Their child wouldn’t have to deal with his or her parents loving each other at all. All the love would be reserved for their child and only their child.
He exhaled slowly, waiting for the chill in his chest to lessen but it continued to cling to him like a thick, cold fog.
He hadn’t expected anything different from his mother; he was more or less immune to it. It had been witnessing Alessandra’s visible shock at it all that had really set the cold in, had brought the old feelings and memories hurtling back.
The empathy shining from her eyes had been too much.
He’d never introduced his mother to any of his friends or lovers before. His mother had her own special compartment in his life. He’d long ago accepted that she wouldn’t change, that no matter how he succeeded in life it would never be enough for her. Even the news of being a grandmother had failed to elicit a smile. She would never love him.
Far from repelling Alessandra, his mother’s behaviour had elicited her sympathy, her empathy: towards him.
He didn’t want her pity.
She was getting too close; he could feel it.
Any closer and she’d be able to see the gutter rat who lived in the blackness of his heart.
* * *
Christian’s driver dropped Alessandra back at the hotel before taking Christian to his offices.
A dozen more guests had arrived while they’d been at his mother’s house. It amazed her that so many super-wealthy and famous people were able to drop their commitments for what was essentially a free holiday, but surprisingly their presence worked in her favour, distracting her thoughts from their visit to Christian’s mother.
Every time she closed her eyes she saw the laser glare of Elena Markos’s eyes and she wondered how Christian had endured living with such coldness.
That he had dragged himself out, turned it around and made something of himself only added to what had been a slowly growing admiration towards him. That admiration had now accelerated.
Although she was suffering a large dose of guilt for forcing the issue, she was glad they’d gone. Her understanding of the man she was going to marry was growing by the day.
She spent the rest of the day mingling with their guests, some of whom she actually knew, lazing by the pool, playing cards, drinking non-alcoholic cocktails. It was fun, but she wished Christian could be there to enjoy it too. He worked so hard, just like her brother.
Maybe he would kick back and relax when they went on their short honeymoon. She hoped so. He deserved it.
She headed back to her suite late afternoon and had a long soak in the sunken bath, already looking forward to the evening meal which Christian had said he’d be back for.
As she slipped into a red tunic dress, she realised that there hadn’t been a single minute when she hadn’t thought of him. The thought was like a jolt, enough to make her hands tremble, making it hard for her to apply her make-up.
She’d just regained her equilibrium when there was a knock on her door.
And there he stood, wearing the same suit she’d seen him change into that morning in his suite but with the tie removed and the top three buttons of his shirt undone, exposing the top of his bronzed chest.
Finding him there sent a huge surge through her, making her heart pump and her pulses race. Dio, the man was divine. In all ways.
‘I thought I should let you know I’m going to New York,’ he said as he stepped into her suite.
‘Okay. When’s that?’
‘I’ll be leaving for the airport in a few minutes.’
His words had the effect of making her heart sink to her knees. ‘Are you kidding with me? You’re leaving now?’
Dio l’aiuti, was he getting cold feet?
‘It’s only for a couple of nights—I’ll be back Friday evening.’
She forced her voice to remain calm. ‘We’re getting married on Saturday.’
‘I’ll be back in plenty of time.’
A little distance was all Christian needed. Distance away from Alessandra, time to clear the coldness on his chest that still hadn’t shifted. Time to track her brother down and force him to listen.
‘I thought we were supposed to be putting on a united front?’
‘We have been. Our guests will understand.’
‘But these are our guests. I’ve completely rearranged my schedule to be here this week so we can entertain them together and convince them that we’re the real deal.’ The brightness of her welcome had cooled considerably.
‘This is my life, Alessandra. I warn you now, there will be plenty of occasions when I have to fly off at a moment’s notice.’
She eyed him, lines appearing in her brow. ‘And what if I have to fly off at a moment’s notice? Will you show me the same latitude?’ The challenge was there, from the jut of her chin to the tone of her voice. ‘I have a career of my own too, remember?’
‘Our marriage is going to take time to shake down,’ he conceded, wishing he could be in his jet right now. He didn’t want to deal with her anger or acknowledge the suspicion emanating from her eyes. That was not what they were about. They were two individuals able to lead their lives to their own needs, not justify their whims and absences to each other. He shouldn’t feel any guilt. ‘We will find a path that suits us both.’
She nodded slowly but when she spoke her voice was fractionally warmer. ‘So long as you don’t expect all the compromise and sacrifice to come from my end.’
‘I don’t expect that.’
‘Good.’ After a moment of silence, she jerked her head in another nod. ‘Have a safe trip.’
He mimicked her movement. ‘I’ll see you at the chapel.’
CHAPTER NINE
ALESSANDRA STARED AT her reflection. She’d been primped and preened by an army of beauticians and now she was ready.
Ready?
She would never be ready. Not for this.
But it had to be done.
She had to marry Christian and she would do it alone.
Sebastian and Zayed, who had arrived together the night before, had both offered to give her away. She’d been touched by the offers but had declined. They were there for Christian, not her.
There were only two people she would have wanted to walk her down the aisle and one of those was dead. The other hadn’t even had the courtesy to respond to his invitation.
She straightened her spine. It wasn’t as if this would be a real marriage. This wedding was going ahead for one reason and one reason only: their baby. That was what she needed to focus on. It was all she should focus on—not Christian or the way he’d flown off to New York at a moment’s notice. Or her suspicions that there was more to his impromptu trip than business. Or those horrible hours waiting for him to return while the cynical part of her brain had thrown taunts that he wouldn’t be coming back, that he’d abandoned her. Just like her father had.
Do. Not. Trust.
She had to trust him with regard to their child. She had to.
Christian was not her father. And he hadn’t abandoned her. Right at that very moment he stood in the chapel waiting for her. Exactly as he’d said he would be.
The relief she’d felt late last night when he’d called to say he was back in Athens had been so powerful it scared her to remember the physicality of her reaction.
It was simply relief that he hadn’t humiliated her by standing her up, she insisted to herself. Nothing more than that. Nothing.
She checked her watch. It was time. In approximately one hour she would be married. Christian would be her husband.
She watched her reflected cheeks flush, her blood heating at the remembrances of their one night together, the night that had led to this very moment. Vivid memories of it played in her dreams every night, teasing her, haun
ting her.
People always said you couldn’t miss what you’d never had and in the sexual aspect of her life that had held true. Now that she had tried it...
But it wasn’t sex on its own that she wanted, that her body responded to. It was sex with Christian. Whether it was the alcohol loosening her inhibitions or something else undefined, he’d awoken her. He did things to her.
Before she’d put her wedding dress on, she’d stepped into her lacy white knickers, imagining him sliding them off; had put her lacy white bra on, imagining him unclasping it; had rolled the silk white stockings up her legs, imagining his strong fingers trailing over her skin as he slid them off.
Dio, how many times had she picked up her phone to call him before slamming it back down? Too many to count.
He’d called her a couple of times, though, conversations that had left her feeling all knotted yet incredibly warm inside. There was something about his voice that set tiny little bolts darting through her skin...
She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he was hiding something from her, though.
Per favore, not another woman.
Do. Not. Trust.
How she could she trust him? She didn’t know how.
She did know that she wanted to. She wanted to believe he would treat her with respect, that maybe one day...
A rap on her door jolted her out of the trance she’d worked herself into.
It was probably a member of staff, come to escort her to the chapel. The sweet girl who brought her breakfast every morning had been shocked when Alessandra had told her she would be walking to the chapel alone.
Always alone.
How she wished she’d swallowed her pride and called her brother and begged him to come. Deep inside, a part of her had believed he would come, that he wouldn’t leave her to do this alone. That he’d forgive her.
This was his flesh and blood growing in her belly, the very reason she and Christian were prepared to take this ultimate step.
Alone or not, she should have left already.
Her stomach clenched.
She gazed at the French doors.
She didn’t have to do this. She could step out onto her balcony, unfold the emergency stairs and escape. Everyone was at the chapel. The staff was busy organising all the celebrations. It could be ages before anyone realised she wasn’t being traditionally late.
She pictured Christian’s face when he realised she’d stood him up.
She couldn’t do that to him. Alessandra knew all about humiliation and would never intentionally inflict it on someone else, least of all him.
And what would their innocent baby say when, at some point in the future, he or she learned what their mother had done to their father?
Another rap on the door reminded her that someone stood on the other side waiting for her.
Hurrying over, she opened it, pulling a smile onto her face that dropped as soon as she saw who it was.
Dressed in a morning suit, stood her brother.
For a moment she didn’t say anything.
Then she burst into tears.
* * *
Christian stood with Zayed and Stefan at his side, his two best men—or, as they were called here in their shared role, his koumbaros—eyes fixed on the chapel door.
Where was she?
It was traditional for the bride to be late but half an hour? If Stefan hadn’t taken his phone from him after Christian had texted her to say he was at the chapel, he would have called and demanded to know where she was.
A face in the congregation caused him momentarily to lose track of his thoughts.
There in the third row sat Mikolaj, an enormous beam on his face. Beside him sat his wife, Tanya, and three of their seven children.
Alessandra must have invited them.
His stomach curled.
She’d done that for him.
Christian nodded a greeting to them but was unable to return the smiles.
Where was she?
The priest continued to smile reassurance but Christian could see the doubt now plaguing his jovial demeanour.
At least the chapel belonged to the hotel and thus was owned by him. They would wait.
Another ten minutes passed. Just as his guts were really starting to churn, the door swung open and there she appeared, the sunshine illuminating her in a golden glow that made the white of her dress sparkle.
It was like gazing at an angel, a moment so beautiful that the relief that should have overwhelmed him faded into nothing, leaving only wonder.
The sound of Pachelbel’s Canon in D began, played by the string quartet hired for the occasion.
Alessandra walked towards him, an ethereal smile on her face, her steps slow.
His eyes fixed solely on her, it took a good few beats before he registered the arm she held on to.
Rocco had come. He hadn’t abandoned his sister. Christian’s trip to New York had paid off.
Behind them walked Olivia, stunning in emerald green.
As the bridal party stepped closer to him, a lump formed in his throat that grew larger with every one of Alessandra’s steps until she was there before him.
Unlike most brides, who pinned their hair up into an elaborate creation, she’d left hers loose, tumbling around her shoulders in dark chestnut waves. She looked amazing. Her dress a work of art: thin lace-embellished straps with tiny diamonds curved down and across her cleavage like a heart, the sheer material wrapping around her waist to showcase the flare of her hips, then floating to the floor and resting in a white circle.
He looked for a sign of apprehension but none was there. Her beautiful honey-brown eyes, artfully made-up, were clear. Remarkably clear.
He reached out a hand, and as she took it he caught Rocco’s eye. The look he gave said: she’s all yours now. Hurt her and you will spend the rest of your life paying for it.
He’d never understood the full weight of what ‘giving the bride away’ meant until that moment.
From here on in, the role of her protector passed to him, an antiquated sentiment, but one he felt keenly.
Alessandra would never be his possession but for good or for ill they would be bound together.
The service was anticipated to last around an hour. For the congregation, it no doubt dragged. For Christian, time accelerated, the moment to exchanging their vows speeding up until it was time for them to make their promises to each other—not a requirement of the church but something they had agreed upon between themselves for the benefit of their guests.
He said his first, then Alessandra recited hers, her husky voice true and strong, her Greek practised and flawless. The look in her eyes, fixed on his, was full of meaning. It was a sight that made his chest feel as if a weight had been placed inside him, squeezing down.
There was no time to consider it as now was the time for what was, to many Greeks, the most important part of the ceremony: the crowning. The priest blessed the two floral-wreath crowns, then Zayed took the lead, passing the crowns back and forth over them three times before carefully placing them on their heads.
Finally they were done.
It was time to kiss the bride.
He searched again for her apprehension. It was still missing, a smile playing in the corner of her delicious lips. Lips he hadn’t felt upon his since the night they had conceived the child that grew in her belly. Lips he’d spent the past couple of months dreaming of.
Swallowing away the lump in his throat, he placed a hand to her still-slender hip and leaned down. Her small hand reached up to rest on his lapel.
He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers, just the breath of a kiss, but enough for the softest mouth he’d ever known to reawaken more memories of their night together and make his pu
lses race.
When the kiss ended, the congregation, no doubt led by Mikolaj, burst into applause. Alessandra grinned, her whole face smiling, her happiness transparent. She placed a hand on his shoulder and straightened to whisper into his ear, ‘Thank you.’
He knew without her having to explain that she was talking about Rocco.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered back.
She’d brought Mikolaj to their wedding. Christian hadn’t thought he wanted him there, thought he hadn’t wanted any associations with his past. He hadn’t appreciated how much it would mean. He’d thought having Stefan and Zayed there would be enough but, no matter how close they all were, Mikolaj had been there his entire life. He was family. Knowing he and Tanya were there to witness it all warmed him right down to his toes.
A sharp pang of regret rent him that his mother wasn’t there to witness this day too. But, unlike Mikolaj, his mother would have taken no joy from it. The opposite, in fact.
One look at Mikolaj’s beaming, proud face showed how much being there meant to him.
Alessandra had done that for him. Before he could consider what that actually meant, she kissed him, a kiss containing more than a hint of promise. That promise was reflected in her sparkling eyes.
The coldness that had remained within him since their visit to his mother suddenly lifted, pushed out by the desire this beautiful woman—his bride—elicited in him.
For a moment he was tempted to say, to hell with the reception, and whisk her straight off to his suite.
A knowing look played on her beautiful features, a look that said just a few more hours and I will be yours.
And she would be—his. Every inch of her.
* * *
A short time later they left the chapel, officially husband and wife.
Most of the non-Greek guests had brought confetti to throw over them, but Mikolaj and Tanya had come prepared, handing out paper cups full of rice to throw, as was the proper tradition in Greece.
Amidst howls of laughter, thousands of hard grains were chucked over them from every possible angle. Zayed and Stefan got hold of him and tipped a cupful down the back of his morning suit, rubbing them into his back for extra effect.
The Greek's Pregnant Bride Page 10
