A Shameful Consequence. Carol Marinelli
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left alone with him, sure that her father would help her sort it out. Along the streets she ran, till finally home was in view, except it was boarded up. Her father was now dead, the disgusted neighbours told her, for she had neglected him in his final days and had not bothered to attend his funeral. The worst was finding out that her husband had been informed, had known, and not thought to tell her.
‘We will get your brother back,’ she said to a screaming Nico. The local policeman drank regularly with Alexandros so he would be no help, but she would go to the main town of Xanos, which was on the north of the island, to the lawyer that was there.
She took a ride on a truck and had to pay the driver in the vilest of ways, but she did it for her son. She did it many times again when she found that the rich young lawyer wanted money upfront before helping her.
A little cheap ouzo from the lid meant Nico slept at night and she could earn more money. The rest of the bottle got her through.
And she tried.
Till one day, sitting holding her baby in an alleyway, she heard a man’s voice.
‘How much?’
Roula looked up and she was about to name her paltry fee, but there was a woman standing next to him, and that was one thing Roula would not do.
‘I’m not interested.’
Except he did not want her body. ‘How much for him?’
And he told her they were childless—that they were on holiday from the mainland to get over their grief. He told her about the money and education they could give her beautiful boy, that they would move to the neighbouring island of Lathira and would raise him as their own. She thought of Alexandros, who was still with that monster, and somehow she had to save him. She thought of the ouzo and the clients she would service tonight and all the terrible things she had done. Surely Nico deserved better.
Nico would settle, Roula told herself again as the couple left the rich lawyer’s ofice with her baby. Soon Nico would forget.
She, on the other hand, would spend the rest of her life trying to.
CHAPTER ONE
PERHAPS he should have rung.
As the car swept into the drive of his parents’ home, Nico Eliades questioned what he was even doing here—but a business deal in Athens had been closed earlier than expected, the hotel he had been intending to purchase was now his, and with a rare weekend free he had decided, given he was so close, to do his duty and fly to Lathira and visit his parents.
T did not feel like home.
Only duty led him up the steps.
Guilt even.
Because he did not like them. Did not like the way his parents used their wealth, and the way their egos required constant massage. His father had come from the mainland when Nico was one and had purchased two luxury boats that now cruised the Greek islands. No doubt, today, there would be another argument, another demand that he return to live here and invest some of his very considerable fortune in the family business. Another teary plea from his mother, to find a bride and give them grandchildren—that he should thank them for all they had done.
Thank them?
For what?
Nico blew out a breath because he did not want to go in there hostile, truly did not want another row, but always they threw in that line, always they told him he should be more grateful—for the schooling, for the clothing, for the chances.
For doing what any parent would surely do, could they afford it, for their son.
‘They are not here.’ The maid looked worried, for his parents would be angry they had missed a rare visit from Nico. ‘They are at the wedding, they don’t return till tomorrow.’
‘Ah, the wedding.’ Nico had forgotten. He had told his parents he would not be attending and for once they had not argued. It was the wedding of Stavros, the son of Dimitri, his father’s main business rival. Normally at events such as these, his fat her insisted Nico attend be cause he wanted to parade his more successful son.
Nico’s ego did not need it.
But, surprisingly, his parents had not pressed him to attend on this occasion.
Now here he was, reluctant to leave without having at least seen them—it had been weeks, no, months since he had been back, and if he saw them now then it could be several months more before he had to visit again.
‘Where?’ Nico asked the maid. ‘Where is the wedding?’
Because Charlotte, his PA, had told him of the invitation, just not of the details.
‘Xanos.’ The maid said and screwed up her nose slightly as she did so, because even though Xanos had recently become the most exclusive retreat for the rich and famous, the locals were poor and the people of Lathira considered themselves superior. ‘That is where the bride is from so they must marry there.’
‘In the south?’ Nico asked, because that would mean Stavros had done well for himself. But the maid gave a small smile as she answered.
‘No, in the old town—your father and Dimitri have to rough it tonight.’
And now Nico did smile, for though his father was certainly wealthy, the south with its luxury resorts and exclusive access was way beyond his father’s reach.
He would go, Nico decided.
He did not care that he had declined, details like that did not concern him. Staff moved mountains, tables appeared, presidential suites were conjured up wherever he landed—Charlotte would sort it out.
Except she, too, was at a wedding today in London, he remembered.
‘Sort out my clothes,’ he told the maid, as his driver brought up his cases and Nico told him to arrange the transport.
‘The transport is all taken.’ The driver was nervous to inform him. ‘The helicopters took all the family last night, they don’t return till tomorrow.’
‘No problem.’ Dressed and ready, he ordered the driver to the ferry. He was used to different drivers: Nico did not really have a base. What he was not used to was attending to small details for himself, but his PA was usually available night and day and she did deserve this one weekend off.
He did not care for the stares of his fellow passengers as he paid for his ticket.
Dressed in a dark suit, he sat amongst tourists who gaped at the beautiful man in dark glasses, who did not belong on the local ferry.
Public transport was not so bad, Nico decided, buying a strong coffee, intending to read the paper to pass the time, but there was a baby crying behind him and it would not stop.
He tried to concentrate on the paper, but the baby’s screams grew louder; there was a discomfort that spread through him, a growing unease as the ferry dipped and rose, the fumes reaching his nostrils. Still the baby sobbed. He turned and saw the mother clutching it, and Nico’s expression was so severe the mother quailed.
‘Sorry,’ she said, trying to hush her child.
He shook his head, tried to tell the woman that he was not angry, but his throat was suddenly dry. He stared at the water and the island of Xanos ahead of him, felt the wind on his face and heard the screams of the baby. Despite the warm afternoon sun, a chill spread through Nico, and he felt a sweat break out on his face and for a moment thought he might vomit.
He stood, his legs for the first time unsteady, and he moved to the rail of the ferry and made himself walk away from the passengers. He was too proud to appear weak even in front of strangers, but still the baby’s screams reached him.
Perhaps he was seasick, Nico told himself, dragging in air that did not soothe because it tasted of salt. But he could not be, for he sailed regularly. Weekends were often spent on his yacht—no, Nico knew this was something