“Because you work your ass off to pay for this apartment,” Chip reminded her. “Filip knows that.”
She nodded and slowly began to unpack the groceries she’d bought earlier.
“What time’s Hannah back?” She asked, her eyes drifting into the lounge. Christos had taken up a seat beside Filip, and was making a pretty good show of being interested in the baseball. It was impossible to watch them together.
“Not for hours,” Chip said with a shake of his head.
Elle froze as Christos stood and began to walk towards the kitchen.
“Where is the water?” He was icy when he spoke to her.
She frowned, staring at him in confusion. It was Chip who reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles, handing them to Christos with a look of warning.
“I can’t do this,” Elle murmured, as soon as Christos had returned to the lounge. “He hates me. He’s going to take Filip away, and I love him too much to do a damned thing about it.”
Chip froze. “You don’t mean you love that jackass Christos?”
“No!” She shook her head vehemently. “I meant Filip.”
“And yet you encouraged Fil to get to know him …”
“Yeah. Because it’s what he should do. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Even though it’s not what you want?”
She nodded. “It’s best for him.” Her voice cracked a little and Chip heard it.
“Look. Staying here is going to rip you to shreds. Let me take you out for a slice. Leave them to it and forget it’s happening.”
“Yes.” She exhaled with relief. It was cowardly to the extreme but she didn’t care. He’d told her to get out of his life, and she had. She was now simply choosing to stay that way.
“Fil?” Chip called. “Ellie and I are gonna head out for pizza. You want?”
“Yeah. Pepperoni.”
Chip’s demeanour changed appreciably when he turned to face Christos. “I’d offer you some but I doubt you’ll be staying long once we get back.”
The battle lines were marked and Elle could only stand by mutely as Chip put his arm around her shoulders and shepherded her from the apartment.
Christos would not have been human if the display didn’t engender some emotion of envy in his body. After all, she had been his perfect complement sexually. Their bodies had moved in unison, their connection had been sublime.
Sublime?
He pushed the ridiculous description away and focussed his attention on his half-brother. But as the time ticked on, and minutes dragged into hours, he felt the sense of angry jealousy blow almost out of control.
So that when she returned, finally, her cheeks pink and her hair windswept, her smile the most natural thing in the world, he had to clamp his hands to his knees to stop from punching the smug American Chip in the face.
The feeling was foreign; Christos was not a man who was prone to violence.
“Oh.” Elle stumbled into the apartment, her eyes apologetic. “Sorry. I forgot you were here.”
She’d forgotten? It was like a red rag to a bull. He had thought of nothing but her for the last two hours and she’d forgotten he was even there, sitting in her dingy apartment in a chair that had springs poking out of it.
“Here you go, man,” Chip put a box down on Filip’s lap.
“Cheers, bud.”
Christos stood. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Elle nodded curtly, shifting away from the hallway so that he wouldn’t move anywhere near her as he passed. It infuriated him.
“I’ve invited Filip to come to Athens for a time.”
Elle’s face paled as she turned to Filip.
“I said I’d have to talk to you,” Filip supplied apologetically, his sense of betrayal a dagger in her heart. He knew. He knew what the situation was doing to her and it was incredibly unfair to him.
The innocents.
She smiled at him encouragingly. “I think it’s a great idea,” she heard herself murmur, amazed at the way she was able to inject genuine agreement into her tone. “You’ll love Greece.”
“You do?” Filip frowned, taking the words right out of Christos’s mouth.
“Of course.” She turned away slightly from Filip so only Christos could see the way her lower lip was trembling with barely contained emotion.
“Great.” Filip turned his attention back to the television but Christos moved closer to Elle.
“Why don’t you come and discuss the details with me.”
“Can it wait?” She whispered without meeting his eyes. She was so tired. Exhausted. Miserable. And about to break down in tears.
A muscle jerked in his cheek as he studied her profile.
“Tomorrow.”
She nodded. “I’m working tomorrow but I could see you at night.”
“Dinner,” he agreed.
“No.” She walked towards the door, confident he would follow. But when they reached the entrance to the apartment, he curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her into the communal corridor, shutting the gateway to her flat behind them.
They were alone and the air sparked with tension.
“Why didn’t you tell me about his disability?”
She bit down on her lip. “You didn’t want to know anything about him, remember?”
He had refused to listen to her. He had told her he didn’t want to hear about the boy. Still … “You should have forced me to listen.”
Her eyes drifted shut. “I’m not going to stand in the way of you being in his life. But nor will I be your whipping boy for mistakes made by your father and by you.”
He felt the accusation land squarely on his shoulders. “Filip will only come to Athens if you accompany him.” The words were a gauntlet she was powerless to traverse.
“Absolutely not,” she shook her head. “I won’t go.”
“Yes you will,” and Christos’s response was laced with a hint of pity. “You will, because I’ve seen how you love him. You’ll come to Athens because it’s the right thing to do for your brother. You don’t want to, but you’ll do it.”
And he was right, of course. “I hate you.”
“Yes. I can see that.” He lifted a hand and braced it against the wall, to one side of her head. “Are you involved with him?”
She frowned. “With who?”
“Captain America. Who do you think?”
She might have smiled at the description of Chip if she were in a less fragile emotional state.
“Yes.” She lied, grateful to have the face-saving invention to cling to.
Christos straightened. “I’d expect nothing better of you.”
The insult was a barb but she had developed armour now to those. Besides, he’d killed her heart a month ago and it wasn’t going to grow back.
“Don’t make me do this.”
“You can get out of it,” he promised her coldly. “Just be sure to tell Filip you’re the reason he can’t come on the trip.”
She turned away from him blindly, reaching for the door handle.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”
“No,” she retorted swiftly, without looking at him. “Text me a place. I’ll meet you.”
7
It had been hard to know what to wear. The last thing Elle wanted was to give Christos the impression that she was interested in him romantically. She knew that ship had sailed, and that she should be glad. But there was a shred of feminine pride that made her want to look her absolute best. To knock his socks off with what he’d never again be allowed to have. Without seeming as though she’d tried at all, of course.
It was a fine line and in the end, she’d settled on a pair of super-skinny black jeans and a loose singlet top that billowed at the back, making it obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. It was a bright print, swirls of pink and green and grey. She wore her hair in a messy bun to show off the dangling earrings she’d selected to match the singlet. Instead of heels she’d donned ballet flats,
and the over-sized clutch was boho chic. The effort was worth it when she walked into the restaurant and saw the way he looked first at her, and then at the group of men who stopped what they were doing to stare as she walked slowly through the busy space.
“I said no to dinner,” she snapped snarkily, placing her clutch down without sitting.
His eyes scraped over her appraisingly and at the spark of awareness she wished she’d fought her feminine instincts and worn a shapeless, khaki sack. “I’m hungry and we have more than enough to discuss.”
“Well, I’m not hungry,” she corrected a little breathily, “and discussing anything with you is an exercise in ‘How to Waste your Breath 101’.”
He lifted a brow, unused to this acerbic side of her. “Sit.”
“Or what?” She simpered. “You’ll find a way to make me?”
“Sit.” His eyes bore into hers; she felt childish and unreasonable. But the petulance was running riot through her.
“What did you want to talk about?”
A waitress appeared at their table, and evidently not sensing the tone, smiled brightly and began to recite the specials.
Elle listened politely, reserving her rude vitriol specifically for the man who’d broken her heart.
“Just a drink, thanks,” she relented finally, taking the seat opposite him but only with the very edge of her bottom.
“Champagne,” he said towards the waitress, before turning back to Elle with narrowed eyes. “When did he get the chair.” It was a statement, not a question, and it knocked her momentarily off-balance as it had been designed to.
“You can ask him that,” she said sharply.
“I’m asking you.”
“You want a relationship with him? Then talk to him.”
He compressed his lips in frustration. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable with me asking him those sorts of questions.”
Compassion punctured her heart. “Ask him gently,” she said with a shrug. “And if he doesn’t want to talk about it, then back off.” Her champagne arrived and she sipped it quickly. “I know it doesn’t come easily to you, but do your best to act like a decent guy and you’ll be fine.”
“Theos,” he snapped, shaking his head. “What’s got into you?”
She had another taste of the champagne. It was excellent, of course. “I’m free.” Her eyes were enormous in her beautiful face. And she really was spectacularly beautiful. His whole body tightened as he felt the force of their attraction zipping through him.
“Free?” He cradled his own drink thoughtfully. “Free from what?”
She smiled, but it was touched by sadness. “From everything. You can’t threaten me with anything now. You can’t hurt me. I’m free.”
He hated what she’d done, but her words were like acid being poured down his back. The accusation made his whole body twist painfully.
“I don’t want to threaten you.”
“No. You don’t want anything to do with me. And I don’t want anything to do with you. But for Filip’s sake we’ll be civil, and see each other as little as possible.”
NO, he was screaming in his head. He didn’t want the picture she was painting. “Fine by me,” he agreed nonchalantly. “Except for one little sticking point.”
“Oh?” She held the champagne in her hand but didn’t drink any more.
“I think you and I will find it impossible to stay out of bed. I think the sooner we face up to that the better.”
She stood jerkily and slid her drink across the table. “You’re wrong.” She leaned forward, not even noticing that her singlet gaped and gave him a glimpse of her cleavage. “I don’t want a thing from you, least of all sex.”
She turned and stalked out of the restaurant feeling like she was about to have a panic attack.
How the hell was she going to do this?
“It was four years ago.” Filip kept his eyes focussed on the television as he spoke but Christos was staring at his half-brother’s profile.
“Four years? Around the time your mom …”
Filip angled his face towards Christos. “Ellie never mentioned?”
“No.” He shook his head, careful to keep any emotion from his features.
“I was in the car. The night mom died.”
Christos was very still; carefully watchful. “I didn’t know.”
“She was drunk as a skunk. But that was mom. She made me sit up front so I could read the traffic signs.”
Still Christos kept his expression bland, knowing instinctively that his disapproval might risk silencing his brother’s speech.
“She died. As soon as we hit the tree.”
“And you?” Christos prompted after a heavy, sorrowful beat.
“Trapped beneath the engine.” His eyes were enormous as they faced Christos. “It was hours before they cut me loose.”
Christos’s gut clenched. “You must have been terrified.”
“I don’t know how I felt.” He shook his head. “I think I just switched myself off. Sounds crazy, I know.”
“So you were paralysed?”
“From the waist down,” Filip nodded.
“Nothing could be done?”
“No. I severed my spinal cord. I’m lucky to be alive.”
Christos smothered the curse that had hovered on his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“You must have gathered how protective Ellie is of me.” His smile was a mirror-image of Christos’s. “She feels guilty.”
“Guilty? Why?”
“Oh, for no good reason. She’s full of ‘what-ifs’. What if she’d been home and I’d stayed with her instead of going with mom. What if she’d been driving instead? What if, what if, what if. But it wasn’t her fault.”
“No, of course it wasn’t,” Christos agreed, not wanting to soften in his attitude towards Elle but simultaneously being almost overcome by a desire to wash away that remorse and worry. “I wish I had known. I wish I could have done something.”
“No one could do anything.”
“But if I had… perhaps more suitable living quarters,” he said with a grimace as he looked around the room.
“Your father knew.” Filip’s fingers gripped the wheelchair as he turned to face the television.
Christos took three deep breaths. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.” Had Elle lied about this? Had she lied to make Filip hate his father?
“No. I was here when Elle get back from Greece.”
Christos frowned, too many questions arising from the statement.
“The first time. After mom died. Elle got back late at night and I’d been waiting up. I heard her talking with Hannah.” His smile was faint. “I was eleven. I loved nothing more than sitting up listening to my sister and her friend. She’d told him about the accident and he said that he wished I’d been killed.”
Christos stood up unevenly. He strode to the window and stared down at the street beyond. The statement, if true, was deeply, horrifyingly wrong. “I can’t believe he said that,” Christos said finally. “Perhaps your sister misunderstood.”
“Ellie’s sharp as a tac and it’s hardly a difficult sentence to remember.”
“Then she made it up. She said it to upset you.”
“No,” Filip shook his head. “She was telling Hannah in confidence; she didn’t want me to know. To this day, she has no clue I overheard. And she definitely never said anything like that to me. She was devastated. Your father wouldn’t even contribute towards the cost of my wheels.”
Christos’s breath was paining him. “That simply cannot be true.”
Filip’s own temper was rising. “Why would I lie?”
“I don’t think you’re lying. I think she is.”
Filip stared at Christos. “You’ve read her wrong. She’s not like that.”
Christos was dumbfounded. “Our father died a very rich man.”
“I know.” Filip stared numbly ahead.
“He gave millions to charities. He was on the board o
f the special Olympics.”
“I know that too,” Filip couldn’t face his half-brother. “So look around and maybe you can see why I’m reluctant to think of him as ‘my’ father.”
Christos needed more information than Filip had. He needed to know the facts of what had happened. Something didn’t add up though. The man he had adored and admired wouldn’t have been capable of such callous disregard.
“And don’t say anything to Elle. Whenever anyone insults me she acts as though she’s got to fix it. She can’t fix this. And she’ll just lose her mind trying.”
Elle pushed through the door at that moment; the tension in the apartment was palpable. She hadn’t seen Christos in two nights, since she’d stormed away from him in the restaurant. “Christos.” She frowned. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” Or she would have stayed out longer. The meaning hung in the air as though she’d spoken it.
“He was asking about the accident,” Filip said, turning back to the television.
“Oh, right.” She shouldered the door shut, carrying the heavy bags into the kitchen. Christos met her halfway and relieved her of the burden, shaking his head when he saw the way her fingers had been ring-barked by the plastic handles.
“You shouldn’t be living like this.”
She slanted a droll look in his direction. “This is how most of the world lives. Actually, it’s better than most of the world lives.” She began to lift groceries onto the bench. “You do realise you’re in the One Percent, don’t you?”
“You say that like it’s an accusation.”
“Just a fact.” She pushed a packet of ham into the fridge. “You shouldn’t sneer at people like us just because we don’t have helicopters and mansions.”
“I don’t.” He grabbed her hand and lifted it between them. Slowly, he began to stroke her sore, red flesh. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”
She frowned as she stared at the red and purple bruising on her fingers. “There are worse ways to be hurt.” She stepped away from him as though his touch was dosed in napalm.
“Christos? Can you stay for dinner?” Filip’s voice travelled into the kitchen easily.