“Words would have worked. Words and conversation.”

“I don’t trust words. Don’t put much stock in conversation.”

“Obviously, but would it have killed you to ask me about my day, or tell me about your day—” She broke off, averting her head, unable to look at him when her heart felt so bruised and tender. What a mistake it had been … falling in love … thinking it would work. “Let’s just hope I’m not pregnant,” she added hoarsely. “Because I don’t want to go through life like this, trying to explain myself, trying to be accepted, only to be mocked by you.”

Drakon shook his head, muttering something under his breath, something with quite a few syllables and from his inflection, sounded far from flattering.

“What did you just say?” she demanded.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does. I want to hear this. I want to hear everything you wouldn’t tell me before.”

“You gave up on us so quickly, Morgan. You didn’t give yourself time to adjust to married life, nor did you try to make friends.”

“Maybe I did give up too soon, but you could have tried to help me adjust to Athens. Instead you dropped me off at the house and expected me to keep myself busy until you returned every night.”

“I had a job to do.”

“You could have made more of an effort to help me adjust. You could have taken the time to show me around, or cut your day short now and then so we could take a walk, or visit a nearby beach, or even have people over.”

Drakon looked bewildered. “Have people over? For what?”

“Have dinner, visit, socialize.” She could see by his expression that he still didn’t get it. “Surely, you’re used to entertaining … having some friends over for a barbecue or a party.”

“To my house?”

“Yes.”

“Never have.”

“Why not?”

“My family didn’t. I never did. I don’t have time, nor is it something I’d want to do. I work long days, and when I go home, I want to relax, rest, focus on what I need to do the next day.”

“But while you were working twelve- and fourteen-hour days, Drakon, what was I supposed to do?”

“Read a book … take language courses … learn to cook?” He shrugged, sighed, running a hand through his cropped dark hair. “Eventually we would have had children. And then, of course, you had the house.”

“The house?” Morgan suppressed a sudden urge to throw rocks at his head. “Did you actually just say I had the house?”

“Yes, the house. The one I had built for you.”

“You did not build that marble mausoleum for me. You bought it for me—”

“No, I bought the lot, scrapped the old house that was there and built our home for you.”

“I hated the villa.”

“What?”

Her eyebrows lifted, her lips twisting. “Yes. I hated it. It’s awful. It was too white and sterile, never mind cold, modern and boxy—”