Wedding Night with a Stranger (16 page)

She swallowed, half comprehending that the ground was sliding away from her. Desperation tempted her to say things her
instincts were clanging alarm bells against. ‘But what if I say now that I’d like to stay with
you
? What if I tell you that I…I’m in love with you?’

He closed his eyes then stepped backwards, increasing the distance between them. ‘No, please…
Don’t
…’ He held up his hand as if to ward something off, and drew a deep breath. ‘Look, Ariadne, it’s better if we don’t try to complicate what’s been a fantastic time. We were both forced into this, and…I guess, we’ve naturally—bonded—to some extent.’

She opened her mouth to speak but he held up his lean hand again.

‘No, we need to be realistic. Sweetheart, I’m very conscious I’ve been your first—lover.’ A dark stain spread across his cheekbones. ‘People—people often think they’ve fallen in love with their first. It’s all new, and it seems…’ he made a jerky gesture ‘…
special
somehow. You know, you start seeing the world through rose-coloured glasses. Everything starts to look hopeful again. You can’t wait to get home and see the person every day. You think about them all the time.
Worry
about them, all their little…But it can’t last.’

The blood thundering in her ears made her head swim. Lighting on the one thing coming through loud and clear, she said, a treacherous tremor in her voice, ‘You—don’t want me, then?’

His dark face twisted and he turned his eyes away from her. ‘Ariadne, think of this. Soon you’ll have your money and your freedom of choice. And you’ll look back on this interlude and think how lucky you were to escape from such a selfish bastard as Sebastian Nikosto.’ He smiled, but it was more like a grimace.

Her heart ached so cruelly she could scarcely breathe but, gathering the last thin remains of her dignity about her, she croaked, ‘I guess you’d prefer it if I left tomorrow.’

‘No.
Hell,
no. Take as long as you need to find a job, and get settled. I’m very conscious of owing you a debt of gratitude for
all you’ve done here. But, you know,
this
—’ he waved his hand, and looked ruefully at her ‘—
us,
the way we started, it’s been lovely, you’re a gorgeous girl, but whatever it is we think we have between us is built on sand. Sooner or later you’ll end up leaving anyway.’ His voice rasped. ‘Everybody does.’

S
EBASTIAN
stared out at the rain squall sweeping across the harbour and wondered if Ariadne had reached her appointment without getting soaked. Things had been strained after their discussion, but when he’d offered to leave work to come home and drive her this morning, she’d asserted politely that she could get there under her own steam.

He’d felt gutted when he saw her morning face. Since last night he’d had a jagged feeling in his chest, as if he’d kicked something fragile, or done something very stupid.

In fact, she’d slept in the other room. He still felt raw when he thought of the savage night he’d endured, but, in truth, in some ways he’d been relieved. At least he hadn’t taken advantage of her last night as well.

A concept was lurking on the edges of his mind, something so simple, so bright and elegant. If only he could grasp it firmly.

The afternoon in the office seemed interminable, and on a sudden what-the-hell impulse he grabbed his car keys and headed for the door.

On the way home he tried to think of some things he could say to reduce her hurt. The trouble was, he was a blundering fool where women were concerned. Take Esther…

In a strange coincidence, he’d nearly reached the turn-off to Waverley. For some reason, on an absolutely unprecedented
impulse he took it, and drove slowly along the street until he found the entrance where he knew Esther’s ashes had been slotted into a wall, along with those of thousands of other souls. He got out of the car and stood a while, perhaps an hour, wondering if he was facing some crazy sort of widower’s crisis, then walked along the avenues, hunched against the rain, until he came to the one he’d visited that one time before.

There was a little brass plaque set in the wall with Esther’s name on it. He stared at it for an age, trying to sense if Esther was present, remembering what Ariadne had said about her parents. He wiped the raindrops off the plaque with his sleeve, then took out his handkerchief and gave it a firmer polish.

The truth was, Esther wasn’t there. Not that he could sense. She wasn’t anywhere any more, except perhaps up there in the ether, smiling with the other clouds. He saw it then, the simple dazzling truth.

Ariadne was here and now, warm and alive and smelling of flowers. Seized with a buoyant burst of energy and purpose he sprinted to the car, his feet squelching in his wet shoes.

‘You’re a very rich woman,’ the attorney said, his rainwater eyes and thinning grey hair in perfect harmony with his grey suit, pearl silk tie and dim, grey humour. ‘Didn’t your uncle ever inform you of your father’s stake in Giorgias Shipping?’

Ariadne shook her head.

‘Your dad inherited his small stake from his grandmother, while your uncle inherited his larger one from his father. Lucky for you, Giorgias Shipping has gone from strength to strength.’ He smiled a watery smile. ‘There’s nothing stopping you from doing whatever you wish with your life, Mrs Nikosto. You can buy the Harbour Bridge if you like. Travel anywhere in the world.’

Anywhere except Naxos.

‘Thank you.’ Ariadne pasted on a smile, just as though she
weren’t a creature composed almost solely of pain. She gathered her handbag, then rose and shook hands with the lawyer. As she made the descent in the lift, then walked free and rich into the Sydney rain, she realised she didn’t want to go to Naxos anyway. There was no one for her there now.

Or anywhere.

Still, she had choices. Billions of them, it seemed, all of them empty. What did a woman do when her husband couldn’t accept her love? She probably should find a taxi to take her home in time to cook his dinner. Instead, she turned listlessly in the direction of a travel agent she’d noticed in the Pitt Street Mall.

Sebastian closed the door behind him and tossed his keys on the hall table. He paused, listening. The house seemed curiously quiet. He strolled through the house and into the kitchen. Everything was neat and orderly, clean and pristine, but there was no aromatic pot simmering on the range. He opened the oven door.

Nothing.

No crisp salad waiting on the bench top. No cooking. No wife. Could she be sleeping?

With a sudden dread he bounded up the stairs two at a time, calling, ‘Ariadne.’

In every direction emptiness met his gaze. No trace of her in his bedroom, or in the other room she’d taken to sleeping in since the fateful discussion. Her wardrobe was bare. No bottles on the vanity. No combs or brushes on her dressing table. His house, his life, back to a threadbare shell.

A single silky scarf hung from her doorknob, drifting softly on the breeze. Something about its soft fragility devastated him. He snatched it up and held it to his face to inhale the last trace of her perfume. With a tearing pain in his chest he tried to come to terms with the possibility the worst had happened. She’d left him.

Although where would she go?

It was too late to call the lawyer at work, so he phoned the guy at his home. No luck there. The man couldn’t say where his beautiful wife had gone after he’d handed her the keys to her inheritance.

His bed had never felt so desolate. He was still awake when the dawn broke. A little after six, haggard and unshaven, he hastened for the front door at the sound of the bell. Ariadne? The silly little hope rose in his heart. Maybe she’d forgotten her key, been held up somehow and stayed in a hotel.

He opened the door and stared. Two elderly Greeks were on the porch, issuing a stream of conflicting instructions to a chauffeur who was unloading suitcases from a long black limousine. The Greek man was portly and moustachioed, his wife formally and expensively dressed for so early in the day, her warm pleasant face creased in anxiety.

‘Careful with that, you fool,’ the man blustered. ‘No, no, not there, idiot.
There
.’

‘Just a moment, Peri.
I’ll
handle this. Bring the black one first, will you, my dear young man? I’ll need that first. Then find the brown one with the pinstripe. Ah, excellent. Thank you, thank you.’

The elderly man turned. When he saw Sebastian his eyes widened, and at once he threw out his hands. ‘Ah, my boy, my blessed, blessed
boy.
’ He seized Sebastian with enthusiasm and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘It’s me. Peri. Your uncle, and you must call me Thio. And this is your Aunt Eleni.’ He beamed and rubbed his hands. ‘Where is my girl? Where’s our Ariadne?’

As Sebastian dredged up the bald words and delivered his tidings, it was the wife who broke the ensuing silence. ‘What? Are you saying she isn’t
here
?
Where, then?’ There was a note of panic in her voice. ‘Where in the world is she? What have you done with my
toula
?’

A
RIADNE
adjusted her beach bag to cushion her back, and leaned on her elbows to watch the early morning surfers. Far out beyond the first line of breakers, a lone swimmer powered through the water in a leisurely freestyle, barely raising a splash. For a minute she watched, envying that assured, lazy crawl.

How she wished she could do it. It reminded her of a precious morning spent watching Sebastian in the surf on Bronte Beach. Though that was history now, just a bright, fleeting moment in time. Still, she’d done the right thing in leaving. She knew that with a deep certainty. If they’d gone on as they were, without a commitment of love on both sides, they’d have ended in tears sooner or later.

Better for it to be sooner, before her love had grown too deep for her to have the strength. The well of emotion connected to thoughts of her brief, disastrous marriage threatened to overflow again, and she was obliged to lift the corner of her tee shirt and dab at her eyes. She’d really have to stop giving way to this grieving soon. It was time to straighten her shoulders and do something worthwhile with her life.

Perhaps this place might help, with its echoes of that magic time in her childhood. Beaches might have been much the same the world over, but Noosa had a charm all its own. Perhaps it was the bush-scented air. She inhaled an aromatic whiff of it.
Tea tree, casuarina and eucalypt, mingled with salty sea. A unique blend of wild things. Or it might have been the emerald and turquoise waters, or the smooth black waterstones lining the pretty shores.

Sebastian was doing brilliantly, she’d read in the papers. Celestrial’s share value had rocketed on the Stock Exchange. Thio would be impressed.

Sebastian wasn’t the only one who’d racked up achievements. She’d travelled quite a lot of her homeland in the recent months, though there was still much left to see. She’d jolted along reddirt outback tracks in a four-wheel drive, and slept by a campfire beneath the southern cross. She’d kayaked along the river of a red desert gorge carved out in primeval times, and swum in the pure, crystalline waters of a bottomless lake.

She’d slept in sleeping bags, buses, on hard dry ground and in hostels pared down to offer none but the most basic of human amenities. All of it had been rare and beautiful and exciting. She’d plunged into every adventure with all her heart, what was left of the battered thing, though the beauties she’d seen had been blurred often by tears and her yearning for the wonderful man who’d taught her how to love then at the last minute rejected her.

Now she was waiting. She’d done some research and found that her great-auntie Maeve was still a resident of Noosa, though currently away visiting relatives in Tasmania. Every time Ariadne thought of that her toes clenched in pleasure.

Relatives in Tasmania. Chances were, they were her relatives too.

The swimmer who’d been far out beyond the breakers had changed tack and was heading in now. He disappeared in a trough, then his dark head bobbed up and she saw him pause and look around, waiting. He caught the next wave with effortless ease, riding it in like a dolphin. Every flash of his powerful arms suggested he was lean and deeply tanned.

He vanished again for a couple of minutes. Next time she spotted him he was much closer to shore.

She narrowed her eyes behind her dark glasses. He was nearly level now with the braver surfers, the ones who weren’t afraid of swimming out of their depths. Soon he’d be able to stand. His hair looked black, as black as Sebastian’s, though from this distance the water darkened everyone’s hair.

He body-surfed the next wave in and she saw him stand suddenly, steadying himself against the swell with his arms. He started to make his way in. She leaned forward, and her heart started a wild hammering.

She pushed up her sunglasses for a clearer look. The man was tall and beautifully proportioned, like an athlete. He was wide at the shoulders, narrow at waist and hips, and she could make out more of his features.

For heaven’s sake, she
must
be insane. Incredible, but the further he advanced, the more he looked like Sebastian.

Her painfully thundering pulse thought it was true, but it couldn’t be. She must be imagining things. Sebastian was in Sydney managing Celestrial, not rising from the sea before her like Poseidon. As she stared, frozen, other sights, sounds, everything else faded from her consciousness. All she was aware of was her lean, hard, beautiful husband, striding from the shallows and onto the beach, dripping, his gaze focused ahead.

A small silence fell around her. With a sense of unreality, Ariadne turned to watch him walk past her and continue on a further thirty metres to the rinse-off shower at the edge of the beach.

Apparently unaware of her presence, he rinsed his hair and smoothed his hands over his virile chest and arms. Arms that had once been hers. Then he turned off the shower and strolled a little way to a small heap on the sand, muscles rippling in his long back and powerful thighs as he stooped to pick up a towel.

Ariadne’s heart made a savage thud. Hadn’t he noticed her?
She couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t have, when he stood out to her in any crowd. In fact she was forever seeing him in impossible places. And why was he in Noosa? He never took holidays. A horrible thought struck her. Could he be here with someone? Someone
new
?

She could hardly expect him to feel kindly towards her, but if he walked away without acknowledging her she’d die. She sat up straight and still, eyes closed, hardly daring to hope, her tremulous heart on a precipice, her nerves as tense as wires.

A shadow fell between her and the sun and she opened her eyes, to be momentarily dazzled. ‘Ariadne.’ When she adjusted to the light she looked up to meet her husband’s dark intent gaze.

Every instinct in her being rushed heart and soul to welcome him, but she fought back the impulse to leap up and throw herself into his arms.

‘Hello, Sebastian.’

He hesitated a second, then dropped down beside her on the sand. As he leaned to kiss her cheek his familiar masculine aura swamped her and the old sexual connection impacted on her with massive, weakening force.

She closed her eyes and said faintly, ‘What—what are you doing here?’

‘Passing through. How about you?’

As he examined her sunlight caught the gleams in his dark eyes. He was dressed now in shorts and a loose white tee shirt that enhanced his tan. Drops of water sparkled on his brows and lashes. Perhaps she imagined it, but he seemed thinner. Even his face appeared leaner, the lines around his mouth more deeply etched.

‘Me too. I’m just here—temporarily.’

‘Oh.’

She cast down her lashes. ‘I’ve been—doing a bit of travelling around Australia. Reconnecting with my birthplace. Thought
I’d stay here in Queensland a while, since winter’s just around the corner.’

There was a strained silence. He broke it first, nodding. ‘Right. Good. Well, you’ve always wanted to see the country. So tell me. Is it up to your expectations?’

Thinking of the places she’d visited, her heart swelled with inexpressible emotion. ‘Oh-h-h.
Better.
Better than I could ever describe in a million years. It’s stunning. Spectacular. Who’d ever think a desert would be so beautiful? And the people. Everyone here is so kind and friendly and warm.’

‘Warmer than the Greeks?’

‘No.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Not warmer than the Greeks. No one is warmer than Greeks.’

There was another silence, then he said lightly, ‘I guess I thought that since you’re a rich woman now you might have chosen to wing your way back to Naxos.’ He looked keenly at her.

She met his narrowed gaze. ‘No. My long-term plans are for here.’

His brows shot up. ‘
Here
?’

‘No, no, not Noosa. Sydney, I think.’

His eyes lit, then veiled almost at once. ‘Sydney? Oh. Good.’ He nodded. ‘That’ll be—great.’

His black brows drew together. The air thundered with vibrations. She was dying to ask what he was really doing in Noosa, but she was too afraid of the answer to risk it.

The silence grew thick with unaskable questions, and this time it was she who broke it. ‘I see that Celestrial is doing very well. I read all about you in the paper. They’re calling you a whizz-kid. Congratulations. You must be celebrating.’

He gave a shrug. ‘Thanks, but—’ he glanced at her ‘—since I lost you, nothing seems worth celebrating.’

Emotion welled in her throat. ‘Oh. I—suppose we lost each other.’ Her voice was so husky it could have been shovelled up.

He stared down at the sand, then looked at her with an intent, serious glance. ‘Look, would you consider coming up to the hotel and having breakfast with me? There are some things I need to say to you.’

Her heart thrilled with an anticipation so intense it was hard to determine whether it felt like joy or anguish. Still, she had to protect herself. Had to beware of his capacity to hurt her. What if it was the divorce he wanted to discuss?

‘Breakfast sounds good,’ she said. ‘Where—are you staying?’

‘The Sheraton.’

‘Yeah? That’s a coincidence. That’s where I’m holed up.’ She looked sharply at him, then said, all at once out of breath, ‘
Is
it a coincidence, Sebastian?’

He hesitated. ‘Not exactly.’

He stood up and held out his hand. Nervous of touching him with her senses already haywire, she disregarded the offer of assistance and scrambled up herself. The quick movement made her slightly giddy, and she swayed a bit.

His hand snaked out to grasp her arm and steady her. ‘Careful.’

Predictably, his fingers left a ring of the dangerous old fire burning on her arm like a brand.

As they strolled along Hastings Street, under the poinciana trees, past all the tourists breakfasting in the sidewalk cafés and thronging the gelaterias, she babbled on about her travels, wondering what it was he had to say to her, her brain in a haze, though her body seemed to be so sharply, vibrantly attuned to every part of him. Was it actual months since they’d been lovers?

He hardly said much, just kept nodding and gazing at her as if he couldn’t look away, drinking her in from head to toe in her tee and shorts and sandals, his eyes glittering as they did when he was in the grip of strong emotion.

‘You have a tan,’ he observed at one point, his voice deep and gravelly.

She nodded.

His eyes flickered over her. ‘You look—more beautiful than ever.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Sort of glowing. So—what are your long-term plans?’

They’d paused in front of the lifts at the Sheraton.

After a second’s hesitation, she said, ‘Well, I’ve decided what I want to do in Australia. I’m thinking of building shelters for homeless people.’ His brows shot up and she added quickly, ‘Oh, I know Sydney already has shelters, but I want to make my own contribution. I can easily afford it. I’ll start with one. Find some good people to work it so I can learn the ropes of running a charity.’ She met his gaze fleetingly. ‘Well, you know, it’s terrifying not knowing where you’re going to sleep the next night.’ Her chin wobbled. ‘I’ll never forget how that felt.’

‘I know,’ he said, his eyes flooding with warmth and remorse. ‘Of course you won’t.’ He clenched his jaw, and turned sharply away from her. After a moment he added, ‘That’s—that’s a wonderful idea, I think. You’ll—you’ll do it very well.’

‘I hope so,’ she mumbled, her throat so tight her voice was a croak. ‘I know I’m pretty green. I have a lot to learn.’

He grimaced. ‘Don’t we all?’

In the lift, their close proximity became quite agonising, with all the unspoken emotion fogging up the airwaves. She wished she could talk to him properly, open up her heart and voice the real things between them. Instead she said, her voice wobbling with the effort of sounding calm, ‘Did you know, Sebastian, that Fraser Island is made entirely of
sand
? And there’s a lake there, so deep no one has ever plumbed the bottom, but its water is as clear and fresh and pure as a mountain spring. Held there absolutely by sand. Did you know that?’

He stared at her, his eyes so dark they were black, then with a little groan he grabbed her and dragged her against him.

He held her against his lean, hard body for a long glorious time, stroking her hair, his bristly morning jaw grazing her
forehead. Tears of loss for the love they might have had welled up from the bottomless spring in her heart, and she had a good weep against his chest. She could feel his big, strong heart beating against her cheek.

At last, after soaking up the strength of his healing essence for a while, she noticed that the lift doors had opened and people were outside, gawking in.

‘Oops,’ Sebastian rasped. ‘Our floor.’

Sebastian’s suite was much like hers, she noticed through her misty haze. Opulent. Enormous bedroom, plush sofas, views across the sea to heaven, and a delightful balcony where breakfast could be set, if there was a point when one was eating alone. Clothes were spilling out of his suitcase, and he had the bedroom in a bit of a shambles already.

Recovering from her shameful excess of lift emotion, she said brightly, ‘How—how did you know I was here?’

‘I remembered you told me once about your parents bringing you here for a holiday. I thought it was worth a try. I’d tried everywhere else I could think of.’

‘Did you?’ She dropped her gaze and mumbled, ‘I should have left a note, I suppose. It was a—a spur-of-the-minute thing. You know, I just—just…’

‘I know.’ A flush darkened his tan. ‘I hurt you.’

There was nothing she could say to express how much, so she just looked away, pained at the memories.

He said fiercely, his voice rough and deep, ‘I’m so sorry. I think when I met you I got—caught up in a tangle over my first wife. I guess you could say I had guilt about falling in love again. You know, unresolved grief, or whatever it is they call it.’

Falling in love again.
Had he, though?

‘You know, when I met you, I was—overwhelmed.’ His voice grew deep and gruff and thick. ‘I couldn’t believe my luck when you asked me to marry you that day. And at
once.
God, I was euphoric. I’d have done anything to have you.
Anything
.’