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Rafe’s lips twist into a cold smirk. “No.”
I whisper the wordliarin my head instead of saying it to his face. I don’t think for one second he did this out of the kindness of his heart. But I can’t help but feel awed by the art surrounding us. I’m surprised, too, how intimate it feels to be viewing works like a famous Greek statue or a Rembrandt painting without anyone else in the wing.
Rafe seems content to let me set the pace. I take my time, making use of the lack of other guests and plenty of room to stare at oil paintings, ancient statues and other incredible works.
It’s not until we’re in the domed room that houses the infamous Mona Lisa that he speaks again.
“Why Paris?” he asks quietly.
I stare at the iconic painting, the hint of a smile, the cool confidence in the eyes. My mind is racing nearly as fast as my heart. I don’t know why he’s asking these questions. Why he’s acting like he cares now.
“Haven’t you heard? Everyone wants to go to Paris.”
I swear I can feel the warmth of his body on my back, as if he’s standing just a breath behind me.
“Why did you come here?”
After you fled our wedding.
He doesn’t say the words out loud. But they’re there, a phantom hovering between us. I hinted at my reasons last night. I don’t want to share. But I also have a feeling that if I don’t give him something, he’ll go back to Greece and fight me every step of the way on our divorce.
“Last year, Katie came back from her first semester at the Sorbonne. She talked about Paris so much I found myself yearning for a place I’d never seen.” Even now I can see her at Christmas as we’d unwrapped our gifts, describing the little store in a street market in Le Vésinet, eyes glowing as she’d talked a mile a minute. “I wanted to go by myself. But every time I would bring it up, my mother would tear up or just cry until I told her I wouldn’t go.”
“She controlled you.”
I blew out a harsh breath. “Yes. I don’t know how much was about control and how much was about fear that I would fall again. Metaphorically speaking,” I add with a slight smile, trying to take the edge off the dark turn in our conversation.
“Does it matter when the end result is the same?”
There’s something in his voice that tells me he, too, has been at the mercy of someone else’s erratic emotions before. Probably his father. A man who made my mother look like a saint.
“I finally stopped bringing it up. Katie tried to whenever she would call, but I told her to stop, too, because it just made things worse. But the desire was still there.
“The day we got married, I realized I had said yes for the wrong reasons. I was angry at my parents, especially my mother, for being so overly protective to the point that she was controlling my life. It was a miracle that she didn’t try to dissuade me from marrying you.” I sigh. “I’m sorry, Rafe.”
He arches one dark brow. “Sorry?”
“I used you.”
“One could argue I did the same to you. Proposing marriage to get your father to finally agree to a merger my father had been trying to talk him into for nearly twenty years.”
“Yes, but you were upfront with me about your reasons. I wasn’t.”
“Is that why you left?” he asks as he closes the distance between us and crouches down, much as he did that night at his family’s villa when I saw him as his own person instead of Gavriil’s older brother. “Out of guilt?”
I start to tell him what I overheard, the horrible words that stripped away any last remaining hope.
But what’s the point? What will it change?
“Yes. That and the need to have my own life, one I built myself.”
His eyes crinkle slightly as he gives me a crooked smile. “How did you do it?”
My eyes drift down to his mouth before I can stop myself. “What?”
“How did you leave the island?”
“Oh.” My tongue darts out and I wet my lips. “Your housekeeper, Sybil, arranged for a boat back to Santorini. I bought a ticket to Paris and called Katie on my way to the airport. She was staying with my parents for the wedding.”