And then Aimee was in his arms, her mouth on his, and the papers transferring SCB from husband to wife were on the floor where they belonged, because nothing was or would ever be as important as the love between Prince Nicolo Antonius Barbieri and his princess….
At least, nothing as important until the birth of a little prince a few months later.
His name was Nicolo James Antonius Barbieri and, yes, he was named for his father and his grandfather because it was amazing how news of his only granddaughter’s pregnancy had mellowed a stern, cold old man.
And when little Nicolo—Nickie, to his adoring parents—was two weeks old, he attended the first big event of his life.
The marriage, the real marriage of his mother and father because, his papa said, a beautiful woman deserved a beautiful wedding.
Aimee carried a bouquet of white roses and pink orchids, from the palazzo’s greenhouse. Her gown was made of cream antique lace and had a flowing train.
Nicolo wore a black dinner suit with a white rosebud in his lapel.
The baby wore white, too, a little silk suit handmade by Anna, who wept when she was asked to be the baby’s godmother.
The ceremony was held in the conservatory of the palazzo, lit by hundreds of white candles, scented by thousands of white roses while a string quartet played softly in the background.
It was a small wedding, attended only by James Black, a couple of Aimee’s friends from her college days and, of course, the groom’s two confirmed bachelor pals, a Spaniard named Lucas and a Greek named Damian. They slapped Nicolo’s back, kissed his bride, said how happy they were for them both and agreed, in low voices over glasses of excellent vino, that marriage was okay for Nicolo but it would never be right for them.
Although, Damian admitted, Nicolo certainly did seem happy.
Just look at how he was smiling. At how he kissed his son good-night when Anna said it was time for her to put the baby to bed. At how he danced with his wife, and how he swept her into his arms midway through the evening, kissed her, then carried her through the conservatory and into the palazzo.
“Time for a toast,” Lucas said, raising his glass.
Damian looked at him and grinned. They both knew exactly how the old toast was supposed to go, but not tonight.
Not ever again, where Nicolo was concerned.
“To Nicolo,” Lucas said.
The men touched glasses.
“And to Aimee,” Damian added. “May they live happily ever after.”
The guests cheered, and the sound carried through the softness of the night and through the open windows of the second-floor bedroom where Nicolo was just putting his bride on her feet.
“I love you,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Ti amo,” she said, against his.
Then he drew her down into their bed where they made that vow of love again, this time with their bodies, their souls and their hearts.
The Greek Prince’s Chosen Wife
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER ONE
DAMIAN was getting out of a taxi the first time he saw her.
He was in a black mood, something he’d grown accustomed to the last three months, a mood so dark he’d stopped noticing anything that even hinted at beauty.
But a man would have to be dead not to notice this woman.
Stunning, was his first thought. What he could see of her, anyway. Black wraparound sunglasses covered much of her face but her mouth was lusciously full with enough sexual promise to make a monk think of quitting the cloister.
Her hair was long. Silky-looking. A dichromatic mix of chestnut and gold that fell over her shoulders in a careless tumble.
And she was tall. Five-nine, five-ten with a model’s bearing. A model’s way of wearing her clothes, too, so that the expensive butterscotch leather blazer, slim-cut black trousers and high-heeled black boots made her look like she’d stepped straight out of the pages of Vogue.
A few short months ago, he’d have done more than look. He’d have walked up to her, smiled, asked if she, too, were lunching at Portofino’s…
But not today.
Not for the foreseeable future, he thought, his mouth thinning.
No matter what she looked like behind those dark glasses, he wasn’t interested.
He swung away, handed the taxi driver a couple of bills. A driver behind his cab bleated his horn; Damian shot a look at the car, edged past it, stepped onto the curb…
And saw that the woman had taken off her sunglasses. She was looking straight at him, her gaze focused and steady.
She wasn’t stunning.
She was spectacular.
Her face was a perfect oval, her cheekbones sharp as blades, her nose straight and aristocratic. Her eyes were incredible. Wide-set. Deep green. Heavily lashed.
And then there was that mouth. The things that mouth might do…
Hell!
Damian turned hard so quickly he couldn’t believe it but then, he’d gone three months without a woman.
It was the longest he’d gone without sex since he’d been introduced to its mysteries the Christmas he was sixteen, when one of his father’s many mistresses had seduced him.
The difference was that he’d been a boy then.
He was a man now. A man with cold hatred in his heart and no wish for a woman in his life, not yet, not even one this beautiful, this desirable…
“Hey, dude, this is New York! You think you own the sidewalk?”
Damian swung around, ready and eager for a fight, saw the speaker…and felt his tension drain away.
“Reyes,” he said, smiling.
Lucas Reyes smiled in return. “In the flesh.”
Damian’s smile became a grin. He held out his hand, said, “Oh, what the hell,” and pulled his old friend into a bear hug.
“It’s good to see you.”
“The same here.” Lucas pulled back, his smile tilting. “Ready for lunch?”
“Aren’t I always ready for a meal at Portofino’s?”
“Yeah. Sure. I just—I meant…” Lucas cleared his throat. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You should have called. By the time I read about the, ah, the accident…”
Damian stiffened. “Forget it.”
“That was one hell of a thing, man. To lose your fiancée…”
“I said, forget it.”
“I didn’t know her, but—”
“Lucas. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“If that’s how you want it—”
“It’s exactly how I want it,” Damian said, with such cold surety that Lucas knew enough to back off.
“Okay,” he said, forcing a smile. “In that case…I told Antonio to give us the back booth.”
Damian forced a smile of his own. “Fine. Maybe they’ll even have Trippa alla Savoiarda on the menu today.”
Lucas shuddered. “What’s the problem, Aristedes? Pasta’s not good enough for you?”
“Tripe’s delicious,” Damian said and just that easily, they fell into the banter that comes with old friendships.
“Just like old times,” Lucas said.
Nothing would ever be like old times again, Damian thought, but he grinned, too, and let it go at that.
The back booth was as comfortable as ever and the tripe was on the menu. Damian didn’t order it; he never had. Tripe made him shudder the same as Lucas.
The teasing was just part of their relationship.
Still, after they’d ordered, after his double vodka on the rocks and Lucas’s whiskey, straight up, had arrived, he and Lucas both fell silent.
“So,” Lucas
finally said, “what’s new?”
Damian shrugged. “Nothing much. How about you?”
“Oh, you know. I was in Tahiti last week, checking out a property on the beach…”
“A tough life,” Damian said, and smiled.
“Yeah, well, somebody has to do it.”
More silence. Lucas cleared his throat.
“I saw Nicolo and Aimee over the weekend. At that dinner party. Everyone was sorry you didn’t come.”
“How are they?” Damian said, deliberately ignoring the comment.
“Great. The baby’s great, too.”
Silence again. Lucas took a sip of his whiskey.
“Nicolo said he’d tried to call you but—”
“Yes. I got his messages.”
“I tried, too. For weeks. I’m glad you finally picked up the phone yesterday.”
“Right,” Damian said as if he meant it, but he didn’t. Ten minutes in and he already regretted taking Lucas’s call and agreeing to meet him.
At least mistakes like this one could be remedied, he thought, and glanced at his watch.
“The only thing is,” he said, “something’s come up. I’m not sure I can stay for lunch. I’ll try, but—”
“Bull.”
Damian looked up. “What?”
“You heard me, Aristedes. I said, ‘bull.’ Nothing’s come up. You just want a way to get out of what’s coming.”
“And that would be…?”
“A question.”
“Ask it, then.”
“Why didn’t you tell Nicolo or me when it happened? Why let us hear about it through those damned scandal sheets?”
“That’s two questions,” Damian said evenly.
“Yeah, well, here’s a third. Why didn’t you lean on us? There wasn’t a damned reason for you to go through all of that alone.”
“All of what?”
“Give me a break, Damian. You know all of what. Hell, man, losing the woman you love…”
“You make it sound as if I misplaced her,” Damian said, his voice flat and cold.
“You know I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that Nicolo and I talked about it and—”
“Is that all you and Barbieri have to keep you busy? Gossip like a pair of old women?”
He saw Lucas’s eyes narrow. Why wouldn’t they? Damian knew he was tossing Lucas’s concern in his teeth but to hell with that. The last thing he wanted was sympathy.
“We care about you,” Lucas said quietly. “We just want to help.”
Damian gave a mirthless laugh. He saw Lucas blink and he leaned toward him across the table.
“Help me through my sorrow, you mean?”
“Yes, damn it. Why not?”
“The only way you could help me,” Damian said, very softly, “would be by bringing Kay back.”
“I know. I understand. I—”
“No,” he said coldly, “you do not know. You do not understand. I don’t want her back to ease my sorrow, Lucas.”
“Then, what—”
“I want her back so I can tell her I know exactly what she was. That she was a—”
The men fell silent as the waiter appeared with Damian’s second double vodka. He put it down and looked at Lucas, who took less than a second to nod in assent.
“Another whiskey,” he said. “Make it a double.”
They waited until the drink had been served. Then Lucas leaned forward.
“Look,” he said softly, “I know you’re bitter. Who wouldn’t be? Your fiancée, pregnant. A drunk driver, a narrow road…” He lifted his glass, took a long swallow. “It’s got to be rough. I mean, I didn’t know Kay, but—”
“That’s the second time you said that. And you’re right, you didn’t know her.”
“Well, you fell in love, proposed to her in a hurry. And—”
“Love had nothing to do with it.”
Lucas stared at him. “No?”
Damian stared back. Maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was the way his old friend was looking at him. Maybe it was the sudden, unbidden memory of the woman outside the restaurant, how there’d been a time he’d have wanted her and not despised himself for it.
Who knew the reason? All he was sure of was that he was tired of keeping the truth buried inside.
“I didn’t propose. She moved in with me, here in New York.”
“Yeah, well—”
“She was pregnant,” Damian said flatly. “Then she lost the baby. Or so she said.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’d never been pregnant.” Damian’s jaw tightened. “The baby was a lie.”
Lucas’s face paled. “Hell, man. She scammed you!”
If there’d been one touch of pity in those words, Damian would have gotten to his feet and walked out. But there wasn’t. All he heard in Lucas’s voice was shock, indignation and a welcome hint of anger.
Suddenly the muted sounds of voices and laughter, the delicate clink of glasses and cutlery were almost painfully obtrusive. Damian stood, dropped several bills on the table and looked at Lucas.
“I bought a condo. It’s just a few blocks from here.”
Lucas was on his feet before Damian finished speaking.
“Let’s go.”
And right then, right there, for the first time since it had all started, Damian began to think he’d be okay.
A couple of hours later, the men sat facing each other in the living room of Damian’s fifteen-room duplex. Vodka and whiskey had given way to a pot of strong black coffee.
The view through three surrounding walls of glass was magnificent but neither man paid it any attention. The only view that mattered was the one Damian was providing into the soul of a scheming woman.
“So,” Lucas said quietly, “you’d been with her for some time.”
Damian nodded. “Whenever I was in New York.”
“And then you tried to break things off.”
“Yes. She was beautiful. Sexy as hell. But the longer I knew her…I suppose it sounds crazy but it was as if she’d been wearing a mask and now she was letting it slip.”
“That’s not crazy at all,” Lucas said grimly. “There are women out there who’ll do anything to land a man with money.”
“She began to show a side I hadn’t seen before. She cared only for possessions, treated people as if they were dirt. Cabbies, waitresses…” Damian drank some of his coffee. “I wanted out.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“I thought about just not calling her anymore, but I knew that would be wrong. Telling her things were over seemed the decent thing to do. So I called, asked her to dinner.” His face turned grim and he rose to his feet, walked to one of the glass walls and stared out over the city. “I got one sentence out and she began to cry. And she told me she was pregnant with my baby.”
“You believed her?”
Damian swung around and looked at Lucas. “She’d been my mistress for a couple of months, Lucas. You’d have done the same.”
Lucas sighed and got to his feet. “You’re right.” He paused. “So, what did you do?”
“I said I’d support her and the baby. She said if I really cared about the baby in her womb, I would ask her to move in with me.”
“Dear God, man—”
“Yes. I know. But she was carrying my child. At least, that’s what I believed.”
Lucas sighed again. “Of course.”
“It was a nightmare,” Damian said, shuddering. “I guess she thought it was safe to drop the last of her act. She treated my staff like slaves, ran up a six figure charge at Tiffany…” His jaw knotted. “I didn’t want anything to do with her.”
“No sex?” Lucas asked bluntly.
“None. I couldn’t imagine why I’d slept with her in the first place. She thought I’d lost interest because she was pregnant.” He grimaced. “She began talking about how different things would be, if she weren’t…” Damian started toward the table that held the coffee service. Half
way there, he muttered something in Greek, veered past it and went instead to a teak cabinet on the wall. “What are you drinking?”
“Whatever you’re pouring.”
The answer brought a semblance of a smile to Damian’s lips. He poured healthy amounts of Courvoisier into a pair of crystal brandy snifters and held one out. The men drank. Then Damian spoke again.
“A couple of weeks later, she told me she’d miscarried. I felt—I don’t know what I felt. Upset, at the loss of the baby. I mean, by then I’d come to think of it as a baby, you know? Not a collection of cells.” He shook his head. “Once I got past that, what I felt, to be honest, was relief. Now we could end the relationship.”
“Except, she didn’t want to end it.”
Damian gave a bitter laugh. “You’re smarter than I was. She became hysterical. She said I’d made promises, begged her to spend her life with me.”
“But you hadn’t.”
“Damned right, I hadn’t. The only thing that had drawn us together was the baby. Right?”
“Right,” Lucas said, although he was starting to realize he didn’t have to say anything. The flood gates had opened.
“She seemed to plummet into depression. Stayed in bed all day. Wouldn’t eat. Went to her obstetrician—at least she said she’d gone to her obstetrician—and told me he’d advised her to get pregnant again.”
“But—”
“Exactly. I didn’t want a child, not with her. I wanted out.” Damian took another swallow of brandy. “She begged me to reconsider. She’d come into my room in the middle of the night—”
“You had separate rooms?”
A cold light flared in Damian’s eyes. “From the start.”
“Sure, sure. Sorry. You were saying—”
“She was good at what she did. I have to give her that. Most nights, I turned her away but once…” A muscle knotted in his jaw. “I’m not proud of it.”
“Man, don’t beat yourself up. If she seduced you—”
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