A Shameful Consequence (11 page)

He ordered champagne.

‘Which is what you were drinking when I found you.’ And it was a curious choice of words, Connie thought, but that was exactly as it had been. That night, not only had Nico found her but she had started to find herself. ‘But I’ll treat you to a glass this time!’

She loved his humour, loved it that when she smiled
at his words, then so, too, did he. Private memories wrapped around them at a small table and he was, for once, so unguarded, so delicious that when the waiter came over, she wanted to ask if rope was on the menu: she needed tethering to the chair, just so she wouldn’t go over to him.

The champagne was delicious. Unlike that first night, today she tasted it. Connie liked the taste, the cool and the bubbles and, with Nico opposite, his eyes making love to her already, every sense was heightened. She could smell the fragrant herbs from the kitchen, hear the chatter and laughter surrounding them and feel the breeze from the ocean cooling her cheeks. She was aware of her own breasts as she leant forward, saw him swallow as he glimpsed violet lace—and tonight he would have her, of that she was deliciously, albeit, terrifyingly certain.

It was nice to be out.

So nice to not have one ear open for her baby, so nice to concentrate on the conversation, to be here with this beautiful man, except it was too nice sometimes, for as they spoke, as they shared a little more of themselves with each other she was reminded, as if she could ever forget it, of the terrible day that was surely to come.

‘I met with a detective today,’ Nico said, and her cutlery hesitated over her food, and she had to remind herself to cut it, had to speak as though dread were not clutching her heart.

‘Has he found anything out?’

‘Nothing.’ Nico let out a hiss of frustration. ‘Every
hospital, the children’s home, adoption agencies … there was no adoption, he says. Or rather, no legal one. This weekend I am going to speak to my parents. I want answers.’

‘Will they help?’ Connie asked, and her heart was truly torn between protecting her family or telling him.

‘Probably not.’

‘You’re not even sure that you are adopted.’ She burnt with guilt as she tried to divert him.

‘I’m sure.’ Black eyes met hers. ‘I sat on that ferry on the way to the wedding and I could her a baby screaming … I was on that ferry …’ It was too hard to explain it.

‘Will knowing change anything?’ He did not answer. It was, Connie decided, the most stupid question. He had a right to know his history, a right to know his past. It was her family’s part in it that had prevented her from revealing the truth. If it weren’t for that she would be helping him, supporting him, instead of sitting here lying and praying that somehow he might forgive her when he found out, might not destroy the family that, despite it all, she loved. ‘There might have been reasons …’

‘Then I have a right know them,’ Nico said darkly, because every night he dreaded sleep, every time he looked in the mirror he felt as if were going mental. Every time his parents denied it, they lied just a little bit more and he needed to know and then he needed revenge.

‘Where would you go?’ She glanced up from her dinner,
confused by his question. ‘If you could not have coped with Leo?’ Nico asked. ‘If you wanted him adopted.’

‘I’ve never given it a thought.’ She gave a shrug, felt her breathing grow shallow.

‘Please, Constantine, think for me.’

‘Maybe the church …’

‘Or, what if you wanted a baby?’ Nico pushed, and she felt as if fingers were moving around her throat and slowly choking her.

‘To the church,’ she said again.

‘If it had been the church it would be documented. Where would you go …?’ He was talking more to himself than to her, but every word shot through her. He would speak to the doctors, Nico told her, and to the doulas … He would hire another detective. With every thought he inched closer to the unpalatable truth and it wasn’t a question of diverting him. Her heart wanted him to know.

And she would not wait for him to find out. Connie knew what was right now, it must be she that told him.

‘You’ll find out soon.’ She slipped her hand to his and he took it and she meant every last word on her lips. Not now, not here, but this weekend she would choose the moment.

And he took her hand and he held it, and for the first time he thought that maybe she could be his.

That maybe this could work, that his heart might be one worth sharing.

L
OVE
entered his heart and this time he did not reject it, did not consider it impossible, for how could he, now that she was here?

‘I want you.’ He looked at her and he neither extended his words nor qualified them, but it made her heart soar to see love in his eyes, to feel the want shared between them.

They stripped prawns with their fingers, fingers that met in the bowl on the table and entwined for a moment in the tepid water. She removed her hand, because surely it was mad to sit holding hands in water, but as he had pressed the slice of lemon between thumb and finger she had had to swallow a breath, for it felt as if low, low in her stomach and down to her thighs, he was stroking.

The food
was
divine.

So much she noticed. As she tasted the produce of her island Connie savoured each mouthful, licked the oil from her lips and wished it was him.

‘No dessert menu.’ He made the decision for them.

He could not sit there one moment, could not watch her eat something sticky and sweet, could not watch that tongue lick those lips for even a second longer if it wasn’t on him, and, no, they didn’t want coffee, either.

Thank God he had an account there, so when to not be touching became unbearable, he didn’t have to worry about the bill, could simply take her by the hand and lead her out.

‘I’m trying not to break into a run,’ he said low into her ear as they walked through the restaurant.

He did not kiss her in the car—could not stand to start and have to stop again.

They walked through the arch. The night was warm and the thin wool of her dress felt oppressive now as she climbed the steps. They were both nervous and excited about what lay ahead. She heard the driver move off. Finally it was just them and because he had waited all night, he could wait no more, could not make it to the door without tasting what he had desired. But when he moved to kiss her, when they were alone, her kisses were not as expected. So he kissed her harder, undid the wrap of her dress, as he had wanted to before, and peeled it open and down her shoulders. Then stared at the breasts that had entranced him all night. He lowered his head to them as he slid the dress down her arms.

She felt ridiculous, there by the pool in her pants and bra, but the night air was cool on her bare skin and slowly, with his tender attention, she relaxed just a little. His mouth on her breasts was sublime, and she
knew that now she could confide, because Nico was more than a lover, he was her heart.

‘I’m scared it will hurt.’ She felt the flutter of his lashes against her breast and knew he had closed his eyes. His mouth stilled and he lifted his head to hers.

He could have kicked himself, thought of how he had been before, understood now why she had halted him, and he said something he meant.

‘I’d never hurt you,’ Nico said, and he hesitated, for, for a second there, he wasn’t just talking about sex. He never made promises like that, never said things to which he would not adhere, but truly he meant it now.

‘Let’s cool off.’ He gestured to the pool and she laughed as he started to take off his suit.

‘We can’t!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because …’ She was shivering with both reluctance and temptation. Reluctance, because it seemed wrong somehow; tempted, because Nico, so uninhibited, was already undressed, and she was gifted again with the sight of his body. Her eyes flicked down to what awaited. He beckoned her to the water.

‘No one can see or hear us.’ He was right. Despina’s house was tucked well away, and the pool was shaded by a huge fig tree. There was nothing to stop her from going in. In fact, Nico was already in. Looking up, she felt his adoring scrutiny as she took off her shoes. She stood and looked down at him as she unhooked her bra and took it off, and she smiled unseen, for he was certainly not looking at her face. And he closed his eyes,
just for a second as she slid down her pants, then opened them again to issue an order.

‘Stay there.’ He asked her to stay just to see her, to look just once more at all that he had missed for a year. His eyes told her, told her as they slowly took her in, that this was all he had been thinking of for a very long time now.

And then he held out his hand to her and the water was bliss to slip into, his wet arms better still.

His kiss was slow, measured and tender, but still nerves made her shiver because she could feel every inch of him against her stomach, but there was some relief, for now he was in no rush.

‘Let me wash you.’

He made her smile, but
wash
her tenderly he did. His hands moved over her, washed her as if they contained soap. He washed her arms and then her fingers and then her back and then her breasts and then he rinsed her, scooped the water over. Then the imaginary soap washed her face and ears with both his mouth and fingers, and so gentle was he, so slow and caressing, that she almost forgot to be scared.

Not even when his hands moved beneath the water, when he
washed
her most intimate place. When his fingers delicately moved in each crevice, all she could do was lean on his shoulder and nibble and moan against his saltwater skin.

She was as slippery, deep inside, as if he
had
used soap, Nico could feel it. Now she was ready, and so, absolutely, was he.

She wrapped her legs around him, felt the cold stone against her back. He lowered her down to him and there was no stab like before, just a slow, accepting stretch. The water was calm and still, despite the fire beneath the surface, as she let him take her, as she trusted herself to his skill. He supported her body with his hands, the water barely moving; he was so slow and tender, and then he moved her some more, till she wanted more, till her legs wrapped tighter around him and Connie moved to her own rhythm as he still supported her.

On the surface they were just kissing, kissing mouth, face and shoulders, but they were intimately united beneath, locked in each other, till she could not kiss and just rested her head to the side of his. And was it the words he uttered or the throb of him that made her feel giddy? A heat spread out from a deep centre and coherence was abandoned, just a strangled laugh to dismiss his apology as his hands pushed her hips harder down, for her own orgasm rushed in to meet his. It was so intense and so deep that it shot to her spine, to her throat and seized at her brain, halting words, for which she was thankful, because she almost told him she loved him. And in that moment, she was sure, he would have loved her right back, a declaration might have been made, without Nico knowing all the facts.

She felt like a liar as he helped her out of the pool. Her legs were shaky once on firmer ground, and she could not look at him so bent to get her clothes instead.

‘Leave it.’

‘I am not leaving this for Despina!’ Because she
knew he was not talking about leaving it to the morning, but to see Nico pick up, when he never did, to see Nico look up as she watched and smiled, she felt like crying, because he wasn’t almost perfect—he simply was.

‘Constantine?’ She heard the question in his voice as they headed back to the house, but she could not answer him. Instead, automatically, she headed to her bedroom to check on Leo and gave a small embarrassed laugh as he walked up behind her and she realised what she was doing.

‘Sheer habit,’ Connie said, but her laugh faded a little, because it did feel strange to be without Leo, strange to go to Nico’s bed and know her baby was not in the house.

‘You miss him?’ Nico asked as she lay in the dark next to him.

‘Yes,’ Connie admitted. ‘I mean, I’ve had the most wonderful night. It just feels a bit strange, not having him near.’ There was the longest pause and then Nico asked a question.

‘How could she?’ Nico asked. ‘How could she just give up her baby?’

‘I’m sure she had her reasons.’ Connie could feel her heart hammering in her chest. ‘I don’t think you should judge her without …’ Unseen, she closed her eyes at the thought of all that was to come, of the pain she must soon inflict, and her voice wasn’t quite as assured when next it came. ‘Without knowing.’

She would tell him in the morning, before Despina
brought Leo back. She would give him the starting point from where to look, and maybe he wouldn’t blame her, Connie tried to reassure herself. Maybe he might forgive her for not telling him sooner.

But even safe in his arms, it was hard to rest on a bed of so many maybes.

H
E FORCED
his eyes open before he jumped, his heart racing, unlike the slow dawn.

How he hated to dream, hated the fear that claimed him while unguarded. His dreams were now of babies, who were walking and talking, dreams of a hundred babies that looked like him.

He should let her sleep, Nico told himself. It was, after all, her first full night away from Leo, her first chance to sleep as long as her body dictated, though his body dictated otherwise. Nico did not like sex in the morning—it was too intimate for him, brought the reckless night into another day, made her think this closeness might continue.

This would.

Again he let himself glimpse the possibility—a future with Constantine as his wife and Leo his son, with a home and a garden of memories. His hands roamed her body and he could feel her soft and warm. What had made him think he might lose them? What, with her here, could possibly go wrong?

She lay there, feeling him awaken beside her.

Felt his hands softly probe her and she could not lie for her family, could not live with deceit for a second longer.

He was nudging behind her, his lips on the back of her neck, and she wanted him inside her, but she wanted to make love with the truth uniting them, not the terrible guilt of the lie she hadn’t told.

‘Nico …’ She wriggled away from him. ‘Can I tell you something?’

‘Tell me here,’ Nico said, pulling her towards him, but she rolled on her back.

‘Nico, please … it’s important.’

It
was
important.

He wanted to hear that Leo was his son; he wanted to know that she loved him.

Wanted to be inside her when she told him about the family they were.

‘Tell me.’ He rolled on top of her, he kissed her face, he welcomed the news, for he had been wrong. You did not lose, love did not leave. She felt his thigh part her legs, felt the claim of his kiss, and she turned her face away.

‘Nico, please …’ He slipped inside as if he belonged there. Her body was ready for him but her mind was not, for she had to tell him. ‘I know who arranged your adoption.’

She waited for him to stop, for him to die inside her, for him to haul himself off, but there was just a pause, not even a second, an energy that changed.

He looked down at the woman who would have made him a father, who he would have loved for the rest of his life, and she held the answers he had been seeking, just not the ones for which he had hoped.

She knew it was over even as he thrust inside her, she knew from this they could not survive—that he would never hold her again, that she would never feel him again—and she wanted this time, shared in his anger, for she, too, lost.

He pinned her with his body, and she wanted the weight because she wanted to feel him. She wanted the power and the energy and anger of this man, and the anaesthetic of being conjoined.

She tightened around him and tried to halt her own orgasm, tried to calm the flare, tried for it not to be over, for then she would have to face him.

But Nico wanted otherwise.

He wanted it over, he wanted release; he felt her body tame when he wanted it wild, and he worked faster for it, harder for it, till her body could hold back no more and she cried as he pulsed inside her, because she knew now she must face him.

‘You know?’

He looked down at her. He was still inside her and there was no escape from his eyes.

‘How long?’ He did not ask about his past, his questions were solely as to her part in this. ‘How long have known?’

‘I found out last year.’ She wanted to be back in his arms, but he rolled from her, breathless, ominously
calm. He sat up in the bed, shot out an incredulous, mirthless laugh and then his face turned to hers and she saw him look now at the witch who had deceived him, for the love had gone from his eyes.

‘And you let me keep looking? You’ve seen me searching …’ His mouth was in the shape of a smile, but she made no mistake that he was taking it well. She could see the muscles on his shoulders tighten, fury descended as he took it all in.

‘I didn’t know how to tell you.’

‘Well,
darling,
you’d better find the way now.’ It was no endearment. The word curled with disdain as he voiced it.

‘I found your birth certificate, the real one …’ There was no easier way to say it. ‘In my father’s office.’

Had he gone mad or had she?

How could she have known it had been his? It made no sense, and he didn’t want it to. The truth was nearly here and suddenly he didn’t want to know.

‘My father arranged …’ It wasn’t even been an adoption and her mind begged for a different word. ‘My father facilitated …’ And she searched for words that were kinder, tried to minimise even then what her father had done, but Nico did not wait for her to find the right words. Nico got straight to the brutal point.

‘He sold me.’

‘No.’ It was too hard, even now, to face. ‘A couple, your parents, wanted you. He arranged your birth certificate …’

‘He sold me.’

‘It wasn’t like that …’ She started to crumple, for she had seen the fees. She watched as he dressed, could feel the anger, the contempt, the rage that was building and would soon explode. She pulled the sheet around herself, wrapped it around her and held it tight as he demanded that she be honest. ‘Yes,’ she sobbed, ‘yes.’ She covered her face. ‘Yes, he sold you.’

It was true, and now he knew it, and he knew too why he didn’t belong—his father had swanned in and bought him, thought a baby was his God-given right. His father had taken him from his parents and he was taking from him now, because how could they come back from this?

‘There’s something else …’

Now, please now, silently he pleaded to a mind that was racing. Tell me I have a son, that I do have a family, a real one. Adrenaline coursed and he begged for reprieve, his head felt as if it were splintering. He could see her on the bed and he wanted to go back in there; he did not want it to be true. He wanted her and he wanted Leo, he wanted the family he had never been allowed to have.

‘You have a brother.’ Her words came like aftershocks, each one more violent than the last. He was pulling on his clothes and still the earth was moving. ‘A twin.’

And he wanted it to stop, his anger taking aim, loss sweeping in, because always you lost, in love you lost.

‘I should have told you!’ she attempted. ‘I wanted to.’

‘There are so many things you haven’t told me,’ Nico shouted. ‘So many things that I had every right to know.’ He stood there, her accuser, and she sat guilty with shame but confused by his next question. ‘Say it.’

‘Say what?’

‘Oh, please …’ He could not believe that she didn’t know what he was referring to. ‘When are you going to tell me? Through a lawyer? Perhaps your father could draft the letter and tell me what I have to pay, in cash this time, because he’s already taken everything else.’

She knew then he was talking about Leo as he raged on. ‘When I came to your door, when I brought you here.’ Nico’s anger was growing now. ‘Still you said nothing and now, even now, you sit there are refuse to tell me the truth!’

‘Tell you!’ It was Connie who was shouting now, Connie sitting there with anger growing inside her. ‘We both know that it’s eight o’clock.’

‘What are you talking about?

‘There’s a clock by this bed and we can both see it, so why would you ask me the time? Do you want to split hairs? Do you want to say if it’s a.m. or p.m.—when we both know?’

‘I’m talking about Leo,’ Nico roared. ‘I’m talking about my son!’

‘Your son,’ Connie said. ‘I am supposed to formally say it? What, will you demand DNA?’ She could not match his anger but still hers was growing. Indignantly she ripped the sheet around her and stood, looked into his eyes and wanted to slap him. ‘How dare you doubt
me in this,’ Connie sneered. She the injured party now. ‘How dare you stand there and demand that I say that Leo is your son? I was a virgin, Nico, I had slept only with you and I have loved only you …’ She stopped then because love did not count with him, love was the thing he did not want. Clearly did not want it, for he was walking out the door. ‘Where are you going?’ She had thought he’d want more answers, that he’d demand every detail, but realisation dawned and she ran at him and tried to halt him.

‘Where do you think?’

She grabbed at his arm, but he flicked her off, and there was nothing, nothing that would stop him.

She watched as he charged from the house, heard a car screech from the driveway and gun down the hill, and he left her in chaos behind.

She wanted to ring her father, to warn him, to hate him.

To stop Nico, not just for her father’s sake but to prevent what Nico would surely do.