A Deal at the Altar

by Lynne Graham

‘Monty told me that you’re getting married,’ Emilia Blake recounted with a look of frank disbelief. ‘But I told him that you weren’t even seeing anyone.’

  Bee went pink. ‘I didn’t tell you but—’

  Her mother stared at her with wide, startled eyes. ‘My goodness, there is someone! But you only go out twice a week to your exercise classes—’

  Bee grimaced and reached for her mother’s frail hands. Not for anything would she have told the older woman any truth that might upset her. Indeed when it came to her mother’s peace of mind, Bee was more than ready to lie. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest with you. I do want you to be happy for me.’

  ‘So, obviously you weren’t at classes all those evenings,’ Emilia assumed in some amusement while she studied her blushing daughter with fond pride in her shadowed eyes. ‘I’m so pleased. Your father and I haven’t set you a very good example and I know you haven’t had the same choices as other girls your age—’

  ‘You still haven’t told me what my father was angry about,’ Bee cut in anxiously.

  ‘Some business deal he’s involved in with your future husband hasn’t gone the way he hoped,’ Emilia responded in a dismissive tone. ‘What on earth does he expect you to do about it? Take my advice, don’t get involved.’

  Dismayed by her explanation, Bee had tensed. ‘Exactly what did Dad say?’

  ‘You know how moody he can be when things don’t go his way. Tell me about Sergios—isn’t he the man you met at that dinner your father invited you to a couple of months ago?’

  ‘Yes.’ So, although the marriage was going ahead, it seemed that her father was not to profit as richly as he had expected from the deal. Clearly that was why the older man was angry, but Bee thought there was a rare justice to the news that her sacrifice was unlikely to enrich her father: threats did not deserve a reward.

  ‘My word, you’ve been having a genuine whirlwind romance,’ Emilia gathered with a blossoming smile of approval. ‘Are you sure that this Sergios is the man for you, Bee?’

  Bee recalled Sergios Demonides’s assurance that she would never again have to look to her father to support her mother. She remembered the fearless impact of those shrewd dark eyes and although she was apprehensive about the future she had signed up for she did believe that Sergios would stand by his word. ‘Yes, Mum. Yes, I’m sure.’

  Sergios phoned that evening to tell her that a member of his personal staff would be liaising with her over the wedding arrangements. He suggested that she hand in her notice immediately. His impatience came as a surprise when he had seemingly been content to wait several months before taking her sister Zara to the altar. He then followed that bombshell up with the news that he expected her to move to Greece after the wedding.

  ‘But you have a house here,’ Bee protested.

  ‘I will visit London regularly but Greece is my home.’

  ‘When you were planning to marry Zara—’

  ‘Stop there—you and I will reach our own arrangements,’ Sergios cut in deflatingly.

  ‘I don’t want to leave my mother alone in London.’

  ‘Your mother will accompany us to Greece—but only after we have enjoyed a suitable newly married period of togetherness. I have already issued instructions to have appropriate accommodation organised for her. Have you heard from your father yet?’

  In shock at the news that he was already making plans for her mother to accompany them to Greece, Bee was in a complete daze, her every expectation blown apart. On every issue he seemed to be one step ahead of her. ‘I believe he was annoyed about something when he was talking to my mother today,’ she admitted reluctantly.

  ‘Your father did not get the deal he wanted,’ Sergios informed her bluntly. ‘But that is nothing to do with you and so I told him on your behalf.’

  ‘Did you indeed?’ Bee questioned with a frown, her hackles rising at the increasingly authoritarian note in his explanations. Acting as chief spokesperson for the women in his life evidently came very naturally to Sergios. If she wasn’t careful to keep his controlling streak within bounds, Bee thought darkly, he would soon have her behaving with all the self-will of a glove puppet.

  ‘You are the woman I’m going to marry. It is not appropriate for your father to speak of either you or your mother with disrespect and I have warned him in that regard.’

  Bee’s blood ran cold in her veins, for she could picture the scene and the warning with Monty Blake raging recklessly and Sergios cold as ice and equally precise in his razor-sharp cutting edge. Her father was outspoken in temper but Sergios was altogether a more guarded and astute individual.

  ‘How soon can you move into my London house?’ Sergios pressed. ‘It would please me if you could make that move this week.’

  ‘This week?’ Bee exclaimed in dismay.

  ‘The wedding will be soon. I’m out of the country and the domestic staff are in charge of the children right now. If possible I would prefer you to be in the house while I’m away. If you’re concerned about your mother being alone, you need not be—I’ve already requested a live-in companion for her from a vetted source.’

  Bee came off the phone feeling unusually harassed as she accepted that regardless of how she felt about it, her life was about to be turned upside down. Although she could not fault Sergios for his wish that she become involved with the children as soon as possible, she felt very much like an employee having her extensive duties listed and held over her head. As she had already told her mother about the three orphaned kids in Sergios’s life, Emilia Blake was quick to understand her daughter’s position.

  ‘You really must put Sergios and those children first, Bee,’ the older woman instructed worriedly. ‘You mustn’t make me more of a burden than I already am. I’ll manage, I always have.’

  Bee gently squeezed her parent’s shoulder. ‘You’ve never been a burden to me.’

  ‘Sergios expects to come first and that’s normal for a man who wants to marry you,’ Emilia told her daughter. ‘Don’t let me become a bone of contention between you.’

  Having drawn up innumerable lists and tendered her letter of resignation, for it was the last day of the spring term, Bee attended her evening pole exercise class and worked up a sweat while she tried not to fret about the many things that she still had to do. The list grew even longer after a visit from Annabel, the glossily efficient PA Sergios had put in charge of the wedding.

  ‘I’m to have a consultation with a personal stylist and shopper?’ Bee repeated weakly, staring down at the heavy schedule of appointments already set up for her over the Easter break that began that weekend. As well as a consultation with an upmarket legal firm concerning the pre-nuptial agreement, there was a day-long booking at a famous beauty salon. ‘That’s ridiculous. That’s got nothing to do with the wedding.’

  ‘Mr Demonides gave me my instructions,’ Annabel told her in a steely tone.

  Bee swallowed hard and compressed her lips. She would argue her case directly with Sergios. Possibly he thought a makeover was every woman’s dream but Bee felt deeply insulted by the proposition. Her mother’s new live-in companion/carer arrived that same evening and Bee chatted to her and helped her to settle in before she packed her own case ready for her move into Sergios’s house the next morning.

  When she arrived there she was shown upstairs into a palatial bedroom suite furnished with every possible necessity and luxury, right down to headed notepaper on a dainty feminine desk. The household seemed to operate just like an exclusive hotel. A maid came to the door to offer to unpack for her. Overcoming her discomfort at the prospect of being waited on by the staff, Bee smiled in determined agreement and went off to find the children instead.

  Only Eleni, the youngest, however, was at home. Paris was at school and Milo was at a play group, the nanny explained. A ro
ta of three nannies looked after the children round the clock. Bee found out what she needed to know about the children’s basic routine and got down on her knees on the nursery carpet to play with Eleni. Initially when she was close by and utilised eye contact the little girl was more responsive but her attention was hard to hold. When the wind caught the door and it slammed shut Bee flinched from the loud noise but noted in surprise that Eleni did not react at all.

  ‘Has her hearing been checked?’ Bee asked with a frown.

  The newly qualified nanny, who had replaced someone else and only recently, had no idea. During the preceding months the children had suffered several changes in that line and had enjoyed little continuity of care. Having tracked down the children’s health record booklets and drawn another blank, Bee finally phoned the medical practice to enquire. She discovered that Eleni had missed out on a standard hearing check-up a couple of months earlier and she made a fresh appointment for the child. When she returned to the nursery the nanny was engaged in conducting her own basic tests and even to the untrained eye it did seem as though the little girl might have a problem with her hearing.

  Milo, who was indiscriminately affectionate with almost everybody, greeted her as though they were long-lost friends. She was reading a picture book to the little boy as he dropped off for a nap when Paris appeared in the nursery doorway and frowned at the sight of her with his little brother.

  ‘Are you looking after us now?’ Paris asked thinly.

  ‘For some of the time. You won’t need so many nannies because I’ll be living here from now on. Sergios and I will be getting married in a few weeks.’ Bee explained, striving to sound much calmer than she actually felt about that event.

  Paris shot her a resentful glance and walked past into his own room, carefully shutting the door behind him to underline his desire for privacy. Resolving to respect his wishes until she had visited his school and met his teacher, Bee suppressed a rueful sigh. She was a stranger. What more could she expect? Establishing a relationship with children who had lost their parents, their home and everything familiar only months before would take time and a good deal of trust on their part and she had to hope that Sergios was prepared for the reality that only time would improve the situation.

  Forty-eight hours later, it was a novelty for Sergios to return to a house with a woman in residence and not worry about what awaited him. He could still vividly remember when he had never known what might be in store for him when he entered his own home. That experience had left him with an unshakable need to conserve his own space. Bee didn’t count, he told himself irritably, she was here for the kids, not for him personally and she would soon learn to respect his privacy. He was taken aback, however, when his housekeeper informed him that Bee had gone out. He was even less impressed when he rang her cell phone and she admitted that she was travelling back on public transport.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you back this soon…I was visiting my mother,’ she told him defensively.

  When Bee finally walked back into the mansion, she was flushed and breathless from walking very fast from the bus stop and thoroughly resentful of the censorious tone Sergios had used with her on the phone. Didn’t he think she had a right to go out? Was she supposed to ask for permission first? Was her life to be entirely consumed by his? Heavy dark brown hair flopping untidily round her face, she stepped into the echoing hall.

  Sergios appeared in a doorway and she lost her breath at that first glimpse, his impact thrumming through her like a sudden collision with a brick wall. He was still dressed in a black business suit and striped shirt, his only hint of informality the loosening of his tie. He looked like an angry dark angel, lean strong features taut, stubborn jaw line squared and once again he needed a shave. Stubble suited him though, sending his raw masculine sex appeal right off the charts, she conceded numbly, reeling in shock from the sudden loud thump of her heartbeat in her ears and the dryness of her mouth.

  Sergios subjected his flustered bride-to-be to a hard scrutiny. From her chaotic hair to her ill-fitting jeans she was a mess. He realised that he was eager for the makeover to commence. ‘I gave orders that if you went out you were to use a car and driver,’ he reminded her flatly.

  Bee reacted with a pained look. ‘A bit much for a girl used to travelling by bus and tube.’

  ‘But you are no longer that girl. You are the woman who is to become my wife,’ Sergios retorted crisply. ‘And I expect you to adapt accordingly. I am a wealthy man and you could be targeted by a mugger or even a kidnapper. Personal security must now become an integral part of your lifestyle.’

  The reference to kidnapping cooled the heated words on Bee’s ready tongue and, although she had stiffened, she nodded her head. ‘I’ll remember that in future.’

  Satisfied, Sergios spread wide the door behind him. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Yes, we do need to talk,’ Bee allowed, although in truth she wanted to run upstairs to her bedroom and stay there until her adolescent hormonal reaction to him died a natural death and stopped embarrassing her. Her face felt hot as a fire. It had been such a long time since a man had had that effect on her. When it had happened in his office she had assumed it was simply the effect of nerves and mortification but this time around she was less naive and ready to be honest with herself. As a physical specimen, Sergios Demonides was without parallel. He was absolutely gorgeous and few women would be impervious to his powerful attraction. That was all it was, she told herself urgently as she walked past him, her head held high, into a room furnished like an upmarket office. He had buckets of lethal sex appeal and all her body was telling her was that she had a healthy set of hormones. It was that simple, that basic, nothing to fret about. It certainly did not mean that she was genuinely attracted to him.

  Sergios asked Bee about the children and she relaxed a little, telling him that Eleni had performed very poorly at her hearing test and the doctor suspected that she was suffering from glue ear. The toddler was to be examined by a consultant with a view to receiving treatment. Bee went on to talk about the picture that Paris had drawn on his bedroom wall. She considered his depiction of his once-happy family complete with parents and home to be self-explanatory. He had no photos of his late parents and Bee asked Sergios if there was a reason for that.

  ‘I thought it would be less upsetting that way—he has to move on.’

  ‘I think Paris needs the time to grieve and that family photos would help,’ Bee pronounced with care.

  ‘I put his parents’ personal effects into storage. I’ll have them checked for photo albums,’ Sergios proffered, surprising her by accepting her opinion.

  ‘I think that all that is wrong is that the children have endured too many changes in a short space of time. They need a settled home life.’

  Sergios expelled his breath with a slight hiss, his expression grim. ‘I’ve done my best but clearly it wasn’t good enough. I know nothing about children. I don’t even know how to talk to them.’

  ‘The same way you talk to anyone else—with interest and kindness.’

  A grudging smile played at the corners of his sardonic mouth. ‘Not my style. I’m more into barking orders, Beatriz.’

  ‘Call me Bee…everyone does.’

  ‘No, Bee makes you sound like a maiden aunt. Beatriz is pretty.’

  Bee almost winced at that opinion. ‘But I’m not.’

  ‘Give the beauty professionals a chance,’ Sergios advised without hesitation.

  At that advice, Bee took an offended stance, her spine very straight, her chin lifting. ‘Actually that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.’

  With veiled attention, Sergios watched the buttons pull on her shirt, struggling to contain the full globes of her breasts. He wanted to rip open the shirt and release that luscious flesh from captivity into his hands. More than a comfortable hand
ful, he reckoned hungrily, his body hardening. Startled by the imagery, he decided that he had to be in dire need of sexual fulfilment. Clearly he had waited too long to release his desire. He did not want to look on his future wife in that light.

  Lost in her own thoughts, Bee breathed in deep and spoke with the abruptness of discomfiture. ‘I don’t want a makeover. I’m happy as I am. Take me or leave me.’

  Sergios was not amused by that invitation. His clever dark eyes rested on her uneasy face. ‘You must appreciate that when it comes to your appearance a certain amount of effort is required. Right now, you’re making no effort at all.’

  Incensed by that critical and wounding statement, Bee threw her slim shoulders back. ‘I’m not going to change myself to conform to some outdated sexist code.’

  Sergios released an impatient groan. ‘Leave the feminism out of it. What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you care about your appearance?’

  ‘There’s nothing the matter with me,’ Bee answered with spirit. ‘I’m just comfortable with myself as I am.’

  ‘But I’m not. I expect you to smarten up as part of the job.’

  ‘That’s too personal a request…beyond your remit,’ Bee spelt out in case he hadn’t yet got the message. ‘I have already given up my home, my job…surely how I choose to look is my business.’

  His brilliant dark eyes flamed gold, dense black lashes lowering over them to enhance the flash-fire effect. ‘Not if you want to marry me, it’s not.’

  Bee flung her head back, glossy chestnut strands trailing across her shoulders, an angry flush across her cheekbones. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it? I find you unreasonable. It’s normal for a woman to take pride in her appearance. What happened to you that made you lose all interest?’ Sergios demanded starkly.

  The silence hummed like a buzz saw against Bee’s suddenly exposed nerves. She very nearly flinched, for that incisive question had cut deep and hit home hard. There had been a time when Bee had taken great interest in her personal appearance and had chosen her clothes with equal care. But it was not a period she cared to recall. ‘I don’t want to talk about this. It’s absolutely none of your business.’