‘That depends,’ he said.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking upon what it depended. She was in no mood to soften. This was her turf, her home, her sanctuary, and his lawyer’s letter had breached that security.
‘So, how did this happen?’
Damon shrugged. ‘My legal team is over-keen.’
‘That’s not good enough.’
Not now the past had swooped over her like an ugly black cloak, blotting out the facts in front of her and replacing them with horrors from another day.
‘What does it matter if you authorised this letter or not? Your legal team work for you, in your name, as they worked that day to destroy my father. Do I want to hang around to see if any more letters like this arrive? Do I want to subject Thea to the risk of finding one some day? If you love Thea, as you say you do, I suggest you take this letter and shove it up your lawyer’s backside, where it belongs—’
But she couldn’t wait for that, and so she shredded it instead and let the pieces drop through her fingers like a shower of toxic confetti.
He was tempted to applaud, but guessed that wouldn’t go down well. Lizzie was never more magnificent than when she was defending their child. If he had the whole world to choose from he couldn’t find a better woman than this. He only wondered that it had taken him so long to realise Lizzie’s true worth. He guessed that while he was a speed freak in business, and had everything down to a well-oiled art where that was concerned, he was a little less adept when it came to handling emotions and human relationships.
‘You don’t get to tell me what to do here. This is my turf,’ Lizzie was telling him.
He had the satisfaction of hearing the pieces of the lawyer’s letter crunch beneath his boots as he moved towards her. He would have liked to grind them through the floorboards and consign them to hell.
‘I quite agree,’ he told her.
There was a silence, and then she said, ‘You do?’
‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘You’re right. That letter should never have been sent, but I’m ultimately responsible for it. My legal team thought they were protecting me. I know,’ he said as her eyes lit. ‘I hardly need protecting. But you do. And Thea does too. And I should be first in line to do that.’
Lizzie eyes betrayed all the uncertainty inside her, while he was stripped down to his most vulnerable, with everything to lose.
He’d fought off emotion all his life, wanting to fight for, and protect his parents. He’d fight now, if he had to.
‘I won’t let Thea suffer because of my naiveté,’ Lizzie said, obviously still tense and worried, ‘so if there’s a copy of that letter in a vault somewhere, or on a computer, I want it destroyed.’
‘It will be,’ he promised. ‘Thea will never know about the letter unless you tell her.’
‘Well, obviously I won’t.’
‘You’re not to blame for any of this, Lizzie. You never were.’
Damon’s will was vibrating in the room like a tangible thing, tempting her to believe him.
‘So you don’t think I’m a liar, like my father?’
‘Of course I don’t. Would I be here if I did?’
She’d needed to hear that, but she still had to shake her head to try and dislodge the memories. The faces of her father’s victims were always with her, reminding her that she should be punished too. She had enjoyed her last birthday party at home before the trial, as the privileged daughter of a supposedly wealthy man. She had adored her dress and everything else about that night—without realising that she’d been drinking and eating and dancing at the expense of so many vulnerable victims.
If only she could have that time over again—time to make things right and stop her father. If only she’d known—
‘Lizzie, you have to stop this,’ Damon insisted quietly. ‘I understand what you’re going through, but you can’t change the past, and nor can you go on blaming yourself for what your father did.’
Easy for him to say, but guilt was eating her alive. Did he know that?
‘And I suppose I can’t blame myself for my father’s death?’ she suggested. ‘But I still do.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘They offered me counselling before I went to visit him in jail for the first time. I knew within five minutes that the person counselling me had no idea. Beyond offering me a box of tissues, a few murmured platitudes, and telling me that it would be “good for me to talk”, she had nothing to offer—while I still had to get my head around the basics, like finding somewhere to live and putting food on the table. I didn’t have time to waste emoting. All I could think of was getting out of that office so I could get on with the rest of my life.’
‘And did you?’ Damon angled his chin to stare at her.
‘Yes. That day in court changed me. My father’s death changed me even more. It was a wake-up call and a turning point for me. It told me in stark language that it was time to grow up.’
‘You did have a lot of changes to get used to.’
‘You think?’ She found a small wry smile. ‘I had to get used to the world I believed in turning out to be a fantasy. Having my only living relative in prison and losing my friends didn’t help…’ Her voice tailed away.
‘I don’t see how that makes you responsible for your father’s death,’ Damon prompted.
‘I was angry with him and I was homeless,’ Lizzie remembered. ‘By the time I had scraped together enough money for my first visit to the jail I got there and they said he was dead. He’d hanged himself.’
The feelings she’d suffered on that terrible day, swept over her now. They were weaker, of course. Time was kind like that. But the sense of abandonment had never truly left her. Like the grief at having any chance of making things right between Lizzie and her father stolen away, the shock of his death, and the realisation that time lost could never be recaptured, had changed her forever.
‘Theos, Lizzie! You found out like that?’
‘Exactly like that. It was kept out of the newspapers. The publicity wouldn’t be good for the jail, they said. I’m over it now—of course I am,’ she insisted. ‘But after his death I went from feeling the weight of everyone’s disapproval to suffering their pity—which was almost worse. A lot of people turned away, and I can’t blame them. It was as if Dad and me had both been infected with the same disease. I just wish I could have done something more to help him. Hence the ongoing guilt, I suppose.’
‘You were very young.’
‘Old enough to have a child.’
‘Your father chose your stepmother in preference to you,’ Damon insisted. ‘He wanted you in court because he thought you might be useful to him. That isn’t love, Lizzie, that’s taking advantage of someone’s good nature—yours, in this instance.’
She felt naked and vulnerable, having bared her soul, and she went on the defensive immediately. ‘You’re very supportive, Damon. Will you give me the same level of support when I fight you for Thea?’
‘I hope it doesn’t come to that, but you can’t keep our daughter from me.’
‘You sound very sure.’
‘I am. Because—’
‘You have another team of lawyers?’ Lizzie guessed.
‘No,’ Damon said carefully. ‘I am sure it won’t come to that. Because Thea has asked to see me.’
‘Thea has—I’m sorry.’ Lizzie paled. ‘What did you say?’
‘Thea has asked to see me now and again,’ Damon explained. ‘And that’s what we’ve agreed on.’
‘You’ve agreed this? Without consulting me?’
‘Yes, Thea and I talked it over. We’ll meet now and then…at least to begin with…and then, over time, we’ll see more of each other, depending on how things go.’
‘I can’t get my head around this,’ Lizzie said tensely. ‘You’ve spoken to Thea without telling me?’
‘She rang me. I could hardly refuse to speak to my own daughter.’
‘Thea rang you?’ Lizzie repeated foolishly. She felt as if the ground was shaking beneath her feet and every certainty she’d ever had was slipping away from her. ‘You told me I could trust you…’
‘You can,’ Damon insisted.
‘So you go behind my back and talk to my daughter—’
‘Our daughter,’ he interrupted. ‘I gave Thea my number in case she ever needed it.’
‘Why would she need it?’ Lizzie challenged.
‘I’m her father,’ Damon said quietly. ‘Who else would she call?’
‘Me! She’d call me,’ Lizzie insisted furiously. ‘How could you do this? I’ll never trust you again as long as I live. Get out. Get out now! Get out!’
She broke several nails flinging the door open.
In one breath Damon had denounced the letter and accepted Thea as his daughter, and then in that self-same breath he had admitted that he was speaking to Thea behind Lizzie’s back on a semi-regular basis.
To say she felt unnervingly threatened would be massively understating the case. She was on the outside looking in at a relationship that was obviously developing between Damon and Thea without her involvement. How had it come to this? Had Thea already made her choice as to where and with whom she wanted to live?
She had to tell herself not to be so ridiculous. Thea was an intelligent girl. They loved each other. Love like theirs couldn’t be threatened or stolen away by anyone.
And when Damon strode out of the house without a backward glance, leaving Lizzie with no idea if she’d ever see him again, she wondered if maybe that was a good thing.