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“Since you insisted on coming,” Theo told Emmie coldly, “sit down and try not to be a nuisance.”
Nuisance? Sitting abruptly in a cushioned seat, Emmie ground her teeth as she looked back at the vanishing shoreline and charming village clinging to the rocks. She’d givehimnuisance.
The speedboat soon arrived at the enormous yacht, and they were assisted up the steps by uniformed crew, then kicked off their shoes, as apparently everyone went in socks and bare feet on yachts. Not as glamorous as she’d imagined, Emmie thought, surveying her own chipped toenail polish dourly.
They reached the wide deck, with its comfortable chairs and views in every direction. As the yacht started to move, a different member of the crew pushed a flute of champagne into Theo’s hand, then the girl’s, then even Emmie’s.
She looked at the crystal flute, bewildered. Why would anyone give a pregnant woman champagne? In fact, it seemed strange that Theo and the dark-haired girl had champagne, too. Neither seemed to be celebrating.
If anything, her husband looked haunted, his dark eyes shadowed as he kept glancing down at the waiflike brunette. The girl just gripped the yacht’s railing and stared out at the sea, her expression pitiable.
Emmie didn’t understand any of this.
Holding her untasted flute, Emmie went inside the sliding glass door and handed it to a member of the crew in a white short-sleeved shirt and shorts. “Here, thank you very much, but I don’t need this.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Taking it readily, he touched his cap respectfully and turned away. She stopped him.
“Excuse me, but...um...where are we going?”
The young man looked confused. “To the other side of the island, ma’am. For the best view.”
“Ah. Yes. Of course. Thank you,” she said, nodding sagely, as she’d sometimes seen her father and brothers do when they had no idea what someone was talking about. Going back out on the open deck, she hugged herself in the warm Greek wind as the yacht sliced through the ocean waves. She looked across the deck toward Theo and the girl.
She couldn’t imagine him taking a mistress, not after just two days of marriage, and parading her in front of Emmie! No, surely not. There had to be some other explanation for why he’d come to Lyra, a place he clearly hated, to go on a yachting excursion in secret. With a pretty brunette.
Didn’t there?
It didn’t take long for them to reach the other side of the island. From this side, the shore was rocky, brown, bare of trees, far from civilization. Her eyes widened when she saw the burned-out ruin of a building clinging alone to the side. A grand old house, long since destroyed.
Going to Theo, she whispered, “What is that?”
His dark eyes brooded as he stared back at the island, gripping the railing. He said flatly, “A house.”
“I can see that.” Staring at the shell, she thought of Daphne du Maurier’s tragic burned Manderley. “But whose?”
Turning to her, he bit out coldly, “Mine.”
“Oh,” Emmie said, confused. There was nothing left but the mansion’s blackened bones, faded by sun, in ruins for years or even decades. Then she noticed men in hard hats, small from this distance, waiting beside the ruin, a small battalion with heavy machinery, excavators, loaders, bulldozers. She frowned, trying to make sense of it. She said faintly, “You’re here to rebuild?”
“No. To destroy.” Looking out at the site with grim satisfaction, Theo gestured to the captain, who spoke quietly into a phone. He turned back to Emmie with cold black eyes. “And to answer your question, Sofia is my sister.”
Theo watched across the water as men in hard hats, having received the go-ahead, plowed forward with two excavators and a bulldozer, knocking down the last charred walls of the dilapidated house.
Nearby, he heard a choked sniffle. Sofia was gripping the railing, her dark eyes filled with anguish as she looked out at their former home in the twilight.
Without a word, he went to stand beside her. Unsure how to offer comfort, he put his arm around her uncertainly. She leaned against him, silently weeping, never looking away from the island, as the last vestiges of their childhood home were flattened and wiped off the face of the earth.
Looking down, Theo dimly saw a flute in his hand. He’d ordered the very best champagne from his cellar specifically for the occasion. But when he’d pictured this day, destroying the property now that it was his at last, he’d thought he’d feel a sense of joy, triumph—or at least relief.
Instead Theo felt sick, his insides churning. Glancing behind him on the deck, he saw Emmie watching him. He felt her gaze. Hersilence. She’d been startled when he’d said Sofia was his sister, but she hadn’t asked any questions. Now, he was suddenly afraid it was because she didn’t need to. More than anyone else, she’d always had a knack for seeing past his defenses, even as his secretary.
And now...
His throat tightened.
Cold. Cold. He had to be cold. To show emotion was weakness. A man had to be strong, or both he and the people he loved would suffer. He had to be ice.
“Cheers,” Theo forced himself to say in English, holding up his flute. Sofia stared at him with black tearstained eyes, then finally lifted her own. He clinked his glass against hers, and they each managed a sip of champagne. Reaching into his pocket, he handed her the small brown paper-wrapped package he’d taken from his office safe.
