Dedicated bachelors Rocco Mondelli, Christian Markos, Stefan Bianco and Zayed Al Afzal met and bonded at university, wreaking havoc amongst the female population. In the decade since graduating they’ve made their mark on the worlds of business and pleasure, becoming wealthy and powerful.

Marriage has never been something Rocco, Christian, Stefan or Zayed were ever after… But things change, and now they’ll have to do whatever it takes to get themselves to the church on time!

Yet nothing is as easy as it seems… and the women these four have set their sights on have plans of their own!

Your embossed invitation is in the mail and you are cordially invited to:

The marriage of

Rocco Mondelli and Olivia Fitzgerald April 2015

The marriage of

Christian Markos and Alessandra Mondelli May 2015

The marriage of

Stefan Bianco and Clio Norwood June 2015

The marriage of

Sheikh Zayed Al Afzal and Princess Nadia Amani July 2015

So RSVP and get ready to enjoy the pinnacle of luxury and opulence as the world’s sexiest billionaires finally say ‘I do’…

The Greek’s Pregnant Bride

Michelle Smart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE SMART’s love affair with books started when she was a baby, when she would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon® book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading (and writing) them ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire with her husband and two young Smarties.

To the wonderful sisters in my life, Jennie, Lulu and Joanne xxx

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Society Weddings

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

DELETED SCENE

WEDDING BREAKFAST MENU

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHRISTIAN MARKOS TIPPED the last of his champagne down his throat and immediately refilled his glass.

He’d known today was going to be hard, but hadn’t imagined quite how torturous it would be. Not even all the running around he’d done with Rocco that morning, in their seemingly desperate attempt to find the bride, had mitigated it.

Afterwards, he’d stood by the side of his closest friend on the happiest day of his life and all he’d been able to think was how deeply he’d betrayed him.

While Rocco had been exchanging his vows, Christian had been using all his willpower to stop his gaze flitting to Alessandra.

He was still fighting it.

Alessandra Mondelli: Rocco’s baby sister. A pretty child who’d grown into a ravishingly beautiful woman. The one woman in the world who was totally off-limits.

Or should have been.

Attired in a long, sleeveless, silk mauve dress, with her glossy, dark-chestnut hair pulled back in a tight chignon, she’d arrived by boat with the radiant bride, the spring sun beaming down on her golden skin.

In his eyes the chief bridesmaid outshone everyone, including the famous supermodel bride.

The last time he’d seen Alessandra she’d been wearing a short, cream lace dress with black beading and a pair of black shoes so high he’d been amazed she could walk in them. But walk in them she had, beautifully, her delectable bottom swaying with every step. That was the last time he’d seen her clothed. The last time he’d seen her properly she’d been burrowed naked under the bed covers in her apartment.

The wedding party had moved from the beautiful gardens by Lake Como and into the Villa Mondelli ballroom. The wedding dinner was over, the evening celebration about to start. He’d made his best man’s speech and managed to raise some laughs from the other guests, especially Stefan and Zayed, who’d substituted the speech he’d written with a bluer version. Instead of relaxing, knowing his job was done, Christian was on tenterhooks waiting for the music to strike up.

An American A-list starlet kept making eyes at him, a stunning woman with a body to die for. Just six weeks ago he would have been at her side like a shot. If not her, then one of the other gorgeous women littering this star-studded event already being labelled ‘wedding of the century.’ Supermodels, lingerie models, singers... It was like being a child in a sweetshop.

If that were the case, then he must have diabetes, because none of the sweets looked remotely tempting.

Except one. The forbidden one.

How could he have allowed things to get so out of hand? He might flit from bed to bed but he never lost control of himself.

To have lost his control with Alessandra...

He could blame it on all the champagne they’d drunk. He could blame it on a lot of things, but all the blame was on himself.

Alessandra had been vulnerable. Try as she’d done to hide it, she’d been a mess, grieving the loss of her grandfather, the man who’d raised her since she’d been a baby and who’d been buried barely two weeks before.

Christian had dropped in at the House of Mondelli, the world-famous fashion house, on his way back from Hong Kong, expecting to take Rocco out for a night on the tiles, maybe spend the weekend together on his Italian friend’s yacht. But Rocco had been in New York and he’d bumped into Alessandra, who’d insisted he take her out instead. Under normal circumstances he would have made his excuses and got back in his jet to fly on to Athens. If he hadn’t caught the desperation in her beautiful honey-brown eyes, he would have done just that, not found himself recalling how she’d barely been able to stand during the funeral service.

When they’d set out for the evening, the last thing he’d expected was that they would end up in bed together.

Women came and went in his life on a regular basis. He could only assume that it was the fact Alessandra was someone who was in his life, so to speak, that meant he was having a hard job forgetting and moving on. That and the guilt of it all. She might have been the one to instigate the kiss that had led to them making love, but the blame for what followed lay firmly on his shoulders.

He should have been stronger.

In the six weeks since he’d seen her, he’d worked hard to push her from the forefront to the back of his mind, enough so that he’d arrived at Lake Como confident he could handle being in her presence without any problems.

He’d taken one look at her and all the guilt had churned itself back up. They’d exchanged a few brief words over the course of the day, the same basic pleasantries they’d exchanged with everyone else, but that was the extent of their interaction. So far, at least. There was still the dance to get through.

Whether he liked it or not, he would have to hold her in his arms one more time.

Stefan said something to him at the exact moment the band started their warm-up. As he spoke, Christian saw Olivia lean in close to press her ear to Rocco’s mouth. It was a gesture that reminded him of his dinner with Alessandra, the way she’d leaned into him to hear him speak over the noise of the restaurant; the way her sultry scent had played under his nose...

From the corner of his eye he could see her chatting to the official photographer, the photographer probably getting tips from her. Alessandra Mondelli was one of the most famous fashion photographers in the world, a remarkable achievement, considering she was still only twenty-five. She’d made it all on her own. Just as he’d made his name on his own.

Stefan repeated himself; he’d been talking about the charitable foundation they and their friends had formed some years back.

Italian Rocco Mondelli, Sicilian Stefan Bianco, desert Prince Zayed Al Afzal and he had all taken a keen interest in running and raising money for their charity. They were the so-called Columbia Four, although he couldn’t recall which of them had dubbed them so. Whoever had come up with it, it had stuck. They’d met during their first week at Columbia University and, as incredible as it was to look back on, the bond they’d formed had been instant. That bond had grown and a good few years later, when it had become obvious all four were heading towards the Forbes World’s Billionaires List, they’d formed the charity. Christian was extremely proud of their charity, founded to ensure disadvantaged kids could get the education they deserved but were unable to afford. It felt good for them to be doing something together that didn’t involve drinking and bedding as many beautiful women as they could.

They all believed the bond between them to be unbreakable.

But even the strongest steel could be destroyed.

He answered with what he hoped sounded like intelligence but, in truth, what came out of his mouth sounded so unintelligible he could be speaking Martian.

Luckily Stefan’s attention was diverted by the band striking up their first song.

The bride and groom glided onto the dance floor to loud applause.

Christian’s eyes drifted to his right, back to Alessandra. She was looking straight at him, a trapped expression in her eyes.

His chest tightened.

A powerful slap to his shoulder broke the spell.

‘Time to get yourself on the dance floor,’ Zayed said, sitting on the empty seat to Christian’s left.

Theos. He had to dance with her. Olivia, the bride, had ordered it. The best man and chief bridesmaid...

Alessandra met him halfway, her obvious apprehension mirroring what raced inside him.

It would help if the band were playing one of the usual upbeat tunes that had made them one of the most famous groups in the world rather than the cover of a romantic ballad they were currently warbling.

Gritting his teeth, he walked by her side to the dance floor and took her into his arms.

His heart jolted at the first touch, a dozen memories playing in his mind. Her scent. Her taste...

The back of her dress was low, leaving him no option but to touch her silky skin. It was either that or hold on to her bottom. His hand lay rigid against her bare back, hardly touching her.

Yet, no matter the physical distance he tried to impose between himself and her slender form, his senses filled with Alessandra, her sultry scent playing tricks on him as they moved over the dance floor in a manner more akin to a pair of robots than a couple who’d had a wild night of sex just six weeks before. The stirring that had begun when he’d watched her walk up the aisle and had simmered since took on new life, an ache forming in his groin that he willed away with increasing frustration.

Think of Rocco, he ordered himself, staring at his loved-up friend who was locked in the arms of his equally loved-up wife. Rocco caught his eye and nodded briefly before leaning down to kiss his bride.

That one action felt like a knife in Christian’s guts.

What would his friend say if he knew his best man had taken his sister’s virginity?

The all-consuming desire he’d felt that night still dwelled in his blood. One night was all he usually needed, all he wanted. Once a woman had been enjoyed, there were no more mysteries to discover, no need for a repeat.

His skin felt as if it were dancing its own tune, his body out of kilter with what his head demanded.

He followed the words of the song they were dancing to, counting down the time to when the obligatory dance would be over. From the stiffness in Alessandra’s stance, she was counting down the time too.

When the song finally came to an end and he made to pull away, she tilted her head to look at him, her doe-like eyes staring at him. Theos, she was so beautiful, those striking eyes set above a snub nose framed by slanting cheekbones. Her delicious plump lips parted. ‘Christian, I...’

Whatever she was going to say was cut short when Zayed tapped her on the shoulder and threw Christian a conspiratorial wink. ‘I do believe it’s my turn to dance with the beautiful lady,’ he said in a voice loud enough for Rocco to hear.

The groom turned his head towards the raised voice, his eyes narrowing before he broke into a wide grin.

It clearly didn’t cross his mind that any of his friends would dream of doing anything with the sister he was so protective of.

Sickened with himself, Christian stepped back and forced a smile, mock-bowing. ‘She’s all yours.’

He waited for Alessandra to make a good-natured but cutting retort about not being anyone’s property, but her eyes were stark on his face, a fleeting look of panic flashing over her which she quickly covered. But not quickly enough.

The ballroom of Villa Mondelli had enough waiting staff not to let any guest go thirsty for longer than thirty seconds but Christian wanted to get away from the hubbub of the mingling guests and headed to the bar.

After a shot of bourbon, he turned his head to see her now dancing with Stefan. She looked happy to be dancing with him, he thought, taken aback at the strength of his bitterness.

It was only natural she’d been stiff and awkward in Christian’s arms. A one-night stand hadn’t been on either of their minds when they’d set out that evening.

He’d been her first lover.

That, more than anything, was the thing that refused to dislodge from his mind.

The woman who’d been vilified by the press for an affair with a married man when she’d been a teenager had been a virgin. He’d always suspected there had been more to the story than had been written but the truth had come as a cataclysmic shock.

Whatever the truth, it was none of his business. Alessandra was none of his business. She couldn’t be.

He took another shot to clear the bile crawling up his throat and watched Stefan place a hand to her waist. The bile almost choked him to see her laugh at something his friend said in her ear.

Zayed appeared at his side. ‘Hiding yourself away, buddy?’

‘Just taking a few moments.’

Stefan finished his dance and came over to join them. ‘What are we all drinking?’

‘Christian’s already on the hard stuff,’ Zayed said, indicating the empty shot glasses before them on the bar.

Christian hardly listened. Alessandra had left the dance floor. A quick scan of the ballroom found her sitting at a table with a group of people he didn’t recognise. She was staring at him.

Their gazes held before he pulled away and fixed a smile on his face for his friends’ benefit.

‘Who’s ready for a shot?’ Before either could answer, he waved at the barman to pour them a bourbon each.

The three friends, sitting in a row at the bar, raised their glasses and chanted, ‘Memento vivere!’ ‘Remember to live,’ the motto the four friends did live by, and downed their shots.

‘I never thought I’d see us at a wedding for one of our own,’ Zayed mused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I still can’t believe Rocco’s got married. I mean...married?’

‘Who would have thought he’d fall in love?’ Stefan said with the same incredulous tone.

Christian grunted and caught the barman’s attention for another round.

Call him cynical, but he couldn’t help wonder how long it would be before the love they felt for each other turned into something ugly. Because that was what marriage did—turned two people full of hope and love into bitter caricatures of themselves.

Much safer for everyone’s sake to avoid emotional entanglement. Christian conducted his own affairs by enjoying the moment and then moving on with the minimum of fuss. He had known before he was in double figures that marriage was not for him.

Zayed swivelled on his stool to cast his eyes over the ballroom. ‘There are some hot women here.’

Stefan grinned. ‘I noticed that lingerie model giving you the eye.’

‘I thought she was an actress?’

‘No, that was the other one.’

‘I tell you who knocks spots off all these women,’ Zayed said. ‘Alessandra.’

Christian snapped his head round to stare at him. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Zayed raised his hands. ‘I’m just making an observation.’

‘Well, don’t.’

‘Man, you know I wouldn’t go there. I’d never do that to Rocco— Where are you going?’ he added when Christian got up from his stool and made to leave.

‘To get some air.’

‘You not feeling well?’ Stefan was looking at him closely.

‘It’s been a busy time. I’m probably jet-lagged. Get another round in—I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

Instead of going outside, Christian went to the restroom and splashed cold water on his face.

He’d been a paper thickness away from punching Zayed.

Theos, he needed to get a grip on himself.

This was his guilt and his problem. No one else’s.

Back in the ballroom his eyes automatically sought Alessandra out. As he found her, she turned her head in his direction, as if some sixth sense told her he was there. Quickly she turned away.

He thought he was doing a good job of hiding his guilt-ridden inner turmoil. After that one close call of almost punching one of his oldest and closest friends for an innocuous remark, he joined in with the celebration they were there for, drinking, laughing and horsing about, being the same old Christian he always was when with them.

Except, every time he looked, he found Alessandra’s gaze upon him. Their eyes would meet for a fraction of a second before jerking away. She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself, though, dancing with anyone who cared to ask, at one point stealing Olivia from Rocco and waltzing her around the floor to screams of delight.

Only when the bride and groom, their hands clenched tightly together, left to head off to their secret honeymoon destination did Christian determine his duty to have been done.

Exchanging bear hugs with Zayed and Stefan, who called him every laughably demeaning name under the sun for retiring to bed so early, he strode out of the ballroom, unable to resist one last glance at Alessandra. For once, she wasn’t looking at him.

He was about to climb the stairs to the sleeping quarters when he heard his name called.

Stefan approached him and pulled him into another embrace. ‘You are playing with fire, my friend,’ he said into his ear.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Sure you do.’ He pulled back a little and brought his hands up to Christian’s face, slapping both his cheeks lightly. ‘You have to end it. Now.’

Christian’s chest compressed. He couldn’t lie to his friend. ‘It was over before it started.’

‘Good. Keep it that way. For all our sakes.’

* * *

Alessandra took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The party was still going strong, a DJ having replaced the band, music pounding through the walls. There were revellers all over the villa but thankfully this wing was quiet and devoid of people.

She waited a few moments before knocking again, louder.

Unless Christian had left without telling anyone, he was in there. The dim light seeping under the door testified to this. She’d casually asked Stefan and Zayed where their fellow musketeer had escaped to. She could only hope she’d imagined the suspicious but pitying look in Stefan’s eyes when he’d told her Christian had gone to bed.

Please, God, let him be alone in there.

What were the chances?

She’d been nothing special, just another notch on a bedpost crammed with notches.

Christian Markos travelled with a trail of broken hearts attached to him ranging from Hong Kong to London. Some sold their stories to the tabloids, tales of short-lived lust before being discarded. Some spoke with bitterness. Most spoke with longing. Most wanted him to break their hearts all over again.

It took an age before the handle turned and the door opened.

Christian stood clad in a pair of jeans. And nothing else.

He blinked narrowing eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I need to talk to you. Can I come in?’

His bronzed throat rose. ‘That’s not a good idea.’

‘It’s important.’

His firm lips, usually quirked in an easy smile, clamped together. He shifted past her, looking both directions down the wide corridor before ushering her in and swiftly closing the door.

His room was tidy, his tuxedo hanging neatly on the door of the wardrobe. The bed was rumpled; a tablet was on the bedside table next to a half-full bottle of bourbon and an empty glass.

‘Are you drunk?’ she challenged. This was a conversation she needed to have when he was sober.

‘No.’ He strode to the window and closed the heavy curtains. ‘Believe me, I’ve been trying to reach that state.’

If only she were in a position to reach that state herself.

‘Today went well,’ she said, sitting gingerly on the corner chair. She could really do with a shot of that bourbon. It would make what was coming next easier to cope with, of that she was certain. ‘Rocco and Liv looked really happy.’

Their obvious happiness had had the dual effect of making her heart lighten for her brother’s sake and sink at the knowledge it was something she could never have for herself.

Christian propped himself against the wall by the window and crossed his arms over his broad chest. She hadn’t really had the opportunity to study his torso in her apartment, and now she could look at it properly she felt the heat she’d experienced that night bloom anew.

Years of rowing and track had honed his physique, his form strong and athletic, his shoulders broad. Fine hair dusted across his bronzed chest and she felt an almost unbearable compulsion to hurtle herself into his arms and take solace in his strength.

Making love to him had been an experience she would never forget. The single best experience of her life.

Try as she had to expel the memories from her head, they’d stayed with her, tantalising her, taunting her with the knowledge it was an experience that could never be repeated.

The simple remembrance of his smooth skin flush against her nakedness made her feel as if her insides were being liquidised.

‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ he asked, cutting the preamble and pulling her back to the present. While he wasn’t being unfriendly, there was none of the easy-going Christian she knew. She didn’t have to be psychic to know he wanted her gone from his room.

His regret and self-loathing were obvious.

Her heart hammered beneath her ribs, her stomach roiling with nerves that threatened to overwhelm her.

This was all her fault...

‘I’m pregnant.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED Alessandra’s stark statement was total.

Christian seemed to deflate before her eyes, as if he’d suffered a body blow.

Which no doubt her news was, she thought miserably.

How she’d kept herself together throughout the day she would never know, her only thought having been that she mustn’t ruin Rocco and Olivia’s special day. She mustn’t.

She’d spent pretty much her entire life trying to keep herself together in public, the hardest before tonight being two months ago when they’d buried her grandfather. The paparazzi had been out in force. She’d worn dark glasses until they’d entered the church, refusing to give them the money shot they so desired. Even when Sandro, her alcoholic father, had turned up drunk and made that dreadful scene, she’d kept her composure. Christian and Zayed had been the ones who’d calmly approached him and dragged him away.

Christian staggered over to the bed and sat heavily on it, clutching his head.

‘Please. Say something,’ she beseeched. The back of her retinas burned and she blinked furiously. No matter what happened in the next few minutes, she would not cry. She’d done enough of that.

He fixed his blue eyes on her. ‘How long have you known?’

‘A while, I guess, but I only took the test a couple of days ago.’ She laughed, a hollow sound even to her own ears. ‘I took three of them, hoping they were wrong.’ At the third positive reading, she’d climbed onto her bed and sobbed.

‘Have you seen a doctor?’

‘Not yet.’ She bit into her lip. It had taken her almost a fortnight to entertain the possibility that her late period might actually mean something, another fortnight before she’d unburied her head from the sand and crossed the threshold into the pharmacy.

She’d never believed she would be a mother. Motherhood went hand in hand with relationships and she certainly didn’t believe in them.

‘But you’re certain?’

‘Yes.’ Once the reality of her condition had sunk into her shell-shocked brain, the tears had stopped.

Inside her, right in the heart of her womanhood, a tiny life grew.

Whatever the outcome of this conversation with Christian, nothing could change the fact that this life—her baby—was a part of her. Nothing could have prepared her for the host of emotions pregnancy would bring. It might be early days in pregnancy terms but already she loved it, this little alien developing within her; knew she would do anything to nurture and protect it. Anything.

Silence rang out, the only sound Christian’s heavy breathing. She’d never seen his features—all angles and straight lines forming what had been dubbed one of the most handsome faces in Europe—look so empty.

‘I’m so sorry.’

His brows drew together. ‘Sorry for what?’

‘I screwed up.’ She forced herself to look him straight in the eye. ‘I didn’t take my pill properly.’

He shook his head and expelled a breath through his mouth, running a hand through his cropped dirty-blond hair. ‘And you didn’t think to tell me that?’

‘I didn’t know the dangers, not properly.’

‘How could you not know? It’s basic biology.’ He swore under his breath.

‘I was put on the pill because my periods were painful, not for the purpose of contraception.’

‘You should have told me. Theos, if I’d known you didn’t take it at regular intervals I would have made certain to use a condom.’

‘I am sorry, truly sorry.’

The knuckles of his hands were white. She could see his temper hanging by a thread.

‘You can’t put this on yourself—I can’t put it on you,’ he eventually said. ‘We were both there. I should have had the sense to use a condom like I normally do.’

She closed her eyes, pushing away thoughts of him with other women. ‘Christian...I can’t do this on my own. I need your support—not financially but in other ways.’ Financially she could do it alone. She had her apartment, her career was thriving...

She opened her eyes and looked at his still-dazed face. ‘I know I’ve had a head start getting my head around all this, and that’s unfair on you, but I need your word—on your honour—that you’ll be there for me and our baby.’ Not that she could trust it. He was a man. Men always broke their promises.

All the same, she had to try and put a little faith in him. He was the father of her child. But then, her own father was the worst liar of all. He’d lied to her mother on her deathbed, promising to care for their children, never to leave them. That had been the biggest lie of all.

The only men she trusted were her brother and her grandfather. It had broken her grieving heart to learn recently that her grandfather had had his own dark secrets.

If it hadn’t been for his death, she would never have slept with Christian. She’d bumped into him in the House of Mondelli headquarters after she’d had a meeting with the fashion director about a campaign she’d been hired to shoot. Christian had turned up to take her brother out but Rocco had been in New York.

She’d been in a bad place, she could see that now, trying to cope with her grief but not having a clue how to manage it. She’d never known pain like it. It still had the power to lance her.

Christian had presented the perfect opportunity for a night out where she could forget her pain for one evening, so she’d talked him into going out with her instead. Not for a minute had she imagined she would fall into bed with him.

But she had done just that and now she had to pay the consequences.

And so did Christian.

She might never be able to trust him but she’d had enough faith, whatever her state of mind, to lose her virginity to him. That had to account for something.

She wished he would say something. His frame was still but his eyes were alert. She couldn’t read them. Couldn’t read him.

‘When news of the pregnancy comes out the press are going to swarm all over it. I’ve lived through one scandal and I can’t go through that again on my own. I just can’t.’ Simply imagining going through it all again made her hands go clammy and her stomach churn. How clearly she remembered those awful days when the paparazzi had laid siege to Villa Mondelli, leaving her a prisoner in her own home. She’d never been so scared and alone in all her life. ‘If I know I can rely on you for support when I need it, and later on when our baby needs it, I might be able to sleep again.’

Christian’s throat rose before he twisted onto his side and grabbed his bourbon and glass. He poured a hefty measure and offered it to her.

She shook her head.

‘Of course not,’ he muttered, taking a large swallow of it. ‘You’re pregnant. Did you not drink today?’

‘I had a small champagne during the toasts but that’s all.’

He got to his feet and headed back to the window, peeking through the curtain.

‘Will you support me?’ she pressed. For her own peace of mind she needed to know. If he refused she didn’t know what she would do other than fall into a crumpled ball. Or maybe join a convent.

No. She wouldn’t do either. For the sake of the life inside her, she would endure.

‘Will you support our baby and be its father?’

* * *

The ringing that had echoed in Christian’s ears since Alessandra’s pronouncement that she was pregnant subsided.

He gazed at her belly, still flat under the lilac of her dress, not a hint that within it lay the tiny seed of life.

The life they had created together.

His baby.

He was going to be a father.

As this knowledge seeped through him, he thought of his own father, a man who’d left before Christian had been old enough to memorise his features. He had no memories of him, no possessions to place a tangible hold on him. Nothing. Not even a photograph. His mother had burned them all.

If there was one thing he knew with bone-deep certainty, it was that he didn’t want a child of his being raised without a father to look out for him or her.

From infancy it had been just him and his mother, a woman whose bitterness ran so deep it seemed to seep from her pores. His father had turned his back on them both and in turn had created the woman she’d become.

Christian would not be that man.

He raised his gaze from Alessandra’s belly to meet her eyes, a sharpness driving in his chest to see all the fear and uncertainty contained in them. Despite the braveness she strove to convey, her hands trembled, her teeth driving in and out of her plump lips as she awaited his response.

He knew what his response must be.

‘Yes,’ he said, nodding slowly for emphasis. ‘I will support you and our child. But in return I want you to marry me.’

* * *

The comb holding Alessandra’s hair in place had been digging into her scalp all day, a minor irritation that suddenly felt magnified enough for her to yank it out. She got to her feet, swiping fallen hair off her face.

For a moment she couldn’t speak, her brain struggling to find the English she’d spoken like a native since early childhood. ‘I know this is a shock for you. I know, okay? But marriage?’

‘Yes, marriage.’

She shook her head, trying her hardest not to let panic set in. ‘Please, don’t say anything you’ll regret in the morning when you look at the situation with fresh eyes.’

‘The morning won’t change the situation. You’ll still be pregnant.’

‘And I still won’t be marrying you.’

‘Alessandra...’ He bit back his rising voice. ‘Alessandra, think about it. This is the obvious solution. Marriage will give legitimacy to our child.’

‘This isn’t the nineteenth century. There’s no stigma to children born outside of wedlock.’

His eyes swirled with an emotion she didn’t understand. ‘Children need and deserve two parents. You know that as well as I do.’

One parent would have been nice in her case, she thought bitterly. Yes, her father was still alive, but he’d never been a real father to her. He’d abandoned her almost from her first breath. By the time of her first birthday, he’d gambled and drunk away their home and had foisted Rocco and her into the care of his elderly father.

She felt as if she’d been blindsided. Marriage was the last thing she’d expected Christian to suggest. The most she’d hoped for was public support for her and their child, and even that had felt like a pipe dream considering she was dealing with the commitment-phobic Christian Markos. He made Casanova look like a monk.

She hadn’t allowed herself to hope for anything more substantial, had envisaged her and the baby’s future with Christian flitting in and out when it suited him. She’d even prepared her ‘please don’t introduce our child to a succession of aunties’ speech. In her head she’d prepared for just about every imaginable scenario. Apart from the scenario where he demanded marriage.

‘Christian, please, be realistic. Marriage is...’

‘Something neither of us wants,’ he finished for her, meeting her gaze with steady eyes.

How clearly she remembered discussing marriage on their night out together, the night their baby had been conceived. Fools had been just one of the many words they’d used to describe people who willingly entered matrimony. They’d even toasted this rare meeting of minds.

‘Exactly. Something neither of us wants.’

He finished his drink with a grimace. ‘Seeing as neither of us has any intention of marrying in the conventional sense, marriage each other for the sake of our child isn’t going to destroy either of our dreams. We won’t be making a lifelong commitment to each other, just to our child.’

‘But marriage...?’

‘Marriage will legitimise the pregnancy and avert any scandal. The press will still swarm over the story, that’s a given, but their angle will be softer towards you.’

‘Accepting paternity will have the same effect. At this moment, that’s all I need. Your acceptance. Everything else can be arranged between us later. There’s plenty of time.’

‘And what about what I need?’ he challenged. ‘You tell me I’m going to be a father and that you want my support but when I offer you the biggest support I can—marriage—you dismiss it out of hand.’

‘What do you need?’ she asked, now thoroughly confused. ‘What will you get out of us marrying?’

‘The chance to be a father,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘I’ve built up a multi-billion-dollar business and have no one to pass it to.’

She didn’t bother to hide her scorn. ‘Money.’ The only thing he enjoyed more than bedding women.

His blue eyes flashed sharply. ‘No. A legacy. But even if I didn’t have the wealth I would still want us to marry. I know what it’s like growing up without a father and I will not have my child go through that. I want my child to have my name and know he—or she—is mine.’

How did he do it? No wonder he was reputed to be one of the greatest financial minds in the world. Money was what Christian dealt with every day, a world-renowned financial genius advising all the major corporations in all the different sectors.

She’d spent days agonising over all the possible details. He’d grasped the situation and dissected all the permutations in an instant. Having only known him as her brother’s friend, she’d never appreciated this side of him before.

She appreciated it even less now.

‘You can still be a father to our child without marriage.’

‘And you can still be a single mother without any support other than financially,’ he said, a warning note coming into his voice.

‘I’ve already told you, I don’t need or want your money.’

He inhaled a long breath. ‘I’m trying to do what’s right here. I don’t want to force your hand but I have to think of our child. He or she deserves stability—marriage gives that. Or is your freedom more important?’

Christian watched Alessandra suck her cheeks in at his remark. He didn’t blame her. Right then he was prepared to say whatever it took to get her to agree.

Theos, an hour ago the thought of marriage would have made him run all the way to Hong Kong but now here he was, virtually coercing her into marrying him.

‘That’s not fair,’ she said hoarsely.

‘Life isn’t fair.’ He knew that all too well; it was the whole reason he was demanding this from her. ‘Marriage needn’t be a prison for either of us. You can carry on with your career.’

‘How generous of you. You’re welcome to carry on with your career too.’

He ignored her sarcasm, understanding the place of fear it came from. If he felt his world had just turned on its axis he could only imagine how it must be for her. She had to carry their baby into the world.

It was their baby he was thinking of. Christian had grown up knowing somewhere out there was the man who had fathered him but who wanted nothing to do with him, his own son. He had never understood why. He still didn’t.

It had taken many years for him to accept his father’s abandonment as a simple fact of life but as a child it had been a painful knowledge. He would never put his own child through that. His child would grow up feeling loved and secure with two parents who both wanted nothing more than to love and protect him or her.

Looking at Alessandra rest a protective hand against her still-flat stomach, he could see how deeply she already felt for their child.

Their child. His responsibility. Their responsibility, to be shouldered together.

‘When we marry the world will see a united couple...’ he started.

‘Don’t talk as if it’s a done deal. Marriage changes everything. It’s not just two people signing a piece of paper and exchanging a bit of jewellery. There are legal implications.’

‘And it’s those legal implications I want. I want our child to know their parents loved them enough to create a stable family for them.’

‘This is too much.’ She got to her feet. He experienced a sharp pang to see her tremble, to witness her keeping it all together, just as she’d done at her grandfather’s funeral.

She carried herself so tall it was easy to overlook that she was a slip of a woman. Her glossy hair was sprawled over her shoulders, her golden skin pale.

The last thing he wanted was to hurt her but within him lay a deep-rooted certainty that this was the right path for them. It was the only path.

‘I need to sleep on this,’ she said, her honey eyes brimming with emotion, her usually accent-less English inflected with her Italian heritage. ‘I can’t agree to marriage just because you’ve clicked your fingers. You might change your mind. I’ve sprung this on you. Everything will look different in the morning.’

There were a dozen threats he could make to ensure her agreement. He bit them all back. He felt bad enough as it was without adding more ill deeds to the slate against him. There was one more thing he could add, though...

‘I won’t change my mind but you can go ahead and sleep on it,’ he said. ‘While you’re lying in your bed thinking, consider the ramifications if you decide not to take me up on my proposal. If you marry me, scandal averted. If you don’t, the press will crucify you and drag your brother and the entire House of Mondelli through the mud with you. Do you really want to go through all that again? Do you want Rocco to go through all that again?’

She stilled, stormy eyes locked on his.

‘Do you want all the speculation over who the father is? The old scandal being raked up as the world wonders if you’ve been playing around with another married man?’

‘But I never...’

He hated to see the hurt and bewilderment that flashed across her features but he had no choice. For their child’s sake he would deploy every weapon in his arsenal to get her agreement. ‘You know that and I know that. The rest of the world will believe what it wants to believe and, as it’s doing so, the world’s eyes will be on you.’

‘You know how to play dirty,’ she said hoarsely, her chest heaving.

‘I could never have left Greece without learning how. If you refuse, you will have to deal with the press and the world’s attention on your own. I will make no acknowledgement until our baby is born.’

Her throat moved as she swallowed, her eyes blazing their loathing at him. ‘Do not think you can blackmail me, Markos.’

‘I don’t want to blackmail you,’ he said, wondering why the sound of his surname being spat from her delicious, plump lips landed like a barb in his chest. ‘But you leave me no choice.’

She backed to the door and gripped the handle. ‘I’m going to my room now. I’ll give you my answer in the morning.’

‘There is only one answer.’

‘You can still wait on it.’

CHAPTER THREE

HIS HEAD THUMPING, Christian entered the magnificent dining room where breakfast was being served. Alessandra was already there. So too were Stefan, Zayed and a handful of other guests who’d stayed the night rather than retire to their yachts or have their helicopters collect them.

It was little comfort that every person in the room looked exactly how he felt. Skata. Like crap.

He might not have been able to get himself as drunk as he’d wanted but his body was punishing him regardless for the quantity of alcohol he’d consumed.

Alessandra’s gaze darted to him. Anyone looking at her could be forgiven for thinking she had a hangover too. Only he knew the dark rings under her bloodshot eyes were caused by a different reason.

He doubted she’d had any more sleep than the snatches he’d managed.

Even so, she still had that certain charisma that she carried like a second skin; her hair, left loose to tumble halfway down her back, as glossy as ever.

He took the seat next to Zayed, who was clutching a black coffee as if his life depended on it, and poured himself a cup of his own. He shook his head as a member of staff asked what he’d like to eat.

All he wanted at that moment was hot, sweet caffeine. And a dozen painkillers.

No sooner had he taken his first sip than Alessandra rose, murmuring something to Stefan, who gave a pained laugh and immediately rubbed at his temples.

He waited long enough not to rouse any suspicion, making innocuous hangover talk with his buddies, before saying he was going for a lie down.

Alessandra’s room was in a different wing from where he and his uni friends always slept when they stayed at the villa. He hadn’t realised he knew exactly which room was hers until he knocked on the door. After a minute of no response, he nudged it open. It was empty.

Moving stealthily so as not to attract attention, he slipped out of the villa and into the gardens.

After much searching, he tracked her down. She was sitting on the stone steps that led into Lake Como. Only one yacht remained from the handful that had been moored overnight.

She didn’t acknowledge his presence.

Today she was dressed in ankle-length tight white jeans and a pale-pink cashmere top, the V plunging down to display a hint of swollen cleavage, the only outward physical sign of the changes taking place within her.

What other changes were taking place within that gorgeous form...?

A stark image came into his mind of the perfection of her breasts, the way they seemed to have been made to fit his hands... If he closed his eyes he could still taste them, taste her...

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked abruptly, forcing thoughts of her naked body from his mind as he sat on the cold stone beside her.

‘About as well as can be expected,’ she replied after a long pause.

‘I never asked last night how you’re coping with the pregnancy—physically, I mean.’

Another pause. ‘So far I’ve been lucky. No morning sickness or anything.’

‘I’ve made a few calls and rearranged my schedule so I can stay in Milan for a few days. First thing tomorrow morning, we’re going to see your doctor.’

‘I’ve got a shoot to do.’ She cast sharp eyes at him. ‘And, before you accuse me of being selfish again, I’d like to point out that for me to cancel the shoot would mean a good dozen people’s schedules being thrown. We can see the doctor in the afternoon.’

At least she was willing to see a doctor with him. That was a start.

‘Does this mean you are in agreement to us marrying?’

She fell silent for a few moments, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. ‘If we marry, we both automatically become our child’s legal guardian.’

‘I am aware of that.’ It was one of the things he wanted—his paternity to be recognised by law. Marriage might be destructive and capable of ruining people but it was the only way he could ensure his child had his protection. For that reason alone he was prepared to do it. For their child’s sake, it was no sacrifice.

She stared at him. ‘If anything happens to me, you have sole responsibility.’

He felt his blood chill at the sudden solemnity in her tone. ‘Why are you talking like this?’

‘Do you know how my mother died?’ she asked in that same thoughtful tone.

‘Rocco never liked to talk about her other than to say she’d died when he was seven.’ Alessandra would have been a baby, he realised, doing the maths for the first time.

Her gaze didn’t falter. ‘She died having me.’

Theos...

‘Rocco never said.’ He shook his head, trying to digest her words.

‘Rocco suffered the most out of all of us.’ A faraway look formed in her eyes before she blinked it away and cleared her throat.

‘What happened to her?’ he asked, rubbing his chin, trying to imagine the Mondelli siblings as they’d been then: Rocco a child of seven, and Alessandra, so fresh and new-born she’d barely taken her first breath before her mother had been taken away from her forever.

He racked his pounding brain, trying to remember the age Rocco had been when he’d gone to live with Giovanni Mondelli, their grandfather. Eight, if he was recollecting correctly, which meant Alessandra had been a year at the most.

She’d never known the love of either a mother or a father.

At least his own mother had been there. For all her faults, she’d never abandoned him or reneged on her responsibility as a mother.

‘She suffered from severe pre-eclampsia,’ Alessandra said, her husky voice soft.

Red-hot anger flooded through him, pushing away the ache that had formed in his chest at learning of the tragic circumstances of her birth. ‘Why the hell haven’t you seen a doctor yet?’

‘It doesn’t affect women until the later stages of pregnancy. For the time being, I’m fine. My mother didn’t know what she was dealing with—she’d already given birth to a healthy child without any complications. Medicine has advanced a lot since then and we can prepare for it. The odds of anything happening to me are remote. But—and this is why I’m saying this now, before I agree to anything—if the worst happens then I need to know that you will rise to your legal and moral duty and raise our child.’

‘I would never abandon our child,’ he said harshly. ‘I’ve lived without a father; I know what it’s like to wonder where you’re from. I will never let our child wonder who I am.’

‘My father said that to my mother. He promised he would love and care for us but he broke it—he broke the promise he made to a dying woman. He abandoned me. He abandoned Rocco.’

‘I am not your father. What he did was despicable. After the way my own father abandoned me, I would never give up my own flesh and blood.’

‘I have to trust that you won’t be like either of our fathers but I find trusting people, especially men, very hard. If I stay single, then I can nominate the guardian of my choosing.’

If fire could have shot from eyes then what burned from Christian’s would have had her in flames.

‘I will never allow that,’ he ground out. ‘I would fight for our child through every court in every land.’

The tension that had been cramping Alessandra’s belly throughout the conversation loosened a touch.

She believed him.

Their child would have a father. A proper father.

She just had to hope her trust in this respect wasn’t misplaced. For her child’s sake, she had to try.

‘I’m sorry for being melodramatic. I just need to be sure. We both need to be sure. If we marry then that’s it—we’re married. For better or worse. And, if I agree, I want you to promise that you will be discreet in your affairs.’

His head twisted at her abrupt change of direction. ‘My affairs?’

‘I’m not stupid,’ she said with what she hoped sounded like nonchalance. If she was going to marry him, she would do it with her eyes open.

Christian was an attractive man—oh, to hell with such an insipid description, he was utterly gorgeous. He had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen in a man, a real crystal-blue that made her think of calm, sunlit oceans. When he fixed them on her, though, her internal reaction was turbulent; a crescendo of emotions she struggled to understand.

The way he’d made her feel that night...

He was used to women throwing themselves at him. She wasn’t so naïve as to believe marriage would tame him. Theirs was not a love match. ‘Our loyalty will be primarily to our child but I do not want the humiliation of your liaisons being paraded on the front pages of the tabloids. All I ask is that from now on you choose your lovers wisely.’

He inhaled sharply before expelling the air slowly. If his jaw became any more rigid she feared it would snap. ‘Anything else?’ he asked icily.

She refused to drop her gaze. ‘Only that if we marry I won’t be taking your name.’

Now she knew how it must have felt like to be glared at by Medusa. Forget mere fire; she could feel her blood turn to stone under his deadly stare.

‘Why. Not?’ he asked through gritted teeth.

‘Because I like my name and I don’t want to have to start all over again. I’ve spent the past seven years building my career but it’s only been in the last few that my name has become famous for my work rather than my heritage and past exploits.’ Alessandra wasn’t prepared to fool herself. She might be famous at the moment for her photography but she didn’t have the longevity that would still make her name roll off fashion editors’ lips if she took months off. Her work as a photographer could quickly be forgotten, others taking her place.

More importantly, although this was something she chose not to share with Christian, figuring she’d pushed him far enough as it was, she didn’t trust that their marriage would survive. If she was a betting girl, she would give them until their baby’s first birthday. By then, Christian would be clamouring for his freedom.

‘You can keep Mondelli as your business name but in our personal life you will be Markos.’

‘Do not tell me what I can and can’t do. Marriage will not make you my keeper.’

‘I never said it would. However, one of the main factors in us marrying is to promote stability and unity. Sharing a surname is a part of that.’

‘If you feel that strongly about it, you can change your name to Mondelli.’

‘That is out of the question.’

‘Why? Because you’re a man? I never took you for a caveman.’

‘It’s the tradition of marriage.’

‘We’re not marrying for traditional reasons. As I pointed out last night, we’re living in the twenty-first century. Plenty of couples marry without taking each other’s surnames. I’m sorry if this disappoints you but I’m not changing my name. It’s non-negotiable.’

‘Our child will take my name.’ He stared at her, the fire in his blue eyes, normally so warm and full of vitality, now turned icy cold. ‘That is non-negotiable.’

‘I can agree to that,’ she said, matching his cool tone. It was one thing refusing to take his name for herself— refusing to let their child take his name too would feel as if she was being cruel for cruelty’s sake.

‘Good.’ The coldness in his eyes thawed a fraction. ‘Does this mean—finally—that you will agree to our marriage?’

‘After all this you still want to marry me?’ she asked, a tiny bubble of amusement breaking through the tension. If Christian wanted a wife he could walk all over, she was certain she’d just proved she wouldn’t be that woman. She didn’t want to be a harridan but she knew she needed to establish the ground rules first. She’d worked too hard to build a life that was all her own to give it up without a fight. For her baby it was easy, but for a man? No.

‘All I want is what’s best for our baby.’

‘As do I.’ If that meant marrying Christian, then so be it. Rocco had always described him as a man of his word—if she didn’t agree, he would refuse to confirm paternity until after the birth. In the meantime, her name would be dragged through the mud again. She would have to cope with swarms of paparazzi hounding her; read the lies that would follow as speculation grew over who her baby’s father was; listen to the taunts that would surely rain down on her. She would have to suffer it alone, just as she had the first time.

And it wasn’t just she who would suffer. Rocco would too and God alone knew her brother had suffered enough at her hands.

But, above and beyond all that, her baby could be the one to suffer the most. Imagining—knowing—what people were thinking of her, were saying about her... It would contaminate her, just like it had the first time. She didn’t want that bitterness and despair to infect her innocent baby.

No, whichever way she looked at it, marrying Christian was the obvious, practical thing to do. Her head knew it. Soon enough her twisted guts would believe it too.

‘How will our marriage work on a practical level?’ she asked, stalling the moment when she would have to say aloud the words agreeing to tie her life to this man beside her.

‘We will lead our own lives.’ His gaze bore into her. ‘Our marriage will be private. We can keep separate rooms and lead independent lives so long as we show unity in public.’

‘I can accept that,’ she agreed.

‘But on our wedding night and honeymoon we will need to share a bed.’ Christian stared at her without blinking, making sure she understood. Alessandra’s approach, blunt as it was, was for the best—neither of them wanted there to be any misunderstandings. They would both enter matrimony with their eyes open but their hearts closed.

Colour tinged her cheeks. ‘Surely we don’t need to go that far?’

‘I want our marriage to be seen as legal in every respect. To protect our child from undue scandal and speculation, people must believe we’re in love.’ He tried to think about their marriage with his business head, consider it as just another merger between two companies. In essence, that was what it would be—a merger. The profit would come from the child they would raise together.

He’d craved isolation since he’d been a small child sharing cramped living space with his mother. His homes were his sanctuary, his space. Even his live-in staff had separate quarters.

Alessandra had been the first woman he’d woken next to and felt a tug of reluctance at having to leave.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling so greedy for someone as he had that night, when he’d wanted her so badly it had been as if he were consuming her. If he hadn’t been concerned that she might be feeling the physical soreness he assumed women must feel after losing their virginity, he would have made love to her all night long.

Her eyes didn’t waver although more colour crept over her face. ‘When you say you want it to be seen as legal in every respect, are you implying that we need to have sex?’

‘No.’ His voice dropped, heat unfurling within him as a memory of a dusky pink nipple floated into his mind. A small gust of wind fluttered across them, causing a strand of her hair to stray across her face. Unthinking, he reached out to brush it away. ‘But we will be married—what couples choose to do in the privacy of their own home is entirely their own business.’

Her throat moved, a subtle movement, but one he recognised.

He leaned in closer. ‘When we stay anywhere that is not under one of our own roofs, we will share a bed. What we choose to do in that bed is nobody’s business but our own.’

Their marriage would be a merger, yes, but not a business merger. This was going to be a merger of two flesh-and-blood people.

Something pulsed in her eyes and he knew with certainty that she was remembering how good it had been between them.

They had been combustible.

All the supressed memories of that night came back in startling colour.

She’d been wild. Carnal. Eager to please and be pleased, to touch and be touched.

Her arousal had been a living thing...

She cleared her throat. ‘And if I choose to sleep and only sleep...?’

Then his balls would probably turn blue.

‘Then you will be left to sleep.’ He let his voice drop further, inching his face closer to hers. ‘But, if you choose not to sleep, you won’t find me complaining.’

‘Is that because you’re not fussy about who you lie in bed with?’ Her words had a breathless quality to them. He could feel the tension emanating from her.

‘No.’ He shook his head in emphasis and pressed his lips to her ear. ‘It’s because you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known and I get hard every time I think of how you came undone in my arms.’

He moved back to see her lips part and her doe eyes widen.

‘I understand your opinion of my sex life is less than flattering,’ he said, thinking that she turned the most beautiful colour when she blushed. ‘But, I assure you, I think with the head on my shoulders and not the one in my boxer shorts.’

She swallowed before saying, ‘I think that’s a matter of opinion.’

‘Point proved,’ he said. ‘But, to prove my point, I will not make a move on you until we are legally married.’

Her eyes narrowed but he caught the spark that ignited in them.

‘And, of course, you will still reserve your right to say no.’ He dipped his head to whisper into her ear again, inhaling her scent for good measure.

All his senses heightened. He could feel the heat from her skin; knew the spark that had drawn them together in the first place was still well and truly alive. ‘We’re both going to have to make sacrifices for this to work—the bedroom is the one area where compromise and sacrifice are not needed, where our marriage can be about nothing but mutual pleasure.’

She raised a shoulder and exhaled a shuddering breath that sounded almost like a moan. It was a long moment before she next spoke, breaking the charged silence that had sprung up between them. ‘I will not have sex with you just because it’s expected.’

He pulled away, creating a little distance so he could look at her. ‘My only expectation is that, when we’re in public, we both put on a display of being in love.’

She held his gaze for a fraction longer before blowing out a puff of air and fixing her gaze back on the lake. ‘Bene.’

‘So we are in agreement?’

‘Yes. We are in agreement. I will marry you.’

It was Christian’s turn to exhale. Who would have thought he would feel relief to hear a woman agree to marriage?

‘It would be best to marry as soon as we can—before you start showing.’

‘I don’t want to arrange anything until I’ve spoken to Rocco.’

The mention of her brother’s name hit him like a blow: the metaphorical elephant in the room spoken aloud.

‘We will speak to him together.’

‘It will be best if I speak to him alone. He’s my brother.’

‘And he’s one of my closest friends. He’s not going to be happy about this.’

‘I would prefer it if he gave us his blessing but if he refuses...’ She sighed, a troubled expression crossing her features.

‘We will wait until he returns from his honeymoon,’ Christian decided, although his guts made that familiar clenching motion they did whenever he thought of what his friend’s reaction would be.

Rocco would never forgive him.

He didn’t blame him.

Whatever was thrown his way, he would take. It would be no less than he deserved.

He remembered the first time he’d met Rocco, Stefan and Zayed during his first week at Columbia. He’d never left Athens before that, never mind Greece. New York had been a whole new world. He’d felt out of his depth on every level, especially when comparing himself to his new friends’ wealth and good breeding. He’d had neither and hadn’t been able to understand why they’d accepted him as one of their own.

Even now, a decade on when his own wealth rivalled the best in the world, he still struggled to understand what they’d seen in him.

He was Christian Markos, born a gutter rat without a penny to his name. She was Alessandra Mondelli, born into one of Italy’s premiere families. She had class and breeding. She could be a princess.

In a perfect world she would marry someone from a similar background. Someone worthy of her.

All the same, they might be from disparate backgrounds but on marriage they had common ground: relationships were not for either of them. In that one respect they were perfect for each other. She would never need him or require more than he could give.

And he would never need her.

Messy, complicated emotions would never infect their marriage.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALESSANDRA PRESSED THE button allowing Christian into the building and took deep breaths to compose herself.

It would be the first time she’d seen him in ten days.

They’d spent a couple of days together in Milan, seeing her doctor then a private obstetrician. Both had confirmed that she and the baby were in excellent health. She’d known in her guts everything was well but hearing it vocalised had lifted a weight she hadn’t been aware of carrying until it was gone.

A scan had been taken, a copy of which they had both taken before Christian had left. She’d spent hours gazing at that picture, making out the tiny head and limbs, so imperceptible she had to rely on memory from where the nurse had pointed. Sometimes, gazing hard, everything inside her would constrict, her throat closing so tight that she had to swallow to loosen it. Her beautiful baby. Her and Christian’s beautiful baby.

She hadn’t see him since, all their communication coming via daily text messages and phone calls, during which he filled her in on all the wedding plans. He wanted a Greek wedding so it made sense for him to organise it. She didn’t think she would have been able to handle getting involved anyway. She was having a hard enough time coping with the magnitude of what she’d agreed to.

She’d known Christian since she was twelve and Rocco had brought the Brat Pack—as she privately called her brother and his little gang of university friends—home for a week-long holiday at the family villa. But she didn’t know him.

He drank bourbon rather than his national drink of ouzo. He was a snazzy dresser. His brain was lauded around the world. He was completely self-made. He liked rock music. He’d slept with a quarter of the world’s most beautiful women, the others being shared out between her brother, Stefan and Zayed. He was used to getting his own way. And that was it. The rest was a mystery. She was marrying a stranger.

Dio l’aiuti—God help her—she would have to share a bed with him on occasion.

And, dio l’aiuti, the thought made her heat from the inside.

Ever since that particular aspect of their talk, it had felt as if a glow had been lit inside of her. His lips against her ear, his breath whispering on her skin...the heat it had ignited...

When he entered her apartment, impeccably dressed in a fashionable navy suit and striped pale-yellow tie, her heart made an involuntary skip. It skipped again when she caught his clean, freshly showered scent.

‘My apologies for the delay,’ he said, leaning in to give her the traditional kiss on each cheek.

Two little kisses; two tiny brushes of his lips against her skin, the hint of his warm breath on her...

The lit glow flickered and pulsated low within her, her body responding to his proximity like a bee to a field of pollen.

‘It’s fine,’ she said, stepping away from him and opening her handbag on the pretext of checking her purse. If he looked at her now, he would see the colour she knew had bloomed on her face scorching up her neck.

Christian had been due at her apartment early that morning. He’d called late last night to say he’d been delayed but would make it to her before lunch. She hadn’t been surprised. Men always made promises they had no intention of keeping. They told lies, whether deliberately or not. Even her grandfather, a man she’d thought full of morality, had lied. Only after his death had she learned he’d had an affair decades ago—with her new sister-in-law’s mother, no less. If her grandfather could lie to the wife he loved so much, then what hope was there for anyone else?

The only man she trusted was her brother.

She didn’t want to think what the cause of Christian’s delay could have been.

‘How did it go with the doctor?’ he asked.

‘Good.’ She bit back the question of whether he would attend any further appointments with her. It would save him having to lie. It would save her having to pretend to believe it.

‘Your blood pressure?’

‘Normal. Everything is normal,’ she said, anticipating further questions along the same vein. Feeling more on an even keel and in control of her reactions, she closed her handbag and looked at him.

He was watching her closely. ‘It wasn’t my intention to miss the appointment. There was a crisis at Bloomfield Bank and I had to attend an emergency board meeting.’

‘You don’t have to account for your whereabouts with me.’ She forced a smile. ‘After all, it’s not as if we’re married or anything.’ She couldn’t deny a tiny bit of the cramp in her belly lessened at knowing he hadn’t been with another woman.

He’d given his word not to make a move on her until they married. He’d made no such promise about making a move on another woman.

So long as he was discreet, who he slept with was none of her business.

He laughed, a familiar sound that plunged her back to the meal they’d shared. Of the Brat Pack, he’d always been her favourite, the one she’d privately dubbed ‘the Greek Adonis.’ A woman didn’t need wine goggles to appreciate the strength of his jaw or the dimples that appeared when he gave one of his frequent smiles.

With wine goggles, though, even the most inhibited of females would be putty in his hands. She, the woman who’d thought herself immune to any man’s charms, had been.

He hadn’t even tried. A couple of glasses of champagne on an empty stomach and an aching heart and she’d felt her secret attraction towards him, locked away out of reach, escape and bloom. Like the gentleman he was—and he was a gentleman in the traditional, chivalrous term of the word—he’d walked her home and right up to her door. She’d been the one to kiss him, not the usual two-cheek kiss but one right on his mouth.

The feel of his lips upon hers, the scent of his skin and warm breath...the effect had been indescribable. It had unleashed something inside her, something craven, a side she’d spent years denying the existence of, telling herself she’d rather die a virgin than give herself to a man.

It hadn’t felt like giving herself to Christian. Giving implied bestowing a favour, not the hot mix of desire and need that had made her desperate for his touch.

She could still feel and taste the heady heat of his breath...

But now she was stone-cold sober, her immunity back in its rightful place. Vivid memories might have the power to jolt her senses but they didn’t have the power to knock her off balance. No man would ever have that power. Her body might have a Pavlovian response to him but intellectually and emotionally she was safe.

When they married he could see whoever he wanted. It made no difference to her. All she cared about was her baby. As long as her baby made it safely into this world, nothing else mattered.

Maybe when her baby was placed in her arms, her own place on this earth would make sense.

Maybe then she would lose the feeling she’d carried her entire life that she should never have been born.

* * *

Christian sensed a slight change in Alessandra’s demeanour, an almost imperceptible straightening of the shoulders and stiffening of the spine.

She was looking good. She always looked good.

With her long hair loose around her shoulders, she wore faded tight-fitting jeans, a pale-blue cotton blouse unbuttoned to the top of her cleavage, a navy blazer and silver ankle boots with a slight heel. Heavy costume jewellery in shades of red hung round her neck and wrists, large, hooped gold earrings in her ears. Alessandra could wear a sack and carry it off, would still have that beautifully put-together air she carried so well.

Her apartment was the same: chic and beautifully put together, the walls and furniture muted but the furnishings bold and colourful. Giant prints of her work hung on the walls, enlarged, framed covers of Vogue and all the other glossy magazines she’d worked for.

He knew it would be a wrench for her to leave, but a third-floor apartment in the heart of Milan’s fashion district was not a feasible place to bring up a child. He’d raised the subject of her selling it on the phone a few days ago. Her response had been non-committal to say the least.

He’d give her more time to get used to the idea before discussing it again.

‘Are you ready to go?’ he asked.

She nodded, her plump lips drawing together. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

Out in the courtyard at the back of the building, where his driver waited for them, her yellow Vespa gleamed from its parking space. ‘I hope you’re not riding on that thing any more,’ he said, nodding at it.

‘No,’ she answered shortly, getting into the back of the car.

He followed her in, a pang hitting his stomach as he recalled the big beam on her face the one time he’d seen her ride on it—the day of their impromptu date. Another thing pregnancy would force her to give up.

When the car started to move, she turned to look at him, a set look on her face. ‘Christian, let me make one thing quite clear. You are going to be my husband, not my keeper. Do not dictate to me.’

He sighed. ‘Is this about the Vespa?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wasn’t dictating to you. I was satisfying myself that you’re not putting our child’s life at risk by continuing to ride on it, especially here in Milan.’

‘That is exactly what I mean. I don’t need you to tell me the drivers here all approach the road as an assault course that must be beaten—I live here. I might not have a penis between my legs but my brain and rationality work perfectly well.’

‘I never said it didn’t,’ he said, keeping his tone even. ‘But you must appreciate that it is my child you are carrying and it is only right I take an interest in its welfare.’

‘But it is my life. I will not be told what to do.’

‘I am not telling you what to do.’ How he held on to his patience, he did not know. ‘All I’m saying is that having a child changes things...’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ she said, her colour darkening. ‘You think I’m not aware of the responsibility I have to bring our child safely into this world? Do you think I’m not capable

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