Beauty and the Greek Billionaire

by Stefanie London

  “She’ll want more,” Dion warned.

  “You think she’ll want to share my bed?”

  Dion laughed. “Oh Nico, my poor emotionally damaged friend.”

  “What?” he scoffed.

  “I mean more than that. She’s going to want more than a roof over her head and tiles beneath her feet. She’s here, alone. Away from her family. She’s going to have a baby with a stranger.”

  “And?”

  “At some point she’s going to want you to be more than a stranger.”

  “I told her that’s not on offer.”

  “Doesn’t mean she won’t be making demands.”

  Nico’s fingers tightened around his phone. Was Dion pushing his buttons on purpose? Trying to wind him up? “She can make as many demands as she likes, but they’ll fall on deaf ears.”

  “And you’re prepared for her to walk away?”

  “Of course.”

  “And the baby?”

  “The child will stay with me.” Despite not having the concrete proof Dion thought he should demand, Nico already felt a strong pull to the life growing inside his wife. Would it be a girl or a boy? A vibrant daughter or energetic son?

  Nico knew he wasn’t the best person in the world. He was demanding and doggedly proud and he struggled to connect with people. But, without a shadow of a doubt, he knew that he would do his utmost to be a good father.

  “Are you done giving me a hard time?” he asked. “I look forward to the day that you’re stuck in this position so I can return the favor.”

  Dion snorted. “Never going to happen. If I ever get married, it’ll be for one reason and one reason only.”

  Nico shook his head. “Money or power.”

  “Okay.” He laughed. “Two reasons.”

  “You think that’s why I’m doomed?” he drawled.

  “I think you’re in over your head.” This time Dion’s voice was solemn. Worried.

  He had good reason to be. Nico was in over his head. The only way to deal with it was to make sure he didn’t let his wife get under his skin.

  …

  To: Julian.Edwards@thismail.com

  Subject: married life

  Hi Jules,

  I’m officially married now, and I don’t yet have much to report. Nico has done his best to avoid me since the ceremony, and I’m so used to having no privacy at home that it feels strange. And lonely. I’m doing my best to make a happy life here, to convince him to understand that I won’t give our child a false family. He’s not making it easy, however. I guess that means I’m going to have to force him to pay attention to me.

  I miss you already. And I miss my brothers and Felicity. I miss Tim Tams and Vegemite and Iced VoVos and lamingtons and Caramello Koalas. I’m homesick. But I know being here is the best chance I have of being a good mother.

  How’s work? I hope the new job is treating you well. Tell me everything!

  Love, Mari.

  To: MariannaHalsey1@thismail.com

  Subject: Re: married life

  Hey Mari,

  Keep a lookout for something in the mail. I got the address off your brother. Hint: it’s caramel-y and chocolate-y.

  I’m sorry you’re lonely. I miss you too. You have no idea how much. I want nothing more than to be sitting with you in your backyard having a beer and talking about life. Maybe we can plan a visit? I’d love to come and see you. I’m thinking about you day and night.

  Jules.

  Marianna spent the days after the wedding thinking about how she met Nico. The memory, which hung around like an invisible beast breathing down the back of her neck, kept her hot and uncomfortable. Not that it mattered, because Nico was avoiding her. Last night she’d gone into the office to tell him to come to bed—but he’d claimed he needed to work.

  At some point around 3 a.m., she’d snuck out of the room to get a drink of water and found him doing the same. He’d been staring out at the ocean, the moon full and high, spilling pale silver light over the marble countertops. He’d caught her reflection in the window and turned, his eyes dark and his chest bare. Shadows had made his muscles more defined, and her eyes had snagged on the V at his waist where his pajama bottoms sat obscenely low. It had taken all her willpower not to go to him in the anonymity of the dark, lifting the hem of her nightie to show him what she wanted.

  Yes. The word hissed in her brain. Yes, she did want it. After years of being undesirable, she’d had a taste of pleasure that could never be forgotten. Now her celibacy was worse, because she knew what she was missing. She had to do something about this. To make him realize she wouldn’t disappear.

  “Marianna?” Lydia waved a hand in front of her face. “Are you okay?”

  Lydia was one of the younger housekeepers who worked part-time for Nico. She was sweet and kind, and had agreed to help Marianna with learning Greek. They’d formed a fast friendship, counting romance novels and cooking shows among their shared hobbies, and Marianna was happy to have a friendly face around the house.

  “You’re not paying attention.”

  Marianna shook her head, trying to get her thoughts straight. She’d done that far too many times this week. “Yes, sorry. I had a rough night last night…”

  You wish you’d had a rough night last night.

  Oh god, she needed to stop doing that.

  “So, as I was saying…” Lydia looked at her sternly, like a school teacher working with a naughty child. She was seated at the high stools in the kitchen while Lydia set about cleaning the countertops. “Se efharistó polí. What does it mean?”

  “Thank you very much. Formal.” Marianna tried to picture the textbook Lydia had given her. “Plural?”

  “Singular. We use sas for plural.”

  She sighed. “Right.”

  “So you would use this in speaking with someone in an important position, like if you were meeting with someone from the government. Or to show respect for someone older than you.”

  “Se efharistó polí. Sas efharistó polí.” She tripped over the soft, breathy “efh” sound of the word. “Thank you very much.”

  “Good!” Lydia clapped her hands together. “And how would you respond if someone said that to you?”

  “Tipota.”

  “Or?”

  “Parakaló.”

  Lydia grinned. “You’re a fast learner.”

  Marianna nodded. Her life had been a whirlwind of change in the past month, and now that things were normalizing she was acutely aware of all she’d left behind. Not just her family, not just Jules, but her studies, too. Her whole life had been about knowledge and learning. About filling her brain to the brim. These lessons kept her grounded.

  But she needed to do something else that would keep her mind active. Marianna had plans to head into town later that week and see if there were any community centers where she might be able to volunteer to help people with language—perhaps teaching English or any of the other languages in which she was fluent. Something to stop her from going stir-crazy.

  “Okay, let’s try some vocabulary.” Lydia reached over the kitchen’s island countertop and plucked a green apple from a bowl of fruit. “What’s this?”

  “Mílo.”

  Then she picked up an orange. “This one?”

  “Portokáli.”

  “How about this?” She pointed to a bunch of bananas.

  Marianna frowned. The word didn’t immediately come to her. She remembered cherry and fig and pear and strawberry, but not banana. “I don’t know.”

  Lydia laughed. “Banána”

  Marianna smacked her head with the palm of her hand. “Of course it is.”

  Lydia’s boss, the house manager, Roula, walked into the room with a stern expression. She didn’t speak much English, and Marianna got the impression that the older woman didn’t like her very much. She also didn’t want to get Lydia in trouble, so she reached for an apple and slipped down from the stool, giving the two women a wave before she headed out of the kitc
hen.

  Nico was supposed to be out of the house that morning for a meeting. Which would give Marianna plenty of time to go exploring. On one hand, she felt a little strange going through his rooms, looking at his things. But on the other hand, this was her home now, too. And it wasn’t like he’d told her she couldn’t look around.

  “Yeah, like you would have listened anyway,” she muttered to herself.

  Nico’s office was as sparsely furnished and decorated as the rest of the place. A bookshelf lined the back of the room, and a huge window sat off the side, showing off part of the lush garden and the path to the beach. The books were mostly nonfiction, lots that appeared to cover economics, the stock market, wealth management, and other such boring topics. No poetry, no language books, no classic literature.

  Marianna made a mental note to help Nico expand his reading. She dipped her hand into the pocket of her dress and felt for the smooth edges of the porcelain cat from the bedroom. The morning after her first night, she’d noticed the cat had been turned back to its original position, away from the window. Obviously Nico hadn’t been joking when he said that he was “particular” about his things.

  Well, that was going to have to change. She knew she shouldn’t be messing with him. But dammit, she was tired of being ignored! And besides, once the baby was born, eventually his perfectly curated and pristine living space was going to get messy. Really, she was doing him a favor by preparing him early.

  If he was going to sit in his office until the witching hour every damn night, then she would do something to make him think about her. She placed the cat in the middle of his desk, facing the computer as if it was working. There was no way he’d miss it.

  “Sorry, Nico,” she said, taking another bite of her apple. “But you’re not going to shut me out.”

  Chapter Nine

  That weekend, Marianna and Nico had their first “event” as a couple. He’d wanted to dodge invitations for and questions about his new wife. Wanted to guard their privacy like a dragon guarding a cave of treasures. But Dion had stepped in.

  His friend—who was apparently working hard to shake the title—had decided they needed to host a company-wide cocktail party to celebrate the expansion of their business. Cash was flowing in, Nico’s investments were paying off, and Dion was charming wealthy people left, right, and center into handing over their money. They’d doubled their staff in the past twelve months. Although, Nico wasn’t sure why that meant a party was required—surely successful businesses didn’t waste time on that kind of bullshit.

  Nevertheless, Dion had told him he’d better be there with Marianna. Apparently, curiosity and gossip about the new Mrs. Gallinas were causing the staff to be distracted from their work. Nico said that should be cause for discipline, but Dion, as usual, did not agree.

  So here he was, in a lightweight suit and dress shoes, waiting for Marianna to come out of the bedroom. He’d asked Helena to take her shopping for something appropriate. Something glamorous. Because if she dared wear that simple white dress with the buttons again he would have a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

  And that couldn’t happen.

  Sex was a slippery slope, he’d discovered once. Getting familiar with a woman’s body, knowing what turned her on and what made her moan was addictive. It’s why he could never allow himself to learn anyone like that, so he couldn’t be tempted into wanting more when more was the most dangerous thing that could happen. Wanting, wishing—they were things that needed to stay out of the bedroom. Out of his life.

  The first night he’d slept on the floor, unable to force himself to leave the room in case she woke up in the middle of the night and had forgotten where she was. But one night on the ground had given him a crick in his neck, so he’d spent last night on the couch in his office after forcing himself to work late enough that she would already have retired to bed.

  Not that it had stopped him from sneaking in at 3 a.m. to make sure she was okay…and to return the porcelain cat to its rightful home. Damn her, she was messing with him in every possible sense of the word.

  A soft bump followed by the click of heels against tile grabbed his attention. Nico swallowed. Each little sound was like a needle in his brain, activating parts of him that should be dormant.

  Click, click, click.

  He counted down how many steps were left until she rounded the corner.

  Click, click, click.

  His heartbeat accelerated, which caused him to ball his fists in frustration. Tonight was an obligation. They’d get in, say their hellos, and get the hell out. No different to how he normally approached social occasions.

  Click, click, click.

  It was like Nico was standing in a flat field in the middle of a lightning storm. He was seconds away from being shocked. All he could do was hold his breath and hope that the bolt of electricity missed—

  “Hi.”

  Zap! There was no avoiding it. The sight of Marianna in a knee-length dress, pale cream linen with small yellow flowers embroidered at the hem, had his entire body buzzing.

  “Marianna.” He nodded stiffly.

  She smoothed her hands over the full skirt as if checking to see whether her bump would show. It wouldn’t. There was barely anything to see, but she touched it constantly. The baby reassured her, he assumed. Or else she was reminding herself why she was here.

  “You didn’t come to bed last night,” she said. “I’m starting to think you’re ghosting me.”

  “I had to work late.”

  She raised a brow. “And today?”

  “I had to work early.”

  Her expression was a mix of frustration and wariness. “You work very hard.”

  “Thank you.”

  That earned him an amused smirk. “Well, I guess I can’t fault you for that. But you don’t have to worry about waking me by coming to bed late. My brothers always said I’d sleep through the apocalypse.”

  “I figured that out around 3 a.m.,” he said. “You snore like a chainsaw.”

  “I do not!” She folded her arms across her chest. “And how would you know that if you never came to bed?”

  “I came in to use the bathroom,” he lied.

  She’d fallen asleep with the lamp on, a book open on her chest, and one arm flung over her eyes. She’d barely stirred as he’d removed the book and pulled the blanket up over her.

  Of course, she hadn’t been snoring, but teasing her was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  “Did you know three out of every ten women snore?” He managed to get the question out with a straight face. He had no idea if the stat was true, but that wasn’t the important bit.

  “You’re teasing me.” Her lip twitched.

  “Never.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s a sign that you are actually human.”

  Shots fired. “As opposed to what, cyborg?”

  “I would have said gargoyle. You know, miserable. Stony.” She offered him a saccharine smile. “The word gargoyle actually derives from the French gargouille, meaning ‘throat’ or ‘gullet.’”

  “Of course you have a fact for this conversation.” He shook his head.

  “I have a fact for every conversation. Anyway, I thought you didn’t do parties,” she said, changing the topic. Her hands were knotted in front of her, and she tilted her head in a way that made her look like a curious puppy. Long, dark hair swished as she moved, like a band of silk.

  He wondered whether he would ever get to feel the smooth lengths slip between his fingers again.

  You won’t. Ever.

  “I don’t,” he replied, heading to the door and holding it for her. “But my business partner seems to think you’re distracting everyone.”

  “Me?” She frowned.

  “Well, news of you. Our marriage has stirred up some gossip in the office, and Dion thinks the best way to deal with it is to take you to a party so everyone can see you’re not some story that’s been made up.”

  “Ah.
I see.” She walked past him, a small bag tucked under one arm and a trail of light perfume billowing behind her like clouds of orange blossoms. It reminded him of the trees that used to grow near the orphanage. His pulse quickened.

  “It’s a waste of time.”

  “Aren’t all parties? I’d much rather be at home with a glass of wine and a book.”

  His driver was already waiting for them, holding the door for Marianna and offering her a genuine smile. In the short week she’d lived at his house, the staff had taken a shine to her. She spent most of her time in the garden, her nose in a book, but she always made time to stop and say hello to anyone who came near her.

  Nico slid into the back of the town car and buckled himself in. Marianna’s skirt draped over her legs, and her feet were encased in a pair of gold sandals with a low heel. She looked like she’d stepped out of one of those old black-and-white movies he’d grown up watching. Reruns of Rear Window and Casablanca had been favorites of the sisters, and so he’d watched them all.

  “Are we going to get our story straight this time?” she asked. “Or do you want me to tell everyone you knocked me up and that’s why we’re married?”

  “We’re not telling people about the pregnancy yet.”

  They needed to leave it another month or so, to make it plausible that she’d gotten pregnant after the wedding and not before. They could fudge the timelines when the baby was born, say that he or she arrived early. Nico was fiercely private, so him suddenly having a wife could be explained away by stories of a long-distance relationship and a low-key engagement.

  “Then what? How did we meet? How long have we been together? What about the wedding? People will ask.”

  She was right, of course. Nosiness knew no bounds in Corfu.

  “We met in London, when I was there on business. You were holidaying.”

  “I’ve never been to London.” A crease formed between her brows.

  “What do you need to know? They have pubs and a big clock and the queen. That’s it.”

  Her lip quirked. “Well, why bother even going after that detailed summary?”

  He ignored the dig. “We’ve been together a year, engaged for three months. We didn’t want a big wedding so we did something private, here. No honeymoon because work is busy.”