Demetria looked away, relieved when Kristo escorted her from the palace. The balmy night air carried the salty tang of the sea and the spicy scent of jasmine and bougainvillea. But tension held her in its grip as the day’s events played over and over in her mind, leaving her chilled in spirit.
Lights from the various shops along the cliff cast swaths of color over the dark water, making it appear as if a rainbow of ribbons had been unfurled. But the spectacular vista afforded her failed to capture her interest as Kristo slid his arms around her and pulled her close.
Her world narrowed to him and her. She splayed her palms over his warm broad chest and the taut planes of muscle that she’d explored at leisure last night. It would be so easy to cuddle against him.
“I never realized you had such a large family,” she said. “That will take getting used to.”
“Those are the close ones. There are three times that many with distant cousins.” He nudged her chin up with his fingers, his eyes near black in the diffused light. Deep. Mysterious. “What of your family? All you’ve mentioned is your father and sister.”
For good reason! She was loath to admit she came from a dysfunctional family. “That’s about it. My father was an only child, and his parents are both dead,” she said. “My stepmother was adopted, and after she passed we never heard from her family again.”
“What of your mother’s people?”
“They disowned her, and subsequently me.”
“Because of the scandal?”
She nodded, feeling oddly relieved that she’d finally told someone about her past. It was a very bitter pill to swallow, knowing that your family wanted no part of you, even though you’d done nothing wrong.
“They are fools,” he said, and she smiled at the heat in his tone.
“My grandfather was of noble Greek blood, and his daughter’s actions were unforgivable. To know she’d given herself to an Italian, especially a married man, when she was betrothed to another noble Greek brought great shame on their family.”
“Yet they married her off to your father,” he said, proving he remembered the scandal.
“Father said that only my mother’s father attended the wedding,” she said. “After that day they never heard from her family again.”
“Even when your mother died?”
She shook her head. “Not a word. For to them she’d been dead for a year. As for me—Father suspected they believed I was the bastard child of her lover.”
But she wasn’t, and it shamed her to admit that there had been times when she’d wished it were so—that she was anyone’s daughter other than Sandros Andreou’s.
“It is unfathomable that they’ve never been a presence in your life,” he said.
“Well, I was told that my grandfather left a trust fund for me. But I can’t touch it until I marry and produce an heir.” She grimaced. “A Greek heir.”
“Yes, very traditional.”
She didn’t bother to add that she didn’t want her grandfather’s money. He hadn’t wanted her when she was a child in need of love. He was not welcome in her life now.
Kristo’s beautiful mouth pulled into a tight, disagreeable line again. “Did you know that a wedding invitation has been sent to them?”
“No. But then I was never consulted about the guest list,” she said, wanting to be angry at him over this slight, but simply not finding the energy to fight it any longer. “I know. Protocol demands that you invite them.”
He made a gruff sound and nudged her chin up, eyes glittering with an emotion she’d not seen before. “Very true. But remember one thing, agapi mou. After we are married, they will bow to you.”
“I don’t care if they do,” she said.
“I do,” he said, pressing a fierce kiss on her mouth that stunned as well as warmed her. “You’ll be my Queen, and as such you’ll command respect.”
She managed a small smile, knowing he’d never understand that respect was the last thing she wanted.
Love.
That was what she wanted most from him.
“Do you know you’ve never told me about your childhood or your mother?” she said, hoping he would now.
He heaved a sigh and pulled her down beside him on a bench. “It wasn’t a typical childhood, but it was all we knew. Mother was busy with her duties, and so was Father, so we were basically raised by nannies.”
“I can imagine you giving them a merry chase in this huge palace,” she said.
He laughed, the sound so rare she just stared at him. “We were boisterous when we were young, with all the energy boys can hold, but after Gregor turned eight he was pretty much segregated from us.”
“Why?”
“He was the Crown Prince,” he said, as if that explained it all. “Father made sure that his duties were pounded into him. So for the most part it was just Mikhael and me.”
How sad that Gregor had lost that closeness with his siblings, that he’d been denied a childhood because of the order of his birth. “So what was it like growing up here for you and your younger brother?”
“I wanted for nothing, and neither did Mikhael. We had a huge playroom to ourselves, and a nanny who fussed after us. When I turned eight I was sent away to boarding school in Greece,” he said.
And she thought she’d had a wretched childhood! “That’s too young to be sent away! And, while I can understand the need for a nanny, what of your parents? What role did they play in your life?”
He shrugged, an abrupt movement that screamed of pent-up tension. This was not a subject he cared to discuss!
“My parents were the King and Queen,” he said. “We didn’t have a close relationship with our parents. They were simply too busy for that.”
“People who are too busy with their own lives shouldn’t have children.”
He was silent for a long moment. “You’d give up your career or duty for your family?”
“Yes! Children need to know that their parents love them, support them, in order to thrive,” she said.
“How can you say that after you’ve admitted that you were little more than your stepmother’s helper? That your father was so greedy that he used you, his daughter, to further himself?”
She reeled back, stung by the venom in his tone. It would be easy to cave in. To leave him to his delusions. But pride refused to turn a blind eye to his assumptions.
“My father is many things—brutal, greedy and at times obnoxiously loud—but I never doubted he loved me, that he believed he was doing the best for me by securing my marriage to the Crown Prince,” she said.
He snorted, as if discounting her words as nothing. “And your sister’s mother? Would you have me believe that she treated you the same as her own flesh and blood?”
“Believe what you will,” she said. “The truth is that she was the one who taught me to sew, who nurtured my feeble attempts to create something by myself. Because of her encouragement when I was young, and her praise when I succeeded, I rushed through my studies at university to begin my career, well aware that time was short before I’d be forced to honor my duty to your crown.”
His fingers entwined with hers, and for the first time she didn’t feel any jolt of passion. Instead of that sizzle of desire she’d come to dread and crave in turn, she felt incredibly sad that he’d never experienced the love she had.
“You put too much stock in love,” he said.
“And you put none in it.”
He didn’t deny it, and that made her heart ache all the more for him. For a brief moment she glimpsed the little boy who’d craved affection. Then in a blink he reverted to the arrogant man who denied the need for love.
“It’s been a very long day,” he said, and rose, dragging her up as well. “It’s time we returned to the palace.”
And bed? She assumed so as he led her to the palace in silence. Each step closer made her dread the night more, for though she longed to make love with him she knew she’d never win his heart.
At the door to her suite, he nudged her chin up and pressed an achingly tender kiss on her lips that brought tears to her eyes. “Get some rest, Demetria. The next few days will be hectic.”
Then he turned and walked away. She stood there a moment, torn between letting him go and calling out to him, calling him back to her arms, to her bed.
She choked back a sob. Swiped trembling hands over her now wet cheeks, and stepped inside her lonely suite.
Love shouldn’t hurt like this.
Demetria didn’t see Kristo at all the next week. The following Saturday, the day that was to have been their wedding, was the funeral for Prince Gregor.
Like everything else Greek, the ceremony was laden with ritual and seemed endless. Demetria, wearing a black cashmere Donna Karan sheath, sat beside Kristo, who was resplendent in a black suit, black shirt and tie, with the royal sash stretched across his broad chest.
He was regal and unapproachable.
By the time the service was over and Prince Gregor had been buried in the royal family plot, she was exhausted in body and spirit. Still, she was obliged to stay until the guests left. Until the palace grew quiet.
Kristo had disappeared again, likely dealing with more state business, more duty that required his immediate attention. Her father and her unusually sedate sister had also left, so she had nobody to talk to. No one to share her thoughts with.
But, considering how troubled they were, perhaps that was for the best too.
She sought out her room, to get a few moments’ peace and quiet. But she found little serenity there either.
The palace gardens were still in a state of half-readiness for the wedding. Her ivory gown hung on the form out of the light, ready for her to step into it. But when would that be?
The Royal House of Stanrakis would be in mourning for thirty days. A month to grieve. To wait to marry.
She didn’t look forward to biding her time in the palace, where she’d have absolutely nothing to do. She wouldn’t have any official duties until she married. It would be the longest month of her life.
Her door opened and Kristo strode in—tall, handsome and still formidable. But at least he’d come to her. At least now they could have some private time together.
“I trust you don’t mind that I returned here to my suite?” she said. “I would have told you myself, but I didn’t know where you’d gone.”
“I had pressing business to attend to.”
“That’s what I thought.” Tension pulsed between them, leaving her more unsettled than before. “Is something wrong?” The resolute expression planted on his handsome face filled her with alarm.
“I’ve given this much thought. There is no reason for you to stay in residence through the period of mourning.”
She stared at him, unable to believe he was sending her away. “You want me to leave Angyra for a month?”
He loosed an impatient shrug. “This is a good time to reevaluate what we have here.”
“What?”
“You said it yourself. You want to marry for love.” He stalked to the French doors and stared out, his expression brooding. “Of course if you’re with child we will proceed with the wedding.”
“What about the betrothal contract?”
“As King, I can alter such things.”
She dropped onto the nearest chair, knowing her shaky legs wouldn’t support her another moment. “Are you saying you’ll only marry me now if I’m pregnant?”
He faced her then, and she’d never seen him look so remote. His lips pulled into a thin, disagreeable line. His magnetic eyes were closed to all emotion.
“There will be no bastards in the Royal House of Stanrakis.”
“Don’t you mean there will be no more bastards, for you are certainly acting the part now,” she lashed out, hurt that he really cared so little for her.
“Think what you will. Unless you carry my heir, we are free to walk away from each other now if we wish.”
If we wish… Her eyes and the back of her throat burned, for leaving him was the last thing she wanted to do. And yet pride wouldn’t let her plead her point.
He’d made his wishes clear. There was no love between them, just passion that would one day fade. Perhaps it already had. He would marry her only to legitimize an heir.
“If you leave today, you will be able to attend the Athens show.”
“Yes.” But the excitement that had once kept her awake at nights failed to materialize.
Her partner would have finished the designs. All would be in order, ready for the show. All except her.
How ironic that she’d once thought of nothing but pursuing that dream. Now that Kristo was letting her go, her heart simply wasn’t in it. Her heart belonged here, with Kristo. But telling him that would change nothing.
He didn’t love her.
He’d never love her.
“My jet will be ready to depart when you wish,” he said, again in a cold, dismissive manner. “You’ll let me know if you’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” she hissed, knowing that he’d likely have her watched, that she’d not be able to hide a child from him.
All the passion they’d shared was for naught. He’d likely begun to tire of her already, and without love there was nothing to keep them together. Nothing but duty. And he was willing to release her from that unless she was carrying his heir.
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry. She’d leave with her head high, pride intact. Heart shattered.
She lifted her chin and faked a calm she was far from feeling. “I’d like to leave within the hour.”
He gave a curt nod, his face wiped clean of emotion. “I’ll inform the pilot. Vasos will see you to the airport.”
“Thank you.” She bit her lip, thinking this was all too abrupt, too cruel.
He stared at her. His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered, setting off that low heat inside her again. She was sure he’d take her in his arms. That he’d give her a kiss that would blaze hot in her memory for the next month.
She hoped he’d at least tell her he’d miss her.
But he did neither.
King Kristo turned on his heel and strode from the room.
And in the awful quiet that settled around her she stopped trying to hold back the flood of burning tears.
Kristo sat in the dark in the royal office, a glass of ouzo in his hand and a half-empty bottle on the desk. For two days he’d racked his brain over his decision.
He’d rehearsed how to tell her.
He’d expected shocked surprise. A bit of anger, even. But he hadn’t thought she’d tremble like a leaf caught in the wind. Hadn’t thought those big eyes would swim with tears and hurt.
Seeing that had nearly toppled his resolve.
For a tense moment he’d struggled to regain control, fought the urge to drag her into his arms and give them both what they wanted. Sex.
Ah, but that was the problem, not the solution.
She wanted love.
He wanted sex.
There was no middle ground. No way this could ever be resolved unless she settled for his terms of marriage.
And that realization was what had finally gotten through to him. If he forced her to marry him he’d ultimately crush her spirit. She’d come to resent him for what he’d taken from her. What he could never give her.
Yes, this separation would do them both good. She could delve into the work she longed to pursue, and he would systematically purge this unacceptable craving for her from his system.
He’d done the right thing by letting her go.
So why the hell did he feel as if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life?
CHAPTER TWELVE
SIX weeks later, Demetria sat at the drafting table in her flat in Athens. The show had been a success—so much so that she’d been invited to participate in an exclusive exhibition in London next week.
But the creativity that had never failed her before had yet to resurrect itself. Nothing n
ew had come to mind. Nothing even remotely innovative.
No, all her thoughts centered around Kristo. Over a month had passed and he’d yet to contact her. News out of Angyra had been ominously absent since Gregor’s funeral.
Not so the paparazzi. They hounded her every move, robbing her of sleep and keeping her on edge. She’d become a prisoner in her own flat, for she couldn’t keep ignoring their questions. Had Kristo set a new date for the wedding? Had she spoken with him? Was the wedding off? Whose decision had it been to cancel it? Had Kristo tired of her? Had she jilted the King of Angyra for her career as a designer?
On and on the questions would go, until she wanted to crawl in a hole and hide forever. Which was pretty much what she’d done. Stayed in her flat and moped.
“You can’t go on like this,” her partner Yannis said, his thin face showing grave concern. “Phone him.”
Her fingers tightened around her pencil, her insides clenching with the misery that just wouldn’t let go. “I did yesterday morning, but the line was busy.”
Always busy. For the same thing had happened the day before. And the day before that.
She refused to leave a message informing Kristo that she was pregnant. That she was carrying the royal baby in her womb. That he’d be obliged to marry her now.
So she’d abruptly hung up—for what else could she say except that she was miserable? That she missed him dreadfully?
Pride wouldn’t let her do that.
“I was thinking that your name should be on our label instead of mine,” she said.
“Changing the subject will not make it go away,” said Yannis.
Damn him for being right, for knowing her so well. “I’m serious. I feel guilty that you didn’t get the credit you deserved at the show.”
He spread his arms wide. “My time will come.”
“Soon, I would wager.”
She glanced at the new garments he’d designed, in awe of his originality.
Now was her chance to shine. What she’d always wanted was in her grasp. But all she could think of was Kristo. Of their baby. Of the loveless future that awaited them.
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