The Millionaire's Virgin

‘You’re a selfish, stupid girl,’ Aunt Ingrid was saying angrily as Paige let herself into the house.

‘And you’re a harried old bag,’ retorted Sophie, before there was the ominous sound of flesh meeting flesh. There was a howl from her sister before she apparently responded in kind, and Paige slammed the door and charged across the tiny hall and into the over-furnished parlour just as her aunt was collapsing into a Regency-striped love-seat, her hand pressed disbelievingly to her cheek.

‘For goodness’ sake!’ Paige stared at them incredulously. ‘What on earth is going on? I could hear you when I turned into the avenue.’

That was an exaggeration, but they were not to know that, and it had the effect of bringing a groan of anguish from her aunt. The thought that someone else might have been a party to her disgrace was too much, and Paige, who had been hoping to shame her sister, gave a resigned sigh.

Of course, Sophie was unlikely to care what anyone else thought, and as if to prove this she would have pushed past her sister and left the room if Paige hadn’t grabbed her arm. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she demanded. ‘I asked what was going on here. You might as well tell me. I’m going to find out anyway. Have you been excluded from school? What?’

‘Ask her.’ Sophie’s face was mutinous. She gave her aunt a baleful look. ‘She’s the one who’s been poking around in my things.’

Paige didn’t make the mistake of letting go of her arm. ‘I asked you,’ she reminded her shortly, although her heart sank at the thought that Sophie might have some justification for her complaint. Casting a silent appeal in the older woman’s direction, she added, ‘This is Aunt Ingrid’s house, not yours.’

‘Ask her what she’s got hidden in her underwear drawer.’

Aunt Ingrid’s voice was frail and unsteady, and for a moment Paige wanted to smile. Dear God, what had Sophie been hiding? See-through bras; sexy knickers; what? Then, the reluctant admission that Ingrid shouldn’t have been looking through Sophie’s belongings anyway wiped the embryo grin of amusement off her face.

‘Yeah, how about that?’ Sophie broke in before she could respond. ‘The old bat’s been prying into my drawers, in more ways than one. Nosy old bitch! I told you that we had no privacy here—’

‘She’s a drug addict, Paige.’ The older woman’s voice trembled now. ‘An addict, in my house. I never thought I’d live to see the day that my own sister’s child—’

‘What is Aunt Ingrid talking about?’ Despite the fact that the old lady had been known to exaggerate at times, her words had struck a chill into Paige’s bones. ‘Why should she say you’re a drug addict?’

‘She’s lying—’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘She is,’ insisted Sophie scornfully. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I’m not an addict. For God’s sake, I doubt if she’d know one if she saw one.’

‘I know what marijuana smells like,’ retorted her aunt tremulously. ‘You’re not the first generation to discover illegal substances, you know.’

‘So?’ Sophie sneered. ‘You’re no better than me.’

‘I didn’t use heroin!’ exclaimed Aunt Ingrid, with evident disgust, and Paige’s jaw dropped.

‘Heroin?’ she echoed weakly, turning to stare at her sister. ‘Oh, Sophie, is this true? Have you been using heroin?’

‘No—’

‘Then what was it doing in your drawer?’ demanded her aunt, and Paige endorsed her question. ‘Oh, I should have known that you’d take her side,’ muttered Sophie sulkily, without answering. ‘Whatever I say now, you’re not going to believe me.’

‘Try me.’

‘You don’t have to take my word for it,’ persisted the old lady. ‘Go into your bedroom, Paige. You can smell it for yourself. Marijuana has a most distinctive scent: sweet and very heady. That was why I looked though Sophie’s belongings. I was expecting to find a pack of joints.’

Paige shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t recognise marijuana, Aunt Ingrid. It may sound stupid, but I’ve never smoked a joint in my life.’ She frowned. ‘But I thought you said you found heroin in the drawer?’

‘I did.’

Sophie snorted. ‘She has no right to criticise me. She’s obviously familiar with drugs or she wouldn’t be accusing me.’

Paige caught her breath. ‘You admit that you’ve been smoking marijuana?’ she exclaimed, horrified, and Sophie gave her a pitying look.

‘Where have you been living for the past ten years, Paige?’ she exhorted. ‘Not on this planet!’

‘Don’t you dare try and justify it,’ cried her aunt, but Sophie wasn’t listening to her.

‘Everyone uses these days,’ she said, and Paige stared at her with disbelieving eyes.

‘I don’t,’ she said, but somehow that wasn’t enough.

A sense of panic gripped her. What was she going to do now? When she’d accepted responsibility for Sophie, she’d never expected anything like this.

Her aunt shifted in her chair. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, Paige?’ she asked. Then, after fumbling in the pocket of her trousers, she declared, ‘This.’

‘This’ was a tiny plastic packet of white powder and Paige could only guess at what it was. ‘Oh, Sophie,’ she exclaimed, feeling sick to her stomach. ‘Where did you get it? What is it doing in your drawer?’

Sophie hunched her shoulders. ‘That’s my business.’

‘Not as long as you’re living in my house, young lady,’ retorted her aunt sharply, and Paige wanted to groan aloud when her sister answered back.

‘We won’t be living in your house much longer,’ she announced triumphantly. ‘Paige is going to find us a decent place of our own, aren’t you, Paige? Somewhere better than this shoebox, without any crazy old woman telling us how to live our lives.’

‘Sophie—’

Paige’s protest was useless. There was only so much their aunt would take, she knew that, and Sophie had tried her patience for the last time. Struggling to her feet, she pointed a trembling finger at the younger girl. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough of you and your insolence. I don’t care what Paige does, but I want you out of here tonight!’

Two weeks later, Paige stood at the window of their room in the small bed-and-breakfast, watching somewhat anxiously for the taxi that was going to take them to the airport. It was already fifteen minutes late and her palms were damp with the realisation that if they missed the flight they would also miss the ferry that would take them to Skiapolis.

Behind her, Sophie lounged sulkily on her bed, making no attempt to gather her belongings together. She had left her sister to do all their packing, and Paige had had to bite her tongue against the urge to tell Sophie that this was all her fault. But it was. And Paige could have done with some reassurance that she wasn’t making yet another mistake.

Glancing round, she met the younger girl’s defiant gaze with some impatience. If only Sophie were older: if only she could have been relied upon to pull her weight, they might have got through this. Aunt Ingrid wasn’t a monster. With a little persuasion on Sophie’s part, the older woman would have come round.

As it was, with no other job in prospect and bills to pay, Paige had been compelled to call the number Nikolas Petronides had given her. At least working for him would give her a breathing space, she’d consoled herself, and if she saved every penny he paid her there might be enough to put the deposit down on a small apartment by the time they came back to England.

It had been a relief to find that someone other than Nikolas had answered when she’d rung. A man, who had introduced himself as Donald Jamieson, and who was apparently Nikolas’s solicitor, had been left to handle the details. He’d explained that Mr Petronides had had to return to Greece, but he’d issued instructions to the effect that if Paige should decide to take the job Jamieson should make the necessary arrangements for their journey.

Although she’d been reassured by Jamieson’s involvement Paige had wondered briefly if she was being entirely wise in accepting the position. It was useless telling herself that Nikolas couldn’t possibly have known she’d change her mind. That the instructions he’d left had been a logical attempt to cover all eventualities. But the fact was, Nikolas was an arrogant devil, and had it not been for Sophie’s problems she’d have done almost anything rather than accept his help.

Still, she consoled herself, it was only for the summer, and a lot of things could change in three months. Aunt Ingrid had been horrified when she’d explained what they were planning to do. As far as she was concerned, Paige was jeopardising her own future for the sake of a girl who had no appreciation of the fact. And, because the Petronides name meant nothing more to her than the logo on the side of an oil tanker, she’d considered Paige’s decision reckless in the extreme.

Which hadn’t improved her relationship with Sophie one iota. The younger girl continued to assert that despite the presence of the heroin in her drawer she’d never actually touched hard drugs, but Paige had known she couldn’t trust her not to use them in the future. She’d been horrified to learn that Sophie’s introduction to marijuana wasn’t a recent thing either. According to her, it had been in common use at her boarding-school, but if she’d thought that might reassure her sister she couldn’t have been more wrong. Paige had been appalled, and more convinced than ever that she was doing the right thing by getting Sophie out of London.

She scanned the street again for the mini-cab that had promised to pick them up twenty minutes ago. She hoped it came soon. In spite of everything, she didn’t want to admit that she was getting cold feet.

‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered impatiently, and Sophie, who had been viewing her sister’s agitation with a certain amount of satisfaction, now sat up. Pushing back the crinkled shoulder-length perm that was several shades lighter than Paige’s toffee-streaked blonde hair, she looked more optimistic than she’d done since Paige had first told her that she was going to accept the job in Greece.

‘Does this mean we’re going to miss the plane?’ she asked smugly, and Paige knew exactly how her aunt must have felt when she’d confronted Sophie’s insolent stare.