The Greek's Forgotten Wife (Boarding School #1) (2 page)

Damon watched with fascination as his wife settled herself into the chair, her knees locked together and her ankles crossed carefully.  She rested her drink on her lap and lifted her eyes back to him, waiting for his response.

He realized that he was still holding his drink halfway to his mouth while he was mesmerized by the way his wife walked and sat on a chair.  With a silent curse, he took a long sip of his drink…then sputtered as he realized that this was not his scotch. 

“What the hell is this?” he demanded, looking into his glass as the sweet drink offended every one of his senses.  “This is not the scotch that I prefer.” 

Sasha couldn’t contain the laughter at his disgusted expression.  She carefully covered her mouth, trying to suppress her amusement.  “Of course it isn’t.  It is amaretto.”

He stared at her as if she’d grown a second head.  “Why did some idiot replace my scotch with amaretto?” he demanded.

“Well, I’m the idiot who replaced the liquid.  The last time you were here, all of your friends drank the rest of the scotch.  And since I wasn’t expecting you for another three months, and I don’t like scotch, I filled the decanter up with amaretto.  That is what I drink.  I saw no reason to fill it up with something that was imbibed so rarely when I prefer to have a drink each evening.”

There were so many parts of that little speech that offended him that he wasn’t sure where to start.  “When did you start drinking?”

He watched with fascination as her beautiful brown eyes widened.  “Oh goodness, years ago, Damon.  I can’t give you an exact date.”  But she could actually.  It was the day she’d turned twenty-one.  It was also the year that he’d come to take her out for her birthday the month before because he’d forgotten that her birthday was in April and not March. 

“And why would you think that it was okay to replace my scotch with your…” he paused again, sniffing the liquid in his glass.

“It’s amaretto, Damon – almond liqueur.  And I’ve already explained why I replaced it.  As to why I thought it was okay,” she shrugged her shoulders delicately, “well, I did it several months ago, right after your last visit, and no one has complained.  So I’m going with that as a very valid reason to dismiss the issue and move on to the next subject.”

Damon watched her, fascinated despite the rising temper he could feel brewing inside of him.  He wasn’t sure if it was actually anger, or sexual frustration because she was still sitting on that too-large chair looking like an innocent angel, when he knew that she had lush curves that were completely hidden by that ridiculous dress.  It was almost as if she were teasing him with that dress. 

He snapped the glass down onto the table and looked behind the bar for his whiskey.  When there wasn’t another bottle, he looked across the room towards her.  “Where is my scotch?”

Sasha wiggled her lips, trying to suppress her laughter at his irritation.  Goodness, one might think that the man never had to do anything for himself!  “I suppose there is some in the pantry.” 

Damon waited for her to jump up and get it for him. But when she simply stared right back at him, he got the message.  Challenge accepted, my little wife, he thought. 

Moving around the bar, he came to sit across from her.  “What have you been up to?” he asked.  His eyes raked over her figure and he realized that she wasn’t as unaffected as she’d like to appear.  He could see her pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat and her fingers didn’t lift the glass up to her lips because they were shaking.  It was wise of her to be afraid of him, he thought.  Very wise.  “Nice pearls,” he commented.  Then something occurred to him.  “Where did you get them?”  His secretary handled all of his jewelry purchases and she mentioned once that she generally bought two of everything, one for his mistress for whatever birthday or goodbye gift was needed, and one for his wife.  Pearls would never be purchased for one of his mistresses, so he couldn’t figure out why his wife was wearing them. 

Sasha’s hand went to her throat nervously.  “Oh, these aren’t real,” she said softly. 

His black eyebrows rose with that statement.  “Why is my wife wearing fake jewelry?  I would never purchase anything fake.”

Sasha set her glass carefully down on the coffee table in front of her.  “Dinner is ready.  Are you hungry?” she asked, trying to change the subject.  She didn’t want to discuss his jewelry purchases.  She had a drawer full of those purchases and she hated every single one of them. 

“I’d rather find out why you’re wearing fake pearls,
omorfia mou
,” he said softly, but the threat was there.

Sasha stood up.  “I bought these pearls because I thought they would look nice with the dress.  I’m hungry,” she announced.  “Let’s eat.”

And with that, she walked out of the living room, not even waiting to see if he would follow. 

Sasha walked into the kitchen and slipped the oven mitts onto her hands.  It took her only moments to pull out the casserole that Chloe had made earlier today.  There was also freshly baked bread and a salad in the fridge.  Chloe had wanted to make something special for dessert, and there had been no way to dissuade the kind housekeeper against that idea.  Which was why there was an extravagant, beautifully decorated cake in the fridge next to the salad. 

Sasha was hoping that there wouldn’t be any need for dessert. She figured that, by the time they’d both agreed to a divorce, or more accurately, an annulment since their marriage had never been consummated, then they could simply go their separate ways.  She’d even moved her suitcases into the guest room so that he could finally have the master bedroom back.  It was his house, after all.  She had no right to be here.  She’d never really been his wife.  Sasha knew that she was only here so that he could retain ownership of the villa and the surrounding properties.  She didn’t even understand why it had been so important.  It was just a house.  A lovely house, granted.  But still, it was just a residence.  She knew that he lived in grander houses in other countries so this was yet another mystery to her. 

She set the casserole down on the wooden kitchen table, then went in search of Damon.  As expected, she found him in the dining room, waiting to be served. 

“I set the table in the kitchen,” she explained.  “I usually eat in there.  This room is only used…” she looked around at the ornately decorated room that had always felt oppressive to her, “well, when you and your friends are here.  I can’t remember the last time I ate in here.”

Damon clenched his teeth.  The wineglass he was holding almost snapped in his hands.  “Are you telling me that my wife,” he put extra emphasis on that last word, “dines with the servants?”

Sasha clasped her hands together again.  “Well of course!  Who else am I going to dine with?  I definitely don’t like eating alone!”  She shook her head as if that made all the sense in the world.  “This way,’ she told him.

Damon watched as his wife once again disappeared on him.  He had to concede that she had a point about the eating arrangements.  And a stab of guilt hit him as he realized that he’d never even considered what she might be doing here alone.  It was an isolated village and it was a long drive to the next isolated village.  There weren’t a whole lot of activities around here.  That didn’t mean he wanted her to be socializing with the servants though.  He’d have to speak with her about that.  It wasn’t going to happen any longer.  There were standards that had to be met as his wife.  She needed to maintain an image and dining with servants definitely didn’t adhere to that image. 

Perhaps it was time for her to come live with him in Athens or Rome.  She might like those cities, he thought.  He followed her through the swinging doors, his eyes taking in the kitchen for the first time.  He’d never been in this room and he had to admit that it was warm and inviting.  The smells of the dinner were more intense than in the dining room. 

He set the bottle of wine down and handed her a glass, filling it up before he took the seat opposite her at the rough, wooden table.  “I don’t like you eating with the servants,” he told her as he served himself the cheesy casserole.  “It isn’t proper.”

Sasha’s melodic laughter hit him hard.  He’d finally gotten his body somewhat under control, but that laughter, the musical sound of it, brought his body right back up to painful awareness of how much he wanted to ravish her body.  He liked the way her red, full lips smiled and her brown eyes sparkled with her laughter.  It was an enticing experience, hearing her laugh. 

“Well, I guess you can have your opinion about that.”

She served herself a helping of the casserole as well, then pushed the bread over to him, offering the butter as well. 

“You will dine in the dining room from this moment forward, Sasha,” he stated firmly as he lifted the butter knife to spread some butter onto his bread.  He hadn’t buttered his own bread since boarding school he thought.  It occurred to him how one becomes accustomed to certain things.  Like bread already buttered or an excited wife. 

“I don’t think so,” she said and sipped her wine.  “I guess that brings up the subject that we really should discuss first.”

He looked across the table at her, stunned that she’d actually dismissed his command.  “What subject?  You disobeying me?”

She laughed again, shaking her head.  “Damon, do you realize what a domineering man you can be at times?”

A black eyebrow lifted in question.  “Only at times?” he asked, not really teasing but she took it that way and he was rewarded by more of her musical laughter. 

She put her fork down carefully on the side of her plate.  “I want to thank you for marrying me six years ago.  If it weren’t for you, my mother would have died a horrible, painful death.  With our wedding, she was able to slide away peacefully.”

Damon was startled by that news.  “Your mother,” he repeated.  What the hell had happened to her mother? 

“Yes,” Sasha sighed.  “So understand that I’m truly grateful.  My grandfather was a horrible person.  Well, you already know that.  But in the end, she died without the horrors she could have experienced with only the medical care offered to the poor.”

Damon’s mind was whirling.  Her mother had been poor?  Why had her mother not been living in the lap of luxury?  And why the hell was he only finding out about this now? 

“So anyway,” she said and pushed a stray curl behind her ear.  “She’s been gone for several years now and you’ve obviously gone on with your life,” she said, looking down at her uneaten dinner because those words made her almost physically sick.  “I’d like to get on with mine.”

She looked up at him, trying to gauge his reaction to her words. 

“What do you mean, I’ve gone on with my life?  And when did your mother pass away?” he asked.  His fork clattered to his plate because he needed answers more than food.

“She died of cancer three years ago,” Sasha explained, fighting the sadness that threatened every time she thought about her mother and the woman’s tender love.  Her mother had done the best she could under difficult circumstances and Sasha would always love the memories she had of that gentle woman. 

Damon scowled at his lovely wife, trying to fight the guilt he felt when he saw that she still had tears for her mother even though she’d apparently died several years ago.  “Why didn’t you tell me that she’d died?  I would have come here for the funeral.”

Sasha smiled, blinking back tears.  “The funeral was in London over three years ago,” she said.  “And at the time, your assistant told me that you were in Tokyo.  It would have taken you over twelve hours to get back, so I didn’t want to bother you.”

Damon ran a hand over his face.  “Sasha, you’re my wife!  When something life altering like that happens, I want to be there for you.”

Her smile faltered slightly and her lashes lowered, her eyes moving from his handsome features to her untouched dinner.  “We’re not really married, Damon.”

Those words only inflamed his already spiking temper.  And even that was shocking because he never allowed his temper to get out of control.  Not since boarding school had he ever even showed emotions.  How could this slip of a girl…woman, he correct himself swiftly, get under his skin so quickly? 

“Perhaps you would like to explain how we are not really married?  I was there.  I remember the minister.  It certainly felt like a wedding ceremony to me.”

She laughed and put her hands under the table.  “Yes, well, I suppose the wedding part was real enough.  But,” she shrugged delicately, “nothing after that was real, was it?”  She wasn’t really asking a question, she was stating that as fact. 

“You’re my wife.  Make no mistake about that.”

She pressed her lips together for a moment before responding.  “About that, as I said earlier, everyone seems to have moved on with their life but me.  And I would like that privilege as well.”

His mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that there was a man in her life that she’d like to “move on” with.  “Are you seeing another man, Sasha?” he demanded with a voice so low that the menace could not be misunderstood.

Her eyes widened.  “A man?”  She laughed, wondering how he could even suggest that there was another man in her life.  “For there to be
another
man in my life, Damon, I’d have to have
one
man.  Since I don’t have a man, nor do I have another man, then the answer is an easy no.  I definitely do not have a man in my life, much less
another
one.”