by Lynne Graham
‘The makeover is not negotiable. There will be public occasions when I expect you to appear by my side. There is no longer any excuse for you to go around in unflattering clothes with your hair in a mess,’ Sergios asserted with derisive cool.
Rage surged up through Bee like lava seeking a vent. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’
‘I’m being honest with you. Come over here,’ Sergios urged, a firm hand at her elbow guiding her across to the mirror on the wall. ‘And tell me what you see…’
Forced to acknowledge a reflection that displayed windblown hair, an old shirt and baggy jeans, Bee just wanted to slap him. Her teeth gritted. ‘It doesn’t matter what you say or what you want. I’m not having a makeover and that’s that!’
‘No makeover, no marriage,’ Sergios traded without a second of hesitation. ‘It’s part of the job and I will not compromise on my expectations.’
Trembling though she was with the force of her emotions, Bee slung him a look of loathing and lifted and dropped her hands in a gesture of finality. ‘Then there’ll be no marriage because we need to get one thing straight right now, Sergios—’
Sergios lifted a sardonic black brow. ‘Do we?’
‘You are not going to rule over me like this! You are not going to tell me what I do with my hair or what I should wear,’ Bee launched back furiously at him, green eyes pure and bright as emeralds in sunshine. ‘You’re a domineering guy but I won’t stand for that.’
Her magnificent bosom was heaving. Was he, at heart, a breast man? he suddenly wondered, questioning his preoccupation with those swelling mounds and seeking an excuse for his strange behaviour. Her eyes were astonishingly vivid in colour. Indeed she looked more attractive in the grip of temper than he had ever seen her but he would not tolerate defiance. ‘It is your choice, Beatriz,’ Sergios intoned coldly. ‘It has always been your choice. At this moment I am having second thoughts about marrying you because you are acting irrationally.’
Assailed by that charge, Bee quivered with sheer fury. ‘I’m being irrational?’ she raked back at him incredulously. ‘Explain that to me.’
His face set in forbidding lines, Sergios opened the door for her exit instead. ‘This discussion is at an end.’
Bee stalked up the stairs in a tempestuous rage. She had never stalked before and she had definitely never been so mad with anger but Sergios Demonides had made her see red. Rot the man, rot him to hell, she thought wildly. How dared he criticise her like that? How dared he ask what had happened to make her lose interest in her appearance? How dared he have that much insight into her actions?
For something traumatic had happened to Bee way back when she was madly in love with a man who had ultimately dumped her. That man had replaced her with a little ditsy blonde whose looks and shallow personality had mocked what Bee had once foolishly believed was a good solid relationship. After that devastating wake-up call, the fussing with hair, nails and make-up, not to mention the continual agonising over which outfits were most becoming, had begun to seem utterly superficial, pathetic and a total waste of time. After all, given a free choice Jon had gone for a woman as physically and mentally different from Bee as he could find. For months afterwards, Bee had despised herself for having slavishly followed the girlie code that insisted that a woman’s looks were of paramount importance to a man. That code had let her down badly for in spite of all her efforts she had still lost Jon and ever since then she had refused to fuss over her appearance and compete with the true beauties of the world.
And why should she turn herself inside out for Sergios Demonides? He was just like every other man she had met from her father to Jon. Sergios might have briefly flattered her by telling her that she was a loyal daughter and a gifted teacher, but regardless of those qualities he was still judging her by her looks and ready to dump her for failing to meet his standards of feminine beauty. Well, that didn’t matter to her, did it?
No, but it would certainly matter to her mother, a little voice chimed up quellingly at the back of Bee’s brain and she froze in consternation, recalled to reality with a vengeance by that acknowledgement. If Bee backed out of the marriage, Emilia Blake would most probably lose her home, for Bee was convinced that her angry father would try to punish Bee for his failure to get the price he wanted for the Royale hotel group. Monty Blake was that sort of a man. He always needed someone else to blame for his mistakes and losses and Bee and her mother would provide easy targets for his ire.
And if Bee didn’t marry Sergios, Paris, Milo and Eleni would suffer yet another adult betrayal. Bee had encouraged the children to bond with her, had announced that she was marrying Sergios and had promised to stay with them. Paris had looked unimpressed but Bee had guessed that he wanted her to prove herself before he took the risk of trusting her. Her sister Zara had already let those children down by winning their acceptance and then vanishing from their lives when she realised that she couldn’t go through with marrying their guardian because she had fallen for another man. Was Bee willing to behave in an equally self-centred fashion?
All over the prospect of a visit to a beauty salon and some shopping trips? Wasn’t walking out on Sergios because of such trivial activities a case of overkill? He had too much insight though, she acknowledged unhappily. When he had asked her what had happened to her to make her so uninterested in her appearance he had unnerved her and hurt her pride. That was why she had lost her head. He had mortified her when he marched her over to that mirror and forced her to see herself through his eyes. And unhappily Bee had not liked what she saw either. She had seen that her hair needed a decent cut and her wardrobe required an urgent overhaul and that she was being thoroughly unreasonable when she expected a man of his sophistication and faultless grooming to accept her in her current au naturel state.
Bee tidied her hair before descending the stairs at a much more decorous pace than she had raced up them. A mutinous expression tensing her oval face, she lifted a hand as if she was about to knock on the door and then she thought better of the gesture and simply walked back unannounced into his home office.
Sergios was at his desk working on his laptop. His head lifted and glittering dark eyes lit on her, his expression hard and unwelcoming.
It took near physical force for Bee to rise above her hurt pride and part her lips to say, ‘All right, I’ll do it…the makeover thing.’
‘What changed your mind?’ Sergios pressed impassively, his expression not softening in the slightest at her capitulation.
‘My mother’s needs…the children’s,’ she admitted truthfully. ‘I can’t walk out on my responsibilities like that.’
His hard cynical mouth twisted. ‘People do it every day.’
Bee stood a little straighter. ‘But I don’t.’
Sergios pushed away his laptop and rose fluidly upright, astonishingly graceful for a man of his height and powerful build. ‘Don’t fight me,’ he told her huskily. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘But you don’t always know best.’
‘There are more subtle approaches.’ He offered her a drink and she accepted, hovering awkwardly by his desk while she cradled a glass of wine that she didn’t really want.
‘I’m not sure I do subtle,’ Bee confided.
He was suddenly as remote as the Andes. ‘You’ll learn. I won’t be easy to live with.’
And for the first time as she tipped the glass to her lips and tasted an expensive wine as smooth and silky as satin, Bee wondered about Melita. Was he different with his mistress? Was she blonde or brunette? How long had she been in his life? Where did she live? How often did he see her? The torrent of questions blazing a mortifying trail through her head made her redden as she attempted to suppress that flood of unwelcome curiosity. It was none of her business and she didn’t care what he did, she told herself squarely. She was to be his wife in nam
e only, nothing more.
‘We will drink to our wedding,’ Sergios murmured lazily.
‘And a better understanding?’ Bee completed.
Sergios dealt her a dark appraisal. ‘We don’t need to understand each other. We won’t need to spend that much time together. After a while we won’t even have to occupy the same house at the same time…’
Chilled to the marrow by that prediction, Bee drank her wine and set the glass down on the desk. ‘Goodnight, then,’ she told him prosaically.
And as she climbed the stairs she wondered why she should feel lonelier than she had ever felt in her life before. After all, had she expected Sergios to offer her his company and support? Was he not even prepared to share parenting responsibilities with her? It seemed that in his head the parameters of their relationship were already set in stone: he didn’t love her, didn’t desire her and, in short, didn’t need her except as a mother to the children. Being his wife really would be a job more than anything else…
CHAPTER FOUR
BEE stepped out of the spacious changing cubicle and up onto the dais to get the best possible view of her wedding dress in the mirrored walls of the showroom.
Although it galled her to admit it, Sergios had done astonishingly well. She had had a sharp exchange of words with him when he had startled her with the news that he had actually selected a gown for her.
‘What on earth were you thinking of?’ Bee had demanded on the phone. ‘A woman looks forward to choosing her wedding dress.’
‘I was at a fashion show in Milan and the model came down the catwalk in it and I knew immediately that it was your dress,’ Sergios had drawled with immense assurance.
She had wanted to ask him whom he had accompanied to the fashion show, for she did not believe that he had attended one alone, but she had swallowed back the nosy question. Ignorance, she had decided, was safer than too much information in that department. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, she told herself staunchly, and not that she was in any danger of being hurt. She could not afford to develop silly notions or possessive feelings towards a man who would not even share a bed with her. Although he had offered, she reminded herself darkly, preferring to sacrifice himself if she decided that she could not live without sex rather than allow her to engage in an extra-marital affair.
Now she posed in the wedding gown Sergios had chosen for her, noting how the style showcased her voluptuous cleavage while emphasising her small waist. The neckline was lower than she liked but the fitted bodice definitely flattered her fuller figure. Apparently, Sergios hadn’t earned his notorious reputation with women without picking up some useful fashion tips along the way. Bee would have been the first to admit that her appearance had already undergone a major transformation. Her chestnut hair now curved in a sleek layered shoulder-length cut that framed her face, all the heaviness gone. Cosmetics had helped her rediscover her cheekbones and accentuate her best features while every inch of her from her manicured nails to her smooth skin had been waxed, polished and moisturised to as close to perfection as a mortal woman was capable of getting. The irony was that, far from feeling exploited or belittled by the beauty makeover, she was enjoying the energising feel of knowing she looked her very best.
In thirty-six hours it would be her wedding day, Bee acknowledged, breathing in deep and slow to steady her nerves. That afternoon she had a final appointment to sign the pre-nuptial agreement, which had already been explained to her in fine detail during her first visit to the upmarket legal firm employed by Sergios to protect her interests. Her mother’s long-term care was comprehensively covered, but she had had to request the right of regular access to the children in the event of their marriage breaking down. Bee was more concerned that Sergios might refuse that demand than she was by the fact that divorce would leave her a wealthy woman. The more time she spent with Paris, Milo and Eleni the more they felt like her children.
As Bee left the showroom, elegant in a grey striped dress and light jacket, a bodyguard was by her side and within the space of a minute a limousine was purring up to the kerb to pick her up. She was getting used to being spoilt, she registered guiltily, as she emerged again directly outside the lawyer’s plush offices. After only three weeks she was already forgetting what it was like to walk in the rain or queue for a bus.
She was seated in the reception area when she saw a familiar face and she was so shaken by the resulting jolt of recognition that she simply stared, her heartbeat thumping very loudly. It was her ex-boyfriend, Jon Townsend, and more than three years had passed since their last meeting. Now, without the smallest warning, there he was only ten feet away, smartly clad in a business suit and tie. He was slim, dark-haired and attractive, not particularly tall but still taller than she was. As she struggled to overcome her shock she wondered if perhaps he worked for the firm because he had just qualified in law when she first met him.
Jon turned his head and recognised her at almost the same moment as the receptionist invited her to go into Mr Smyth’s office. Blue eyes full of surprise, Jon crossed the foyer with a frown. ‘Bee?’ he queried as though he couldn’t quite believe that she was physically there in front of him.
‘Jon…sorry, I have an appointment,’ Bee responded, rising to her feet.
‘You look terrific,’ Jon told her warmly.
‘Thanks.’ Her smile was a mere stretch of her tense lips, for she had not forgotten the pain he had caused her and all her concentration was focused on retaining her dignity. ‘Do you work here?’
‘Yes, since last year. I’ll see you after your appointment and we’ll chat,’ Jon declared.
Her fake smile dimmed at that disconcerting prospect and she hastened into Halston Smyth’s office with a peculiar sense of both relief and anticipation. What could Jon possibly want to chat to her about? It might have happened three long years ago but he had ditched her, for goodness’ sake. Did they even have any old times to catch up on? Having lost contact with mutual friends after they broke up, she did not think so. He was married now—or at least so she had heard—might even have children, although when she had known him he had not been sure he wanted any. Of course he had been equally unsure he was the marrying kind until he had met Jenna, Bee’s little blonde bubbly replacement, the daughter of a high-court judge. A most useful connection for an ambitious young legal whiz-kid, her more cynical self had thought back then.
Mr Smyth ran through the pre-nup again while a more junior member of staff hovered attentively. On her first visit, Bee had realised that as the future wife of a billionaire she was considered big business and they were eager to please. As soon as she realised that her desire to retain contact with the children in the event of a divorce had been incorporated in the agreement, she relaxed. In spite of all the warnings to carefully consider what she was doing she signed on the dotted line while wondering how soon she could book physiotherapy sessions for her mother.
Mr Smyth escorted her all the way to the lift and at the last possible minute before the doors could close Jon stepped in to join her and her bodyguard.
‘There’s a wine bar round the corner,’ Jon informed her casually.
Her brow furrowed. ‘I’m not sure we have much to talk about.’
‘Well, I can’t physically persuade you to join me with a security man in tow,’ he quipped with a familiar grin.
‘Do you know this gentleman, Miss Blake?’ her bodyguard, Tom, asked, treating Jon to an openly suspicious appraisal.
Meeting Jon’s amused look, Bee almost giggled. ‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ she confirmed. ‘I can’t stay long, though.’
Curiosity had to be behind his request, Bee decided. After all, three years ago when Jon had been with her she had been a final-year student teacher from a fairly ordinary background. While her father might be wealthy, Bee had never enjoyed a personal allowance or, aside of
the occasional family invite, an entrée into Monty Blake’s exclusive world. Jon was most probably aware that she was on the brink of marrying one of the richest men in Europe and wondering how that had come about. She suppressed a rueful smile over the awareness that few people would believe the truth behind that particular development.
In the bar her bodyguard chose a seat nearby and talked on his phone. Jon ordered drinks and made light conversation. She remembered when his smile had made her tummy tighten and her heart beat a little faster and crushed the recollection.
‘Jenna and I got a divorce a couple of months ago,’ Jon volunteered wryly.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Bee said uncomfortably.
‘It was an infatuation.’ Jon pulled a rueful face. ‘I lived to regret leaving you.’
‘Never mind about that now. I don’t hold grudges,’ Bee interposed, feeling a shade awkward beneath the earnest onslaught of his blue eyes.
‘That’s pretty decent of you. Now let me get to the point of my invite and you are, of course, welcome to tell me that I’m a calculating so-and-so!’ Jon teased, extracting a leaflet from his pocket and passing it across the table to her. ‘I would be very grateful if you would consider becoming a patron for this charity. It does a lot of good work and could do with the support.’
Bee was taken aback, for the Jon she recalled had been too intent on climbing the career ladder to spend time raising money for good causes. Maturity, it seemed, had made him a more well-rounded person and she was impressed. He was a trustee for a charity for disabled children, similar to one she had volunteered with when she was a student. ‘I doubt that I could do much on a personal basis because I’ll be based in Greece after the wedding.’
‘As the wife of Sergios Demonides, your name alone would be sufficient to generate a higher profile for the organisation,’ Jon assured her with enthusiasm. ‘And if you were to decide to get more involved the occasional appearance at public events would be very welcome.’
