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‘I didn’t come here for money,’ Rhiannon snapped. ‘As I believe I’ve said before.’
‘Not blackmail money,’ Lukas replied, unfazed by her anger. ‘Maintenance. If this Annabel were indeed my child, you would certainly be within your rights to think that I would support her financially.’
Rhiannon was disconcerted by his flat, businesslike tone. Was it all about money to people like him? ‘That’s true,’ she agreed carefully. ‘But that isn’t why I came. If I’d just wanted money I would have filed a court order. I came because I believe children should know their parents. If there was any chance you might love your daughter—that you might want her…’ Her voice wavered dangerously and she gulped back the emotion that threatened to rise up in a tide of regret and sorrow. ‘I had to take that chance.’ She didn’t want to reveal so much to Lukas, to a man who regarded her as if she were a problem to be resolved, an annoyance to be dealt with.
Lukas stared at her, his eyes narrowed, yet filled with the cold light of comprehension. He looked as though he’d finally figured it out, and he scorned the knowledge.
‘You didn’t come for money,’ he said slowly, almost to himself. ‘You came for freedom.’
‘I told you—’
‘To give this baby away,’ he finished flatly, and every word was a condemnation, a judgement.
‘I want to do what’s best for Annabel!’ Rhiannon protested, her voice turning shrill. ‘Whatever that is.’
‘A convenient excuse,’ he dismissed.
Rhiannon clenched her fists, fury boiling through her. Yet mixed with it was guilt. There was a shred of truth in Lukas’s assessment. She had been prepared to give Annabel up…but only because it was the right thing to do.
It had to be.
‘There’s no need for this,’ she said in a steely voice. ‘So why don’t you just go? And so will I.’ She turned back to the sliding glass door.
‘No one is going anywhere.’
The command was barked out so harshly that Rhiannon stopped, stiffened from shock. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You will not go,’ Lukas told her shortly. ‘This matter has not been resolved.’
‘This matter,’ Rhiannon retorted, ‘has nothing to do with you!’
‘It has everything to do with me,’ he replied grimly, ‘since you have involved me in such a public way. You won’t leave until I’ve had some answers.’ He paused, reining in his temper with obvious effort. ‘Answers you’ve been looking for too, perhaps?’
Rhiannon glared at him, but she didn’t move. He was right, she knew. He was involved now, and that was her fault. She owed him a few more minutes of her time at least.
‘Why do you think your friend lied?’ he asked abruptly.
Rhiannon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t think she had lied—she’d no reason. She was dying. I thought she’d want me to know Annabel’s father, even if she never intended for me to get in touch with him.’
‘She told you not to?’
‘No, she didn’t say anything about that. She just…’ She swallowed, forced herself to continue. ‘She just asked me to care for her. Love her.’ Her throat ached and she looked down.
‘A mother’s dying request?’
Rhiannon couldn’t tell if he was being snide or not. She gulped. ‘Yes.’ She looked up at him. ‘She had nothing to gain by lying. I honestly think she believed she was with Lukas Petrakides…with you.’
Lukas stiffened, his expression becoming like that of a predator that had scented danger. There was no fear, only awareness.
‘But we both know it wasn’t me.’ His mouth twisted wryly, but there was a hard edge of bitter realisation in his eyes. ‘So it had to have been someone else…someone who told her my name.’
Rhiannon shook her head in confusion. ‘Who would do that?’
Lukas muttered an expletive in Greek under his breath. ‘I should have considered it,’ he said, his face hardening into resolve. ‘He’s done it before.’
Rhiannon felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice. She didn’t want to look down, didn’t want to cross over. She just wanted to tiptoe quietly away.
‘Who are you talking about?’ she asked faintly, and when Lukas met her gaze his face was full of grim realisation.
‘My nephew.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOUR NEPHEW?’ RHIANNON stared at him in blank incredulity. He looked angry, determined. Hard. ‘But how…? I mean why…?’
She’d come here with the assumption—the belief—that Lukas Petrakides was Annabel’s father. A man of integrity, honour, responsibility. A man who would love her.
She wasn’t prepared for alternatives.
She didn’t want them.
‘Why would your nephew use your name?’ she finally asked as Lukas continued to stare, arms folded, his expression implacable. ‘Who is he, anyway?’
‘My nephew, Christos Stefanos, has used my name before.’ Lukas stared out at the shifting colours of the sea—blue, green, scarlet and orange in the setting sun. ‘I think he might have used it again with your friend. He’s twenty-two, wild, irresponsible, unscrupulous,’ he continued in a flat tone. ‘He often travels to London—his mother, my sister Antonia, lives there. He could very well have met your Leanne in some club there, flown her to Naxos on a whim, and discarded her after a weekend. It is,’ he finished with scathing emphasis, ‘entirely within his character to do so.’
Rhiannon’s thoughts were flying, whirling round and round in frightened, desperate circles. Lukas Petrakides as Annabel’s father was one thing. He was known to be steady, responsible. A good father figure. That was why she had come.
This Christos was something else entirely.
‘But why?’ she asked again, clutching at one seemingly improbable thread.
‘To impress your friend?’ Lukas shrugged. ‘Or more likely to annoy me. He likes to give me bad press, although the tabloid journalists are wise to him by now. They usually ignore his little peccadilloes.’
‘But surely people—the press—would know he wasn’t you?’
Lukas’s mouth twisted in harsh acknowledgement. ‘I keep a low profile. There are few photographs of me, and Christos has a family resemblance. He only does it outside of Greece—he knows he can’t get away with it there.’ He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. ‘It has been an annoyance in the past, but now it poses…’
‘A major inconvenience?’ Rhiannon finished, and he gave her a cool look.
‘A challenge, certainly.’
Rhiannon was silent for a moment. Her thoughts chased themselves down dark tunnels that led to implications her heart shied away from. There was too much new information. Too much to think about…to wonder about. To be frightened about.
‘From the sound of him, I don’t think he would make a good father,’ she finally said. ‘Would he?’
Lukas was ominously silent. ‘I cannot say he is particularly suited for the role.’
‘Or interested in it?’ Rhiannon surmised, feeling sick. She’d come to France to find Annabel’s father…but not this. Not some young, rakish sot who couldn’t care less. Not someone who would openly reject her.
‘No, probably not,’ Lukas agreed after a tense moment.
‘He won’t want Annabel,’ she said in a hollow voice. ‘Will he?’
Lukas’s expression was like steel. Flint. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘He won’t.’
Rhiannon shook her head. This was so far from what she’d hoped. Dreamed. She realised now that the happily-ever-after she’d been planning in her head was a fantasy, pathetic and unreal. Could she leave Annabel with a man who didn’t want her?
Could she take her home?
Nothing made sense. Nothing felt right.
‘What are you going to do?’ Rhiannon asked. She didn’t like giving control to Lukas, no matter how used to it he was. She just didn’t know what to do next.
Lukas was studying her in an odd way, his mouth twisting in a grimace of acknowledgement. ‘You really don’t want her,’ he stated flatly. ‘That’s why you came, isn’t it? To give her up…to anyone willing to take her.’
‘If that were true,’ Rhiannon snapped, ‘I would have left her with Social Services. Don’t mistake me, Mr Petrakides. I have Annabel’s best interests at heart.’
‘Undoubtedly.’ It came out as a sneer.
Rhiannon shook her head. If Lukas wanted to judge her for giving up a child she couldn’t truly call her own—if he thought her attempt to find Annabel’s father was suspect—then fine. She refused to exonerate herself. She didn’t need to.
‘If Annabel is indeed Christos’s child,’ Lukas stated with flat finality, ‘then she is my great-niece. My relative.’ In case she didn’t yet get it, he added with steely determination, ‘My responsibility.’
‘I see.’ Rhiannon thought of every article she’d read, every glowing word about Lukas Petrakides being a man of honour, of integrity.
Of responsibility.
When she’d made her decision to find him, those descriptions had seemed like promises.
Now they were threats.
She didn’t want Annabel to be someone’s loveless responsibility. A burden. Yet now she realised she didn’t have much choice.
She’d given her choices away when she’d embarked on this reckless mission.
‘You will stay here until the issue of Annabel’s paternity is resolved,’ Lukas continued in implacable tones.
She’d expected as much, but his autocratic dictate still rankled. How about saying please? ‘What about my responsibilities back home?’ she demanded. ‘My job, my life?’
‘You can’t spare a few days?’ He raised one eyebrow in contemptuous disbelief. ‘Surely you’ve already arranged a leave of absence?’
‘Yes, but only for a few days…’ She’d had holiday coming to her, as she rarely took days off.
‘Then arrange some more.’
‘It’s not that simple…’
‘Actually,’ Lukas replied coolly, ‘it is. Annabel is your first responsibility now—as you have told me yourself. You are her legal guardian aren’t you? For the moment.’
For the moment. Panic fluttered through her insides, left her weak and afraid. ‘Yes, I am. But I’m under no obligation…’
Lukas waved this empty threat aside with scathing contempt. ‘Do not think to outmanoeuvre or outrank me, Miss Davies. I don’t care what the law says. If Annabel is related to me, I will be the one deciding what place you may have in her life…if any. Is that understood?’
Rhiannon blinked in shock at the cold assessment. If any? ‘I’m her guardian…You can’t—’
‘If you didn’t want to start this,’ Lukas informed her with soft menace, ‘you shouldn’t have come. No one would have been any the wiser.’
‘I came,’ Rhiannon replied jerkily, ‘because it was my responsibility to find her true family—’
‘So let me fulfil my responsibility,’ Lukas interjected with cold finality. ‘Until her future is decided, you will remain.’
And then she would be dismissed. The thought frightened her. It hurt, and she hadn’t expected it to.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Rhiannon knew there was no point in arguing, no use in being angry. He had the power, the money, and the expensive legal team to enforce whatever he wished; she had nothing. She didn’t even know what her rights were, hadn’t even checked. After all, it wasn’t supposed to have turned out like this.
‘Fine. I’ll stay…but on my terms. Annabel is still in my care, and nothing has been proved yet.’
‘Indeed. In the meantime, you can move to a better room. A private suite.’
Rhiannon stared at him. It was a generous offer, but it was also a way to control her. Imprison her. ‘I’m not moving rooms.’
‘You must. You would be more comfortable, and so would the child. Besides, there is more privacy. Here—’ he motioned to the expanse of beach ‘—anyone could come along. Photographers included.’
‘Photographers?’ Rhiannon repeated blankly, only to have him stare at her in disbelief.
‘Paparazzi. Since you have so publicly announced that I have a child, the tabloid press are no doubt starting to swarm, clamouring for a photo or statement. I’d prefer for you—and the child—to be removed from such things.’
Rhiannon nodded jerkily, her mind whirling, becoming numb. ‘All right.’
A cry pierced the stillness of the late afternoon, and Lukas jerked in surprise at the sound. Rhiannon hurried inside.
Annabel was sitting up in her cot, her hair matted sweatily to her flushed face, arms held up in helpless appeal.
Rhiannon scooped her up, breathed in her baby scent. It was becoming familiar, she realised. It was becoming dear.
Annabel’s arms crept around her neck, held on. She nestled her chubby face in the curve of Rhiannon’s shoulder and something in her splintered, fell apart to reveal the raw, aching need underneath.
She wanted this child.
She wanted to love her…and to be loved back.
She’d tried to hold the tide of emotions back, but they came anyway.
And now it looked as if Lukas Petrakides wasn’t going to let that happen.
She turned, aware of his presence in the doorway. The fading sunlight outlined him in bronze, touching his hair with gold.
