Modern Romance December 2016 Books 1-4. Кейт ХьюитЧитать онлайн книгу.
assess my performance,’ Talia suggested before she lost her courage. She felt reckless now, almost wild; he’d already hurt her so what did she really have to lose? ‘Surely you need to see if I really am doing the thing properly. Appropriately.’ Angelos narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to figure out her game. Talia gave him her sunniest smile, even though she felt fragile inside, ready to break. ‘Tomorrow Sofia and I are going on a picnic,’ she stated, although she hadn’t planned any such thing. ‘I’ve been wanting to walk to the far side of the island. Why don’t you come with us?’
He stared at her for a long moment, a muscle flickering in his jaw, his eyes utterly opaque. Talia waited for his answer, her breath held, trying not to hope too hard.
‘Well played, Miss Di Sione,’ he finally said, and there was a faint note of reluctant admiration in his voice that made Talia release her breath in a relieved rush. ‘You are a positive terrier.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘It wasn’t necessarily meant as one.’ Angelos turned back to his desk, bracing his hands flat on the burnished surface, almost as if he were steeling himself—but for what? ‘As tempting as a picnic sounds,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I will have to forego such pleasures. I have a lot of work to do.’
‘Why did you come back at all, then?’ Talia demanded, hurt audible in her voice, making her cringe. She’d thought he’d been going to accept, and the intense disappointment she felt at his refusal felt like an overreaction, yet one she couldn’t keep herself from.
‘I told you—’
‘To assess my capabilities? But you haven’t spent any time with me or Sofia. How can you possibly know how capable I am?’
He swung around, anger igniting in his eyes again, making them burn. ‘Why are you so damnably persistent?’
‘Because I know what it’s like to be without a father,’ Talia confessed. She felt the blood rush to her face at this unwarranted admission. ‘Or a mother. I lost both my parents when I was a year old.’
Angelos stared at her for a long moment, his jaw bunched, his arms still folded, and yet Talia sensed a softening in him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he finally said, his voice gruff. ‘I would not wish that on anyone.’
‘Sofia’s already lost her mother,’ Talia pressed while she had an advantage. ‘She needs you—’
‘And she has me.’ He cut her off swiftly, his tone and expression hardening once more. ‘I provide for her every need, and I visit here as often as I can. And frankly, Miss Di Sione, Sofia is better off without me around.’ He swung away again, driving a hand through his hair, his back, taut and quivering with tension, to her. ‘Now, go please,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Before either of us says something we will later regret.’
Talia stared at him for a long moment, everything in her wanting to go comfort this man. She sensed a grief and even a darkness in him that she hadn’t expected, and it called to a similar emotion in her that she’d long suppressed.
‘Angelos...’ she tried, hesitantly, because they did not remotely have the kind of relationship that would allow her to offer comfort, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to give it anyway. Reaching out to this man, actually connecting with him, would be dangerous for both of them.
And yet she stayed, even lifted her hand as she had before, fingers trembling, straining... Her fingertips brushed his shoulder, and she felt his muscles quiver and jerk in response, or perhaps she was the one who moved, a jolt running through her body that surprised her with its impossible force. She’d barely touched him.
‘Go,’ Angelos said, his voice low and insistent, his head bowed, and dropping her hand, her whole body reacting to that tiny touch, Talia went.
* * *
Angelos stayed in his study working until the small hours of the morning. Better to work and try to blot out all the damning accusations Talia had hurled at him. The pleas to spend time with his daughter, when that was the one thing he couldn’t do.
For a second, staring blankly at the page of notes he’d been making on his new client, Angelos remembered what it had been like to be close to Sofia. To hold the warm baby weight of her in his arms, tuck her head against his shoulder and rest his chin on top of her silky hair. He remembered how she’d always tugged on his ears, giving a great big baby’s belly laugh. How Xanthe had watched them, smiling that secret smile, love shining in her eyes...
With a curse he shoved the pad of paper away, driving his hands through his hair, his nails raking his scalp, as if he could push the memories right out of his head. As if he could change the past, the night that had claimed Xanthe’s life and scarred Sofia for ever. The night that had been his fault.
He glanced at the ouzo in the drinks cabinet, and then turned away.
The house was quiet as he headed upstairs, the night breeze cool. He paused outside Talia’s room, wondering how she’d taken his rebuttals. He’d been harsh, he knew, but she’d been so damnably determined. She’d been trying to make him see, and the trouble was, he saw all too clearly. He saw that when he was near his daughter he made her uncomfortable, reminded her of all they’d lost. Sofia might need a father, but she needed a better one than him.
And yet Talia didn’t know that, didn’t realise how unworthy he was. She’d tried to comfort him, and for a second, his eyes clenched shut, Angelos remembered the feel of her fingers on his shoulder, barely the brush of a hand, and yet it had made him feel as if his skin had been scraped raw, every nerve exposed to stinging air. Not a pleasant feeling, and yet it had made him feel so alive. For a second he’d craved even more; the kind of connection to another human being that he hadn’t had in seven years. It would have felt like the ripping of a bandage from a wound, the sudden exposure to light and air and life, painful and necessary and good.
And not for him.
Banishing all thoughts of Talia, he moved past her room to Sofia’s, slipping inside silently as he did every night he was on Kallos, while his daughter slept.
Sofia lay on her side, her knees tucked up as they always were. As Angelos came closer, his throat constricted as he saw the dried traces of tears on his daughter’s cheek. She’d been crying...because of him? Because of what he had or hadn’t done? He glanced down and saw the last letter he’d written her on the floor, having slipped from her fingers as she’d fallen asleep.
Guilt lashed him, a scourge whose sting he accepted as his due. Sofia’s sadness was his fault. He knew that. He’d always known that. He just didn’t know how he could make it better.
‘S’agapo manaria mou,’ he said softly, and then, as he always did, he slipped silently from the room before she could wake.
* * *
Talia woke the next morning determined to give Sofia the day she should have had with her father, if he’d only been willing. She asked Maria to pack a picnic, and, a few games to play on the beach and plenty of sun cream.
As soon as Sofia had finished her lessons, she announced her intentions.
‘A picnic?’ Sofia’s face lit up as she smiled shyly. Talia had noticed how quiet and downhearted she’d seemed since Angelos’s arrival yesterday afternoon, and she was glad to see the girl brightening now. ‘Just...just the two of us?’ She glanced inadvertently towards her father’s study, the door firmly closed.
‘Yes,’ Talia said, injecting as much cheer as she could into her voice. ‘Won’t it be fun? I’ve been wanting to explore the other side of the island. We can swim on the other beach.’ Sofia frowned in confusion, and with exaggerated movements Talia mimed what she meant. She deserved an Academy Award for her acting talents, she thought wryly as Sofia nodded in understanding.
Talia slathered them both in sun cream, and cramming the wide straw hat she’d borrowed from Maria on her head, she headed outside with Sofia.
The sky was cloudless