Theo had turned to Annie, wanting to say something to placate her, to offer sympathy, or at least show that he understood, but Annie simply turned that ghoulish smile on him and said, ‘I’m not in the mood, okay?’
‘Annie—’
‘Am I allowed to go to the bathroom on my own, or will you take that as some kind of failure in my play-acting?’
Now he knew what was twisting at his gut. Shame. It seemed to take over his whole body, and he hated the feeling. He didn’t want to overthink it, to analyse why he felt like he’d followed a road he thought would lead to salvation and nowinstead suspected might pave the way to hell. He tightened his shoulders, tamping down on his self-doubt and said, voice calm, ‘I’ll be here.’
‘And I’ll be right back—’ and then, for good measure, she added, with obvious disgust ‘—erota mou.’
Theo swallowed back whatever he’d been about to say in response, and the knowledge that he’d done something tonight he would never be able to undo, even if he wanted to.
He watched her walk through the guests, head held high, with the sense that once upon a time, practically another lifetime ago, he’d held something very, very precious in his hands, and he just hadn’t known how to keep a hold of it. All this time he’d blamed her for breaking it off, for being weak under her parents’ snobbish pressure, perhaps even for feeling as they did about him, but maybe the problem had been Theo all along.
Maybe he hadn’t really understood her life.
Her pressures.
Her aching need to fix everything for everyone.
Maybe he’d been the one to let her down, by walking away without a backwards glance, too proud to push her to reconsider, refusing to beg and be rejected again. He’d gleaned how her parents had molded her, trying to turn Annie into Mary, trying to stem their grief with a perfect replacement, and he’d known how much of a toll that had taken on her. But until tonight, he hadn’t really understood just how programmed she’d been—all her life—to do whatever her parents asked of her. To be the perfect daughter, even at the expense of her own happiness, and what a futile, unrewarding duty that was.
She’d tried to tell him when they’d shared lunch at the restaurant near the Acropolis, but even then, he’d let the conversation go rather than pushing her to expand. Because he hadn’t wanted to know the truth? Because he’d been afraid of what it might mean for him if he started to see how hard Anniehad had it, all her life? Had he avoided asking questions because he didn’t want to be forced to question his actions in pushing her into this marriage? The realization that he was not so dissimilar to her parents, in expecting Annie to play a part for his benefit, sat in his gut like a stone.
But what good was there in raking over the embers of their past? He’d done what he’d done, as had she. They’d both made their choices, and now they had a marriage bed to lie in together. The past could not be changed—it was better to accept that owing to the past, they had no future. Even if he could get past what had happened all those years ago, Annie would never be able to forgive him for the way he’d blackmailed her into this. And after starting to understand her life better, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to forgive himself, either.
She stared at her reflection for a long time, trying to pick out the familiarity of her features, to anchor herself to the core of who she was. What she believed. What she knew.
But it had been such a long time since Annie Langley had really thought about whoshewas and whatshewanted. All her life, she’d been a daughter. A dutiful fill-in, needed to make their family somewhat full again.
From the moment Mary had died, Annie’s purpose on earth had changed. She’d been content to live in Mary’s shadow before, aware that her sister was a rare diamond, shining brighter than most other people. But after Mary had died, Annie had been rubbed and rubbed and rubbed by parents who were desperate to try to make her shine in all the same ways Mary had, never mind that Annie might have had her own ways of shining, if only she’d been allowed.
Distant memories of having, once upon a time, loved drawing and art—which had led to her wanting to own her own artgallery—flared to life in her chest. Her parents had shown no interest in her artistic talents, for that was not something Mary had shared. She remembered that she’d loved poetry, too, and had read all the romantics before her tenth birthday. But over the years, she’d morphed into a strange half human, exhibiting a performative role in the family, acting as she thought Mary might have. Then, when her mother died, Annie had taken on those roles in the house, too: organising social events, keeping in touch with their friends, overseeing the family business. She had tried to be everything to everyone to the extent she no longer recognised any part of her true self.
But back then, all those years ago, she’d felt like Theo understood and saw her. Even without talking deeply about her life, about any of this, he’d looked at Annie and seenher. She’d fallen in love with him, but she’d also fallen in love with the woman she’d been when he was around—because she could just be herself. For the first time in her life, she’d been with someone who didn’t want anything of Annie excepther. Her happiness, her thoughts, her pleasure.
But that version of Theo seemed a thousand light-years away from this reality. Which would hurt a lot less if she didn’t feel so much for him. If she didn’t look at him and experience a yawning ache to go back to what they were. And yet, even then, what they were now was somehow more real, more honest, warts and all. Was it better to be in a flawed relationship than a seemingly perfect one that didn’t have depth—because he kept her at arm’s length?
Or was it possible that she was blinded by feelings that she really wished she didn’t have. She’d gone into this swearing that she hated him, because of how he’d maneuvered her into this marriage, but when she glanced into her heart, it wasn’t hate she saw. It was so much more complicated than that. But swirling at the depths of all her regret over the past was this one, shiningkernel of truth—almost as bright as her enormous engagement ring—she loved him. She was in love with the husband who’d married her for revenge. And what kind of fool did that make her?
No matter how Annie felt, if he was determined to constantly bring them back to how this had started—in hatred and revenge—then there was no hope for them. Maybe she needed to take a page out of his book, and focus purely on protecting herself. Give Theo what he wanted: a public marriage, and nothing else behind closed doors.
She sniffed, pinching her cheeks to bring some colour back to them.
She hated it. She hated it so much, but what could Annie do? She’d agreed to this, and there was nothing left but to see it through. In the end, her father would have his company, but Annie might, at that point, hang up her acting shoes for good. It was time to find herself—away from the pressures of anyone else. It was time to stand on her own two feet. Or at least, it would be, when this marriage was over.
‘I’ve made reservations for the Asteri tonight,’ Annie murmured without looking up from her book the following morning. For his part, Theo was trying not to think about the fact they’d barely spoken since coming home from her father’s party the night before, and for the first time in a long time, had also not touched.
He’d spent a deeply unsatisfying night staring up at the ceiling of his room, aware of his wife’s soft rhythmic breathing, replaying every glance of hers, every word, every look that had indicated her hurt and sense of betrayal.
She’d played her part to perfection, of course. After coming back from the bathroom, she was impeccably attentive, standing at his side, making polite conversation, sipping champagne andacting as though she had not a care in the world. But it had been so fake, her act so brittle he felt as though one word from him might cause her to snap.
In the end, he’d ushered them out of there as quickly as possible, rather than subjecting her—or himself—to another moment of the tense estrangement.
‘The Asteri?’ he frowned, though he was familiar with the venue. It was one ofthehotspots of Athens.
‘You want our marriage to be public, right? Where better than somewhere like that,’ she said, her voice blanked of emotion. Frustration zipped through him, but he couldn’t name why. After all, she was right, but after last night, he wanted to make everythinglesspublic. He wanted to batten down the hatches here at home, keep her here, in his bed, until the Annie he’d glimpsed over the last week came back to him.
Except, the whole point of this was to rub their marriage in her father’s face—to make him realise that the exact thing he’d forbidden from happening five years ago was now a reality. All Theo had to do was think back to that conversation, to the things the old man had said, and his resolution firmed. He just hadn’t realised how much he’d hate making Annie collateral damage.