Rumors Behind the Greek's Wedding

by Pippa Roscoe

  He stifled the wicked sensual pull he felt, the desperate urge to taste more than the simple starter he had experienced the night before, to delve into everything she had to offer. None of which he could do, or even entertain the thought of. Bringing anything more into the precarious agreement they had could bring the whole thing crashing down about them. As if torn between reluctance and the desire to touch, he reached his arm out around her shoulders and drew her to him, the action soothing something within them both.

  ‘I mean it. You should be incredibly proud of what you’ve achieved. Yalena—’

  ‘Was only interested in me because of you,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Yalena,’ he pressed on, ‘wouldn’t have agreed to partner with you had it not been because you are worthy of it. She’s a great friend, but she wouldn’t even do that for me. You are the head of a company that has seen great success in the first three years because of the drive and determination you have brought to it and that should not be dismissed. You have a power that it pains me to see you don’t realise. And no one, not your father, nor some stupid ex who didn’t realise what he had before throwing it away, nor I can take that away. Only you can do that to yourself. And until you cast that aside, you won’t realise just how much more you can achieve.’

  As Célia felt the words settle about her, she began to feel it. The power that he had talked of, the pride that he had shown her through his eyes. It soothed, and it helped. But she couldn’t deny that she still felt...still felt that she wanted more. More from Loukis.

  ‘What happens now?’ she asked, her voice still a little shaky from emotion.

  ‘Now? Now I need to know how quickly you can plan an engagement party.’

  * * *

  Célia had laughed at the idea that an engagement party would distract the press enough from her notorious father’s identity. But the moment it was announced, they had behaved exactly how Loukis had promised they would.

  Célia felt a fresh wave of goosebumps crest across her skin. Not from the fresh sea-salt-laden air, but the nervousness for what was to come. Standing on the deck of the most luxurious yacht she’d ever seen, she couldn’t quite believe that all of this was for her. For them.

  The first guests were due to arrive any moment now and she felt poised on the brink of something she couldn’t put a name to. In the last week, since the night of the press furore, things had been...easier between her and Loukis. She had feared that sharing a bit of her past would disappoint him, or disgust him. But it had been freeing. A weight had lifted. Not all, but some of it. She had taken his words that night to heart. Allowed them to settle around her and drawn strength from them.

  She refused to turn for the sound of Loukis’s footsteps making their way towards where she stood at the balcony of the yacht, looking out over the port of Piraeus. The sun was hovering halfway between the zenith and the horizon, bright and still powerful even at this time in the afternoon.

  She was amazed that she didn’t flinch when she felt Loukis draw the silk scarf that had fallen into the crook of her arm upwards over her shoulder. All these little touches, the sheer proximity of him, sent a thrill through her, as if the power of them had built over the last few days. Something she had come to long for, as if the dizzying rush of adrenaline and desire had become addictive to her, and she just about managed to stop herself from leaning into him.

  She did flinch, however, when he drew her to his side, just as she’d wanted him to. Not because of him, no. She flinched as the electric starburst cascaded through her the moment the bare skin at her side met his forearm.

  Never before would she have dared to wear such a thing. But she had been unable to resist. The night of their conversation about her father, Loukis had made her realise how much she had buried in the last five years. It wasn’t just her relationship with her parents, but with herself. Her sense of self. And she wanted that back. Wanted to be the powerful, glorious woman Loukis told her he saw. So she had chosen the most daring of designs and colours. The rich Prussian blue of the material suited her and the high-waisted long maxi skirt was a dream, unfurling from her in smooth, silky waves every time she moved. But the cropped top that clung to her curves and an area of her stomach she wasn’t sure had seen the light of day for years had given her pause. Until she’d caught the way that Loukis had looked at her. Was, in fact, looking at her now.

  That alone sent a shocking thrill to her very core.

  ‘Annabelle is set up for an evening of junk food and films,’ he said, turning to look out on the horizon, breaking whatever sensual hold he had on her.

  ‘Did you tell her I said hi?’ she asked after she had navigated the sudden shift between them.

  ‘She’s rather attached to her new nickname.’

  Célia smiled.

  ‘Leya’s parents will bring her over to the island on the boat tomorrow and Tara will arrive just before the custody hearing.’

  Célia was curious about this island estate Loukis had told her they’d be going to after the party. Thankful that they’d finally be escaping the narrow-focused lens of the paparazzi after what felt like weeks of fighting headlines and photo opportunities, she heaved a sigh of relief tinged with excitement. And was also surprised to be looking forward to seeing Annabelle again. All of this had been with her shadow in the background. And once Loukis had seemed to take on board what she’d said about Meredith and his true motivations, he hadn’t relaxed, exactly, but had been refocused in a way. More determined to ensure Annabelle’s happiness. To a woman who had been so badly betrayed by her own father, it had touched her. Warmed her to Loukis, even when he was being his most autocratic.

  But her thoughts went back to the island that was somewhere out there in the sea before her. He had told her about it, about the private beach, about a bit of the architecture...but he hadn’t said anything about the bedrooms. About his room. And suddenly she couldn’t shake the thought of it. Of sharing a bed with him. Of exploring where those touches might lead. This evening, tonight, she’d be sharing a room with her fiancé.

  She wasn’t sure if Loukis was aware of the way his fingers traced the bare skin at her side. He certainly couldn’t know the chaotic thoughts it sent through her mind, the wants it sent through her body.

  The sounds of a car door closing cut through the background noise of the port, and they turned in unison to see Ella and Roman making their way down the red-carpeted gangplank with something a little like awe on Ella’s face, and easy acceptance on Roman’s dark features.

  Célia couldn’t tell if it was Ella or herself that had let out the little squeal of delight when they finally saw each other, both rushing forwards for a hug.

  From the corner of her eye, Célia saw the two men greet each other in the half-hug and back slap that had become internationally recognisable as the greeting of men.

  For a moment, her breath caught in her lungs. Both men looked as if they’d just stepped out of a fashion shoot. Impossibly tall, painfully handsome, Roman dressed in a dark linen suit and Loukis in one of a blue that echoed her own clothing’s colour, they were a sight to behold.

  ‘Loukis,’ Ella called across the deck. ‘You may have her for the rest of your life, but for this evening, she is mine,’ she mock taunted, with absolutely no idea of the effect her words had on Célia.

  Her gaze flew immediately to Loukis, who seemed in an instant to understand exactly what had caused a streak of lightning to burst through her in shock. All these weeks, everything they’d done had been to promote their fake engagement. But the people gathering this evening, friends and family and others...they expected a wedding. They believed in a future that Célia would never have. A love.

  * * *

  Ella had whisked Célia off and then more guests had arrived, slowly filling the beautiful wooden deck, so much so that he only seemed to catch glimpses of his beautiful fiancée through tailored suits and exquis
ite dresses. The jewellery on display could have made the stars jealous, as if every person there had known that they might appear in the next day’s newspapers.

  The interview with Hello! Greece had been a six-page spread with posed portraits in a rented apartment overlooking the Acropolis. He ensured that the focus was not on Célia’s father, but about what she had achieved, how she had wanted to do it herself without her father’s influence. The piece was positive and glowing and not because of him, but the genuine interest and excitement from the journalist. Since the article had come out more than twelve international business figures had contacted Chariton, causing Célia to remark that he had given her a bonus. The way she made it sound, as if his part of the ‘deal’ was done, had unaccountably caused a sense of dismay within him, resentment—he reluctantly admitted—at the reminder of their agreement.

  He caught another glimpse of her, with Yalena and Ella, the three women laughing together and it was a sight to behold. The moment he’d seen Célia he’d almost asked her to change. She was stunning in a way that made him want to keep her to himself. To hide her beauty, hoard it all for him. But saying that would reveal too much. Reveal just how much he was affected by the sensual torment he had ignited the first time he had touched her in the restaurant.

  By the bar he saw Iannis and Roman and was just about to join them when another car drew up to the yacht’s gangplank. They had been due to set sail at any moment, so he turned to greet the latecomers, ready—along with the staff—to hurry them onto the deck before the departure when he stopped midstride, shock and fury turning him rigid.

  He purposefully released the clench in his jaw, aware that any slight reaction would draw the gazes of the guests. He could almost feel the shutters on cameras clicking through a hundred photos as if the press had expected this moment, wanted it even.

  Meredith walked onto the deck of the yacht like a queen ready to receive her due. In her wake followed a large, round, red-cheeked man improbably wearing a Stetson, grinning as if he was genuinely in ignorance of the horror show this was about to descend into.

  Loukis couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t know what game Meredith was playing, he certainly knew that she hadn’t been on the invite list, but he could hardly kick her off the boat, much as he wanted to, as the gangplank was rolled away and the ship’s captain sounded the horn to announce their departure from the dock.

  His mother’s gaze found his and for a moment, just the barest of seconds, he couldn’t quite decipher the look that crossed her features, before it was schooled in that same plastic fakery he was used to seeing splashed across the headlines that had decried her infidelity all those years ago.

  She made straight for him. Unsurprising, since she had never seemed to shy from a fight with his father.

  ‘Darling,’ she called to him, drawing a few curious glances from those about him who knew about their precarious relationship. She placed a red-taloned finger on his forearm and leaned in for air kisses two inches from either cheek.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he growled, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear.

  ‘I came to wish my son all the happiness in the world for his engagement,’ she said loudly enough for others to hear and in a tone that completely ignored the hostility rising from him in waves. ‘Let me introduce Byron Fairchild.’

  ‘Nice to meetcha,’ he said, his Texan drawl so strong the last two words rolled into one and sounded vaguely like a south American cocktail.

  He felt the man’s beefy hand encase his, and Loukis searched the man’s features for something other than genuine delight. Had Meredith not told him anything? ‘What a gal you’ve got here,’ he said, casting his gaze around the deck, clearly speaking of the yacht, rather than Célia, who Loukis suddenly wanted to protect, to hide from his mother’s piercing gaze as she, too, searched the boat with an equally assessing gaze.

  ‘As is our Annabelle. She’s such a sweetheart,’ Byron said without awareness of how his use of our cut through Loukis like a knife.

  Loukis felt a lurch in his stomach, from the propulsion of the yacht’s engine or the reaction to his mother’s presence, he couldn’t tell. It had been three years since Meredith had deposited his sister on his doorstep. And before that? Fifteen years since the night she’d promised to come back for him, promised to take him with her. But then he’d heard the argument between his parents. Heard his father offer to pay her an obscene amount to leave Loukis with him. He’d been so sure she would refuse. So sure that she would be outraged and furious. But she’d agreed. And Loukis had never seen her again.

  ‘It’s been too long, darling.’

  Not long enough had been on the tip of his tongue, when he felt an arm at his back, lending him strength and levelling him in the moment. Had she somehow sensed that he would need this?

  ‘Hello,’ Célia said, reaching out her free hand to greet Meredith, whose practised smile turned positively feline.

  ‘So you are the one who has tamed the notorious playboy.’

  It was a phrase he knew that Célia had both heard and read many times, but to hear it from his mother, it cut him deep. Célia was so much more than that.

  ‘Célia d’Argent, Meredith...forgive me, I don’t know which name you’re going under these days. It wouldn’t still be Liordis,’ he said, the bitter humour lacing his tone enough to make both women momentarily pause. ‘And you never much seemed to care for your maiden name. Are you back to being Meredith Leda, or—’

  ‘Timone,’ she interrupted, clearly not caring for his words. ‘I’m going by Timone.’

  ‘But soon to be Fairchild, yeah?’ the brash Texan said, shouldering Meredith in a way that she must have been braced for otherwise she would have been sent flying. Loukis happily caught the flare of frustration before Meredith schooled her features and hooked her arm around her fiancé’s.

  ‘Just think, the two of us, engaged and on the brink of such happiness,’ Meredith said, not looking so much at Byron, but between Célia and Loukis.

  He genuinely couldn’t tell whether her engagement with Fairchild was as fake as his own, but whether Byron himself knew that or not was another matter. As the large man engaged Célia in a conversation, he finally turned to take in his mother.

  Her hair was still the same brilliant blonde he remembered from his childhood—whether by artifice or nature, he couldn’t tell. Faint lines around her eyes had escaped the pull of Botox he was sure had been used liberally across features that felt so devastatingly familiar. Seeing her in person was so much more...affecting than on the front page.

  ‘Meredith—’

  ‘Where is Annabelle?’ she asked, looking around as if she might be there.

  ‘Not here,’ he replied, viciously enjoying the look of frustration on her features. ‘Why are you?’ he demanded again.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about dropping the custody case.’

  He scoffed. Loud and low and he could have sworn he saw her flinch, but instead he believed the avarice he saw glinting in her eyes.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘How much what?’ she asked, her artificial confusion grating against the frayed edge of his nerves.

  ‘How much would it take to walk away? Five million. Ten?’ His tone spoke of boredom, all the while his pulse raged in his chest as she finally revealed her true intentions. He knew that this would be the way he could finally get rid of her. Because he would pay. He would pay whatever price she—

  ‘I don’t want your money, Loukis.’

  ‘You don’t need to play this game with me, Meredith. I know how this works, remember? I’ve been here before. What was it again? Twenty million for the divorce, and an extra ten if you left me behind?’

  ‘Is that what this is about? You want to punish me?’

  ‘No.’ Although his inner voice cried liar. Loukis kept his voice low and his words lethal.
‘I will not allow you to hurt Annabelle. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that she stays with me, safely and happily, because I love her and want the best for her.’

  ‘Then you will understand that I will do the same. Because I do love her, Loukis.’

  You just don’t love me, he raged silently, cursing his own weakness.

  She nodded to herself and turned, searching her fiancé out amongst the crowd from where Célia had guided him, summoning him to her as if by some previously agreed signal.

  ‘We’ll be leaving now.’

  ‘We’re in the middle of the damn sea, Meredith. But I should not be surprised to find that you already had your escape route planned. Leaving is something you are clearly very good at.’

  She resisted the barbed comment, and as she waited for Byron, she took in Célia as well. Loukis felt even more alert, poised, ready to defend what was his against his own mother.

  ‘I’m pleased at least that you have her. The way you look at her...’ Meredith trailed off. ‘Was more than I ever looked at your father. But I do mean it. I want Annabelle with me and I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back.’

  And on that cryptic note, she drew Byron away towards the back of the yacht, where he could see a smaller speedboat had slunk through the barrage of press boats following in their wake, up behind the yacht, and was being frantically moored out of the way of the jet stream of the engine.

  Célia looked up at him, the concern clear in her face, and he couldn’t help himself. He needed it, he needed her. His lips crashed down on hers, shocking them both, each feeding off the adrenaline, drawing strength and more from the heady impact of the kiss.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DUSK HAD FALLEN, casting the sea about them in an inky darkness that was pierced by the bright lights strung overhead. The deck was still full of guests, though the staff weaving through them with silver trays of champagne and canapés had lessened in the last hour as Célia and Loukis’s departure grew closer.