A WEEK PASSED and Margo started to think she and Leo were finding that same page. Things had settled, more or less, into a routine: Leo worked most of the day and Margo drifted. She didn’t mind it for now, because with her nausea and her exhaustion drifting through each day was about all she could manage.
But as the days passed, and her nausea thankfully started to abate, she knew she needed to find some focus. Some purpose.
Xanthe and Ava had thawed towards her a little, which made life less tense if not exactly easy. And her things had arrived from Paris. Besides her clothes and toiletries she’d requested that some of her personal items—paintings and ornaments and books—be shipped to Greece. It felt both comforting and strange to arrange her things in the bedroom that still didn’t feel like hers. They were dotted around the yawning space like buoys bobbing in an unfamiliar sea.
Still, life marched on, and Margo knew she needed to march with it.
She drove into Amfissa one afternoon and wandered the streets, window-shopping. She went into a shop that sold nursery furniture and gazed in wonder at the array of cradles and buggies—at a whole arsenal of parental tools with which she would one day need to be equipped.
When she came back down the sweeping drive that led to the main villa of the Marakaios estate Leo came out of the house, standing on the portico as he glowered at her.
She hadn’t even cut the engine before he was striding over to the driver’s side and opening door.
‘Where were you—?’
‘In Amfissa. I told Maria.’ She’d managed to learn enough Greek, and Maria knew enough English, to communicate with the housekeeper.
‘By yourself?’
Leo sounded incredulous and Margo only just kept from rolling her eyes.
‘Leo, I’m a grown woman—’
‘You’re also pregnant—’
‘Pregnancy is not a disease.’
‘You’ve been suffering from extreme morning sickness, Margo, and I’ve seen how dizzy you can get. What if something had happened?’
She quelled the lurch of alarm she felt at that thought. Just when she’d been coming to grips with her own fear Leo had managed to rake it all up again.
‘I can’t just stay in the villa, Leo, like some knocked-up Rapunzel in her tower. I’ll go mad.’
She heard a snort of laughter from behind her and turned around.
‘Knocked-up Rapunzel?’ Leo repeated, a smile tugging at his mouth. ‘That presents quite an image.’
Margo smiled back. She’d missed this kind of banter so much. The jokes and the teasing...the lightness. She needed it to combat the darkness she felt so often in herself. ‘Well, that’s how I feel. And I don’t even have tons of beautiful blonde hair to compensate.’
‘Your hair is beautiful,’ Leo said.
And just like that he dropped the banter, replacing it with an intent sincerity that made Margo’s heart judder.
‘I always enjoyed watching you when you unpinned it in the evening.’
All at once she had an image of Leo, gazing at her as she reached up to undo the chignon she normally kept her waist-length hair in. She pictured the hotel room, the candlelight casting flickering shadows across the wide bed. The moment’s intimacy and expectation, the sheer eroticism of it...
It felt like a lifetime ago—and yet it also felt very real. She could remember exactly how it had felt when her hair had cascaded down her back and Leo had reached for her, taken her into his arms and pushed the heavy mass aside to kiss the tender nape of her neck...
She swallowed hard, not sure if she wanted to revel in the moment spinning out between them or move past it.
In the end Leo chose for her.
‘I understand you needing to get out. But your mobile phone doesn’t even work here—’
‘Then perhaps I should get a new one. I can’t be a prisoner, Leo.’
‘I don’t want you to be. I’ll order you a phone today. I should have done it before. I’m sorry.’
She nodded wordlessly, still caught in the thrall of that moment, that memory.
‘I was thinking,’ Leo said abruptly, ‘we should have a party. To welcome you properly and introduce you to the community. If you feel up to it.’
‘I’m feeling much better. I’d like that.’ Maybe a party would help her to meet people and finally start feeling a part of things.
* * *
Somewhat to Margo’s surprise, Xanthe and Ava were excited about the party. They set a date, and contacted caterers, and sent out invitations to everyone in the local community.
And they took Margo shopping.
She resisted at first, because the thought of the two women fluttering around her like butterflies while she tried on dresses was alarming, to say the least. But they insisted and she finally gave in, driving with them into Amfissa one afternoon a few days before the party.
‘You’re not quite ready for maternity wear,’ Ava said, casting a critical eye over Margo’s neat bump. ‘How far along are you, anyway?’
‘Just over eighteen weeks,’ Margo said.
The nausea had almost completely gone, and she was starting to feel a little more energetic and look a little less gaunt.
‘You’re so thin,’ Xanthe said, envy audible in her voice. ‘It seems like all Parisian women are thin. Do you ever eat?’
‘Not lately,’ Margo admitted, ‘but normally, yes.’
Suddenly she thought of the mini-marshmallows she’d kept in her bag—her secret vice—and how Leo had known about them.
‘You’re smiling like a cat who just ate the cream,’ Ava noted.
Margo shook her head. ‘Just...remembering something.’
Which made the sisters exchange knowing looks.
And then Xanthe asked abruptly, ‘So what is going on between you and Leo? Because obviously...’ she gestured towards Margo’s bump ‘...you’ve been together, but...’ She trailed off as Ava gave her a quelling look.
Margo sighed. She’d come to realise that Ava and Xanthe were good-natured and well-intentioned, if a little interfering. They deserved the truth, or at least as much as she could tell them without betraying Leo’s confidences.
‘We were together. But things had...started to cool off. And then I became pregnant.’
‘Accidentally?’ Xanthe asked with wide eyes.
Ava snorted. ‘Of course accidentally, ilithia.’
Margo recognised the Greek word for idiot; this wasn’t the first time Ava had used it towards her younger sister and Leo, amused, had told her what it meant.
Ava turned to Margo. ‘So you told Leo about the baby?’
‘Yes. I never thought I’d have children, but—’
‘Why not?’ Xanthe interjected.
Margo hesitated. ‘I suppose because I was focused on my career.’ Which was no more than a half-truth. It was because she was afraid of loving and losing someone again—so desperately afraid.
Her hand crept to the comforting swell of her bump and Ava noticed the revealing gesture.
‘Come on, let’s try and find some dresses,’ she said, and Margo was glad for the change in subject.
She spent a surprisingly enjoyable afternoon with both sisters once she’d got used to Xanthe’s nosiness and Ava’s bustling, bossy manner. She realised they were both fun to be around, and she could tell they actually cared about her. It almost felt like being part of a family—something she hadn’t experienced since she’d been twelve years old, and even then not so much...
They finally all agreed on a dress of deep magenta that brought colour to Margo’s face and complemented her dark eyes and hair. Its empire waist and swirling skirt drew attention away from her bump without hiding it completely.
‘Understated, elegant, and just a little bit sexy,’ Ava declared in satisfaction. ‘Perfect. Leo will love it.’
And with a little thrill Margo realised she wanted Leo to love it. She wanted to be beautiful to him again. A dangerous desire, perhaps, but still, caught in the happy glow of their shared afternoon, Margo didn’t try and suppress it. Leo was her husband, after all. Why shouldn’t she want him to find her attractive, desirable?
The night of the party, as she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom and gazed at her reflection, she wondered again just what Leo would think of her in this dress. She’d done her hair in its usual chignon but styled it a bit more loosely, so a few tendrils escaped to frame her face. She’d taken care with her make-up, making her eyes look bigger and darker with eyeliner and mascara, choosing a berry-red lipstick that matched her dress.
She looked, Margo thought, a bit more like her old self—the old Margo, who’d armed herself with make-up and designer clothes and stiletto heels. And yet she looked...softer, somehow. Her face was rounder, her bump was visible, and she didn’t feel quite as guarded as she normally did.
Maybe living here in Greece with people all around her was softening her slowly. Changing her just a little. It was so different from the isolation she’d known for so long.
A knock sounded on the door that joined her bedroom to Leo’s. He used it on occasion, to come and say goodnight to her, or talk with her about various matters. He always knocked first—always kept things formal and brief.
Now Margo cleared her throat before calling for him to enter.
‘Are you—?’
He stopped as he caught sight of her, and Margo’s breath dried in her throat as she looked at him. He wore a tuxedo, something she’d never actually seen him in before, and the crisp white shirt and black jacket was the perfect foil for his swarthy skin and ink-dark hair. The strong, clean lines of his jaw and cheekbones made Margo ache to touch him. And when she saw the blaze of desire in his eyes she felt as if a Roman candle had lit up inside her, fizzing and firing away.
‘I was going to ask you if you were ready,’ Leo said, his voice turning husky, ‘but you obviously are. You look beautiful, Margo. Utterly enchanting.’
Colour touched her cheeks, and when she spoke her voice was almost as husky as his own. ‘Thank you. You look...incredible.’
She blushed even more at this admission, and Leo’s mouth quirked in a small smile. Margo could feel the tension snapping between them, but for once it was a good, exciting kind of tension. Sexual tension.
‘Shall we?’ he asked, and held out his hand.
Nodding, Margo took it.
Even though they’d been living as man and wife for a couple of weeks, they’d hardly ever touched. In this charged atmosphere the feel of his fingers sliding along her hand and then curling over her fingers made heat pool deep in Margo’s belly.
Leo drew her out of the room and down the stairs towards the guests who were already arriving and milling in the foyer; the extra staff hired for the night circulated with trays of champagne and canapés.
The pooling desire she’d felt was replaced by a sudden lurch of nerves at the sight of all the people waiting to meet her, and maybe to judge her.
Leo gently squeezed her fingers. ‘Chin up,’ he said softly. ‘You look beautiful and you are amazing.’
She glanced at him swiftly, surprise slicing through her at the obvious sincerity in his tone. What was happening between them? This certainly didn’t feel businesslike.
But before she could say anything, or even think about it any further, he was drawing her down the stairs and towards the crowd.
It had been a long time since Margo had socialised; morning sickness had kept her from doing anything but the bare minimum. Now, however, wearing a gorgeous dress, feeling beautiful and even cherished on Leo’s arm, she felt some of her old sparkle return. And people, she found, were happy to welcome her.
A few glanced askance at her baby bump, but she suspected that most had already heard and come to terms with the new, unexpected addition to the Marakaios family. As Leo’s wife, she was accepted by the people unequivocally, and it made her both relieved and grateful.
She felt even more so when Leo held his flute of champagne aloft and proposed a toast. ‘To my lovely bride, Margo,’ he said, his clear, deep voice carrying throughout the whole villa. ‘May you welcome her and come to love her as I do.’
Margo smiled and raised her own glass of sparkling water, but his words caused a jolt of shock to run through her. Love her. He didn’t, of course. She knew that. And yet for the first time she wondered what it would feel like if he did. If she loved him. If they had a proper marriage—real and deep and lasting.
A moot question, of course, because even if she wanted to risk her heart by loving Leo there was no guarantee that he would love her back. There were no guarantees at all—which was why it was better this way. They’d reached a level of amicability that was pleasant without being dangerous. She shouldn’t want or seek more.
By the end of the evening her feet, in the black suede stilettos she’d had brought from Paris, were starting to ache, and she was definitely starting to wilt. Leo seemed to notice the exact moment she felt ready to call it a night, for in one swift movement he came to her side, putting his arm around her waist.
‘You look tired. Why don’t we retire?’
‘I don’t want to seem rude...’
‘Greeks love a party. They will stay here till dawn unless I kick them out.’
Her mouth twitched in a smile and she let herself lean slightly into Leo’s arm. Not enough for him to notice, or for it to matter. Just enough to feel the heavy, comforting security of it. To feel safe.
‘So, are you going to boot them to the door?’
‘I’ll leave that to the staff. I’m going to come upstairs with you.’
And even though she knew he didn’t mean it in that way, she still felt a shivery thrill run through her.
To her surprise, Leo didn’t leave her at her bedroom door as he usually did at night, but came into the room behind her. Margo hadn’t expected that, and she’d already started to undo her hair—the pins had been sticking into her skull all evening.
Suddenly self-conscious, she lowered her arms—and then froze at the sound of Leo’s husky voice.
‘Don’t stop.’
In an aching rush she remembered how he’d told her he liked to watch her unpin her hair. It felt even more intimate, even more erotic, now that she knew he liked it. Slowly, her heart starting to thud, she reached up and took the pins out of her hair one by one.
Leo didn’t say anything, but she could hear him breathing...feel the very air between them tauten. The pins now removed, she gave her head a little shake and her hair came tumbling down her shoulders, all the way to her waist.
Leo gazed at her, his eyes blazing, and Margo stared back, every sense in her straining, her heart thudding hard.
‘Margo...’
She heard a world of yearning in his voice and it made her tremble. She pressed a hand to her middle to stay the nerves that leapt like fish in her belly—and then realised they weren’t nerves at all.
‘Oh...’
‘What?’ Leo came towards her quickly, his voice sharp with concern. ‘What is it?’
‘I think...’ Margo pressed her hand against her bump, a smile dawning across her face. ‘I think I felt the baby kick.’
‘You did?’ Leo sounded incredulous, amazed, as if he’d never heard of such a thing.
Margo let out a little laugh as she felt that same insistent pulse of life. ‘Yes! I just felt it again!’ She looked up at him, beaming, as amazed as he was. ‘It feels so funny. There’s actually a person inside me!’
He laughed then, and so did she, and then he reached out a hand—before staying it. ‘May I?’ he asked.
Margo nodded. She reached for his hand, pressing it to her bump, her hand on top of his. ‘Wait,’ she whispered, and they both stood there, still and transfixed, barely breathing.
It seemed an age, but then finally it came again: that funny little inward thump.
Leo let out an incredulous laugh. ‘Theos, I felt it! I really felt it.’
She looked up at him, still beaming, but the wide smile slid right off her face as she saw Leo’s own joyful incredulity turn into something else. Something sensual.
The breath rushed from her lungs as he reached out one hand and slid it through her hair so his fingers curved around the nape of neck, warm and sure and seeking. He drew her slowly towards him and she came, one palm resting flat against his chest so she could feel the thud of his heart, as insistent as her own.
And then he kissed her, as she knew he would, his lips brushing hers once, twice, in a silent question. Without waiting for an answer—an answer she’d have given with every part of her body—he went deep, his tongue sliding into her mouth as he pulled her more closely to him, fitting their bodies together as much as her bump would allow.
The feel of his lips on hers...his hands on her body...his touch made every sense she had flare painfully alive as need scorched through her. She slid her hands up to clutch at his lapels and opened her mouth to his kiss, his tongue, felt the raw passion inside her kindle to roaring flame.
And then the baby kicked again—that determined little pulse—and Margo froze. Her thoughts caught up with the sensations rushing through her and that little kick reminded her just why they were here in the first place. The only reason they were here.
Leo, as attuned as ever to her emotions, broke off the kiss and stepped back. Margo couldn’t tell a single thing from his expression. His gaze dropped to her bump and she wondered if he too were reminding himself of the real and only reason they’d got married.
The silence stretched on, and Margo could not think how to break it. Her emotions felt like a maelstrom, whirling inside her; she couldn’t separate one from the other, couldn’t articulate how she felt about anything.
In the end Leo broke it with a single word. ‘Goodnight,’ he said quietly, and then walked to the door that joined their bedrooms.
Margo was still standing in the centre of the room, one hand pressed to her bump, another to her kiss-swollen lips, as she heard the door click softly shut.