The Greek's Pregnant Bride

by Michelle Smart

  * * *

  Christian sensed a slight change in Alessandra’s demeanour, an almost imperceptible straightening of the shoulders and stiffening of the spine.

  She was looking good. She always looked good.

  With her long hair loose around her shoulders, she wore faded tight-fitting jeans, a pale-blue cotton blouse unbuttoned to the top of her cleavage, a navy blazer and silver ankle boots with a slight heel. Heavy costume jewellery in shades of red hung round her neck and wrists, large, hooped gold earrings in her ears. Alessandra could wear a sack and carry it off, would still have that beautifully put-together air she carried so well.

  Her apartment was the same: chic and beautifully put together, the walls and furniture muted but the furnishings bold and colourful. Giant prints of her work hung on the walls, enlarged, framed covers of Vogue and all the other glossy magazines she’d worked for.

  He knew it would be a wrench for her to leave, but a third-floor apartment in the heart of Milan’s fashion district was not a feasible place to bring up a child. He’d raised the subject of her selling it on the phone a few days ago. Her response had been non-committal to say the least.

  He’d give her more time to get used to the idea before discussing it again.

  ‘Are you ready to go?’ he asked.

  She nodded, her plump lips drawing together. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Out in the courtyard at the back of the building, where his driver waited for them, her yellow Vespa gleamed from its parking space. ‘I hope you’re not riding on that thing any more,’ he said, nodding at it.

  ‘No,’ she answered shortly, getting into the back of the car.

  He followed her in, a pang hitting his stomach as he recalled the big beam on her face the one time he’d seen her ride on it—the day of their impromptu date. Another thing pregnancy would force her to give up.

  When the car started to move, she turned to look at him, a set look on her face. ‘Christian, let me make one thing quite clear. You are going to be my husband, not my keeper. Do not dictate to me.’

  He sighed. ‘Is this about the Vespa?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wasn’t dictating to you. I was satisfying myself that you’re not putting our child’s life at risk by continuing to ride on it, especially here in Milan.’

  ‘That is exactly what I mean. I don’t need you to tell me the drivers here all approach the road as an assault course that must be beaten—I live here. I might not have a penis between my legs but my brain and rationality work perfectly well.’

  ‘I never said it didn’t,’ he said, keeping his tone even. ‘But you must appreciate that it is my child you are carrying and it is only right I take an interest in its welfare.’

  ‘But it is my life. I will not be told what to do.’

  ‘I am not telling you what to do.’ How he held on to his patience, he did not know. ‘All I’m saying is that having a child changes things...’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ she said, her colour darkening. ‘You think I’m not aware of the responsibility I have to bring our child safely into this world? Do you think I’m not capable?’

  ‘Alessandra...’ He took a breath and fisted his hands into balls. ‘Will you stop putting words into my mouth? You’re making assumptions.’

  Her shoulders hunched before she flopped her head back and took a long breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I have an aversion to being told what to do.’

  ‘I had already gathered that.’

  She cast a sideways glance at him and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her very pretty ear.

  ‘As well as my aversion to being bossed around, I also have a tendency to get grumpy when I’m worried about something,’ she admitted, her tone now rueful.

  ‘You’re worried about Rocco’s reaction to our news?’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  ‘Whatever happens with your brother, nothing will change. You and I will still marry. If he gives his blessing, then that will be beneficial, but if he doesn’t then we will handle it together. Okay?’ he added when she didn’t answer, simply sank her teeth into her bottom lip and tugged her hand free from his clasp.

  She nodded slowly, and absently rubbed at the top of her hand where his fingers had rested. ‘Rocco is very protective of me. He always has been.’

  ‘You’re his sister; nothing will change that.’ Christian was doing his best to project a positive frame of mind for Alessandra’s benefit but was under no illusion about how hot-headed her brother could be. He knew that if the forthcoming meeting was badly handled, their friendship would be ruined.

  Alessandra’s lungs had closed up.

  The intimacy of the cab, the forced proximity...

  Worry about her brother’s reaction faded as Christian’s oaky cologne filled her senses, moisture filling her mouth and bubbling low in her most intimate area.

  She pressed her thighs together and dragged out a short breath. It wasn’t enough. She needed air.

  There was nowhere to hide.

  The traffic outside was atrocious. They were still a couple of streets away from the House of Mondelli, where her brother awaited her. If she were on her Vespa she would be there by now, able to weave in and out of the traffic while turning a deaf ear to the tooting horns.

  ‘Let’s walk the rest of the way,’ she said. She needed air. She needed to breathe. ‘It’ll be quicker.’

  Christian nodded and pressed the button to lower the partition, telling his driver to stop the car. As they were already stationary, this required no effort on the driver’s part.

  Alessandra immediately felt better out in the balmy spring air. She loved the sunshine; knew it was the reason her grandfather had left her the villa in St. Barts, so she had a bolt hole to escape to when the gloomy Milanese winter set in. She had no idea yet what she would do with the apartment in Paris he had also left her, but the villa would remain hers until she took her last breath. Which, if the Milanese drivers had anything to do with it, could be sooner rather than later.

  They made it to the entrance of the luxurious building without being squashed by any moving vehicles and stepped inside. She smiled at the glamorous receptionists and, with Christian by her side, strode past the large rooms homing all the creative minds that made the House of Mondelli such a success, and through to her brother’s office. His door was closed; Gabrielle, his PA, guarded it with her desk like a sentry. She stood to greet them.

  Alessandra cast a quick glance at Christian, experiencing the strangest compulsion to grab hold of his hand. He inclined his head and threw a small, encouraging smile. She couldn’t read his eyes.

  Taking a deep breath, she rapped on the door and pushed it open.

  Rocco was at his desk talking into his phone. A smile formed on his lips at seeing his sister, his eyes pulling into a question at seeing Christian follow her inside and shut the door behind him.

  He ended the call and got to his feet, sidling round his desk to pull her into an embrace. ‘You’re looking well, sorellina.’ Little sister.

  ‘And you’re looking tanned. Good honeymoon?’

  ‘Perfetto.’

  She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so happy. ‘How’s Liv?’

  Somehow his face lit up even more. ‘She’s wonderful.’ Rocco moved on to Christian, giving him a bear hug, which he returned. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m here to see you,’ Christian said.

  If Rocco heard the serious inflection in his friend’s voice he made no sign of it. ‘Alessandra and I have a lunch date—are you joining us?’

  ‘Rocco,’ said Alessandra, placing a hand on her brother’s arm to get his attention. ‘Christian is here with me. We have something to tel
l you.’

  Immediately the light in her brother’s eyes dimmed, became wary. ‘Tell me what?’

  Christian shifted slightly and placed an arm around her waist. The gesture felt almost protective. ‘We’re getting married,’ he said, his tone serious.

  Rocco shook his head as if clearing his ears of water. ‘Married?’

  ‘Yes. We wanted you to be the first to know.’

  Alessandra pressed closer to Christian in a show of unity and forced a breezy laugh. If they could make this look and sound as natural as possible, then Rocco should be accepting of their plans. That was what she’d been telling herself for almost a fortnight. ‘I want you to give me away.’

  Rocco laughed with her, although not at his usual pitch. ‘You two are getting married?’

  ‘Si.’

  ‘My little sister and my best friend?’

  ‘Si! Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘That’s one way to describe it. When did all this happen?’

  ‘We bumped into each other when you were in New York.’ She and Christian had agreed to stick with the truth as much as possible. Neither wanted to lie to Rocco. ‘Christian had come to take you out but, as you were in New York, I talked him into taking me out instead. Then, at your wedding we spent a bit more time together and realised our feelings for each other had changed.’ That was the truth as well. How could someone be just a friend of your brother’s if you were carrying his child?

  ‘When do you hope to marry?’

  ‘We’ve decided there’s no point in hanging around so we’ve set the date for a fortnight. We’re marrying in Athens.’

  ‘That soon?’

  Christian’s hand brushed against her back as he pulled away from her and took a step closer to Rocco.

  Neither man spoke.

  Suddenly she became aware that the atmosphere in the office wasn’t the warm bonhomie she’d intended. It was cold. Icy.

  As she looked from her fiancé to her brother, taking in the two sets of lips clamped firmly together, her heart sank.

  For all his outward amiability, Rocco hadn’t bought a single word she’d said. And Christian knew it.

  ‘Are you pregnant?’ he asked, looking at her briefly, his tone casual.

  She swallowed, stupidly unprepared for such a question. She placed her arm protectively across her waist.

  This time he directed the same question to Christian. There was no denying the menace in his stance. ‘Have you got my sister pregnant?’

  Christian drew himself up to his full height. It was like watching two silverbacks square up to each other. Both men were equal in stature, both topping six foot by a good few inches, and both kept themselves in extremely good shape.

  ‘Yes. Alessandra is pregnant with my baby and we have agreed to marry. We both want to do the right thing by our child.’

  ‘The right thing by your child?’ Rocco snarled, his face ablaze with fury. ‘What about my sister? What the hell were you doing messing with her in the first place?’

  ‘I’m not going to lie to you,’ Christian said, his tone calm but with a hint of steel underlying his words. ‘Neither of us meant for this to happen. But it has happened—Alessandra is pregnant with my child and I am going to support them both in every way I can.’

  ‘So she was another of your one-night stands? Is that what you’re telling me?’

  Christian didn’t answer, keeping his gaze fixed evenly on Rocco.

  ‘You said neither of you meant it to happen, so I will ask you one more time: was she just a one-night stand to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  If Christian intended to elaborate on his one-syllable answer, his words went unsaid when Rocco’s arm shot out like a bullet.

  ‘Rocco, no!’ But her scream came too late to prevent her brother’s fist connecting with Christian’s nose, a resounding crack bouncing off the walls on impact.

  Christian dropped to the floor with a thump.

  Immediately Alessandra fell to her knees beside him. Vivid red blood seeped from his nose.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ she said, switching to Italian, half-shouting, half-screaming, not looking at Rocco, too busy checking Christian’s vital signs. The pulse in his neck pumped strongly, the only blessing she could cling to. She looked up at her brother, who stood frozen. ‘Don’t just stand there—call for an ambulance.’

  Rocco’s broad chest heaved, his face a couple of shades paler than it had been when she’d walked into his office. ‘He doesn’t need an ambulance. He’s already coming round.’

  He was right. Christian’s lips were moving.

  ‘At least get some ice,’ she snapped, somehow holding back the tears.

  Not sure if she was doing the right thing or not, she carefully lifted Christian’s head and placed it on her lap. Being as gentle as she could, she ran her fingers over his hair, not knowing or caring if she was comforting him or herself. Of all the scenarios that had played itself out in her head, this was not an outcome she had prepared for.

  She should be getting used to that.

  ‘Are you still here?’ she snarled at her brother. ‘He needs ice.’

  ‘He needs castration.’ He swore loudly. ‘You’re my sister and he’s a playboy—’

  ‘And you’re a hypocrite!’ she interrupted. ‘The majority of the women you’ve slept with have been someone’s sister. He’s your best friend and you’re just as big a playboy as he is.’

  ‘Not any more, I’m not—and I’m not oblivious to those other women being someone’s sister, but you are my sister.’

  ‘No—I was your sister. After what you’ve just done, I will never call you my brother again. I’ll walk myself up the aisle. Now, get an ice pack and then you can get the hell out of my life.’

  * * *

  Through the ringing in his ears Christian heard the sound of muffled talking. Arguing.

  Was that Alessandra speaking so emotively?

  Through the lancing pain in his face came the realisation that, yes, it was Alessandra—that it was her warm lap supporting his head, her gentle fingers lacing through his hair, her normally calm, husky voice pitched at a much higher octave than he had ever associated it with.

  Footsteps left the room, the door slamming with a close.

  He winced as the sound reverberated through his pounding head.

  Well, that had gone better than he’d anticipated.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BACK IN ALESSANDRA’S APARTMENT, Christian lay on the sofa, holding the ice pack in place to the bridge of his nose.

  Eyes closed, he heard Alessandra pour fresh coffee out; listened as she padded over the thick rug and placed their drinks on the glass table in front of him.

  Gabrielle had brought the ice pack to him, Rocco himself having disappeared from the building.

  His old friend had seen straight through their deception, exactly as he’d known he would.

  ‘You let him hit you, didn’t you?’

  He opened his eyes to find Alessandra glaring down at him. She’d changed into a short black skirt, the faded jeans she’d been wearing having been covered in his blood. Her golden legs were bare. Gorgeously bare.

  He straightened and put the ice pack down beside his mug.

  ‘Are you going to answer me?’

  ‘Yes, I let him hit me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Better to let him get it out of his system now than at the wedding.’

  ‘He’s not coming to the wedding. I’ve told him he’s not welcome.’

  Even though the movement hurt, he couldn’t stop the smile forming. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘Don’t I?’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ He knew how close the Mondelli siblings were.


  ‘I told you, I don’t like being told what to do. I’ve had it up to here with my brother thinking he can run my life.’ She slumped onto the single sofa and rubbed her eyes, smudging her make-up. ‘Did you know I always refused to do any work for the House of Mondelli?’

  ‘I was aware of that—Rocco always said he thought it was a shame, as your fashion shoots are some of the best in the business.’

  ‘He said that?’ A look of pleasure flashed over her, quickly replaced by another grimace. ‘A few months ago he asked me to do all the photography for the new launch he was working on. For the first time, I said yes. I thought our relationship had reached the stage where he regarded me as his equal, as Alessandra Mondelli, not just as his little sister. I wanted to be employed for the quality of my work, not out of nepotism. I should have known better. He still thinks he knows best and can ride roughshod over my feelings.’

  She made a noise that sounded like a choking growl and slumped on the sofa, bending her head forward, her long hair falling like a sheet before her until she tossed her head back and sighed. ‘I love my brother but he has to accept I’m not a child any more. I’m an adult. I make my own decisions. He doesn’t have to like them but he has to at least respect them and if he can’t do that then he can keep away.’

  ‘Our news was a shock to him. He’ll come round.’

  ‘I don’t care if he does.’ She blinked rapidly and swallowed. ‘So much for averting a scandal; how long do you think it’ll be before the press learns he hit you?’

  ‘There’s no need for the press to know anything.’

  She arched a perfectly plucked dark brow. ‘We were seen by at least a dozen people leaving the House of Mondelli, you with an ice pack stuck to your nose. Have you looked in the mirror?’ She didn’t give him the chance to reply. ‘You’ve already got two black eyes forming. How are you going to explain that away?’

  ‘I wear exceedingly dark sunglasses. No one will see my eyes.’

  ‘That’s not even funny.’

  Seeing she was working herself into a state, he leaned forward and spoke forcefully. ‘There will be no scandal. We will cut the press off at its head.’