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Theo was relieved when Sofia called to him, breaking the spell. Together, they trudged the overgrown path up the dry, rocky hill, sea water sluicing off their bare legs and squishing in their shoes.
The big house had been scraped away. When they reached the edge of the site, he stopped to speak to one of the hired demolishers.
His sister staggered forward. Falling to her knees, she touched the dry earth where her bedroom had been, then covered her face with a sob. Theo watched, his shoulders taut, his eyes dry. Digging a hole with her hands, Sofia she took the small gold locket from her pocket and dropped it in. She filled in the hole, smoothing dirt over it. Then she looked down at the cracked stone walls of the old basement on the other side of the structure, half-destroyed and filled with debris, little more than a hole in the ground.
“Tell them to yank it out,” she said in a low voice. “Every single stone.”
The sun was dying, bleeding red across the sea, by the time they returned to the yacht. Theo’s steps were heavy as Sofia fled to the cushioned seats on deck, to sit alone in shadows with her grief. Emmie was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is my wife?” he asked.
“I believe she was fatigued after dinner,” the captain replied, “and went to rest in your quarters, sir.”
Theo was glad he didn’t have to worry about hiding his feelings from her. Being strong in the face of Sofia’s grief and pain was difficult enough. He went to sit by his sister, holding her as she cried.
The yacht swiftly returned to the village harbor. Once they were at anchor, he and Sofia took a speedboat to the dock. Sending staffers back to the taverna hotel to pay his bill and collect his and Emmie’s things, Theo walked Sofia to her little stone house on the edge of town, a summer cottage now rarely used by her adoptive family. When he left her at her door, she gave him a trembling smile, her eyes luminous.
“Thank you, Theo,” she said and hugged him. “I’ll be...better now.”
Feeling a lump in his throat, he hugged her back. His voice was hoarse as he pulled away. “You deserve every happiness, Sofia.” He hesitated. “If I can ever do anything for you, anything at all... Money, help, a quiet word in the right ear...”
Wiping her eyes, she whispered, “Just having you back in my life is all I ever wanted.”
With a jerky nod, he turned away. But as Theo returned to the yacht, where his beautiful bride and glamorous honeymoon waited, Theo did not feel better. His muscles ached. His throat hurt. His soul felt sore.
He knew, even if Sofia did not, that his sister was better-off without him in her life. Today surely proved that. He thought of how Sofia had wept, her knees in the dirt, and closed his eyes, sick at heart. However much she might wish otherwise, she’d never forget he was the one to blame.
Reaching the yacht, he stood at the railing, watching as the pearlescent moon rose softly over the Aegean. He thought of drinking whiskey, or maybe guzzling the barely touched Dom Pérignon. He thought of burying himself in work, prepping for his upcoming pitch, the latest iteration of his dream project in Paris he’d pursued for years. None of it appealed.
Only one thing could save him.
Going through the yacht’s sliding glass doors, he went down the hall to his private suite. In the darkness, he found his wife sleeping in the large bed.
He woke her with a kiss.
“Theo,” she murmured. “What—”
His hand moved to her breast beneath her white sleeveless nightgown, as her lips parted, gasping against his. He deepened the kiss, pressing her back against the bed. He was desperate to touch her, to taste her skin. She wrenched away.
“Stop.”
Startled, he stared at her in the slender dagger of moonlight pooling on the bed. She took a deep breath.
“Tell me,” she said quietly. “About today.”
Theo stiffened. It wasn’t enough that Sofia knew his failures. Now Emmie wanted some rope to hang him with as well? “It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter.”
She looked up at him.Saw right through him.
“What am I to you? Just the mother of your child? An accessory on your arm that you put in a box when you’re done?”
He glared at her. “You know you’re more.”
“Do I?” She looked down at her hands, interlaced tightly over the blanket. “I want our marriage to work. But how can I feel like your partner, or even your friend, when you don’t tell me anything?”
Theo set his jaw. “I don’t want to talk about the past. Ever. It’s not a happy story. Forget it. As I have—”
But as he moved toward her again, intending to kiss her into submission, she stopped him with a small hand pressed firmly to his chest. Her eyes pierced his. “Either explain, or get out.”
