Claiming My Hidden Son / Bride Behind The Billion-Dollar Veil
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Just when I thought he intended to drag the torture out for ever he slid one finger beneath my chin to nudge my head upward. Caught in the mysterious hypnosis of his gaze, I watched his head descend, so close that heat from his skin singed mine.
I braced myself, my stomach churning with emotions I couldn’t name.
I’d been kissed before. Those university colleagues I’d toyed with before my father’s bitter reach had scared them away. None of them had elicited this level of shivery anticipation.
His kiss arrived, subtle as a butterfly’s wing and powerful as a sledgehammer. Sensation rocked through me like an earthquake, dizzying and terrifying, leaving me with nothing to do but to brace my hands on his chest, anchor myself to reality somehow.
But all that did was compound my situation. Because the solid wall of his chest was like sculpted warm steel, inviting the kind of exploration that had no place in this time and space.
Pull away.
Before I could, he gave a sharp intake of breath. In the next moment I was free of him and he was turning away.
Back to earth with a shaky thud, I fought angry bewilderment even as I strove for composure before our three-hundred-strong audience.
The feeling lingered all through our walk down the aisle, through our stiff poses for pictures and then the ride back up the hill to the crumbling mansion overlooking the harbour—the only home I’d ever known.
The horse and carriage had been swapped for a sleek limousine with darkened windows and a partition that ensured privacy. Beside me Axios maintained a stony silence, one I wasn’t inclined to break despite the dark, enigmatic looks he slanted me every now and then.
When it all became too much, I snatched in a breath and faced him. ‘Is there something on your mind?’
One eyebrow quirked. ‘As conversations go, that’s not quite what I expected as our first. But then I’m making many surprising discoveries.’
He wasn’t the only one! ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He didn’t reply immediately. Then, ‘You’re not what I was led to expect.’
I couldn’t help my lips twisting. ‘You are aware of how absurd that sounds, aren’t you?’
He stiffened, and I got the notion that once again something about me had surprised him. ‘No. Enlighten me,’ he replied dryly.
‘Not what you were led to expect?’ The slight screech in my voice warned me that hysteria might be winning but I couldn’t stop. ‘Let me guess—you thought you were getting some biddable wallflower who would tremble and trip over herself to please you?’
You were trembling minutes ago, when he kissed you.
I ignored the voice and met his gaze.
He’d turned into a pillar of stone. ‘Considering the ink isn’t dry on our marriage certificate, perhaps we should strive not to have our first disagreement. Unless you wish to break some sort of record?’ he rasped, gunmetal eyes boring into me.
Apart from our marriage, I still didn’t know the precise details of the deal between my father and my new husband and it momentarily stalled my response. But the fire burning inside me wouldn’t be doused.
‘I get the feeling you’re just as…invested in this thing as my father is, so it bears repeating that you’re not getting a simpering lackey who will jump through hoops to amuse you.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Your father? Not you?’
Short of revealing my ignorance on the matter, I had to prevaricate. ‘I’m a Petras—same as he.’
Something that looked very much like contempt flickered through his eyes. ‘Consider me forewarned,’ he replied cryptically.
Before I could query what he meant the limo was pulling up to the double doors of my family home. Liveried footmen hurried to throw our doors open.
Inside the rarely used but hastily refurbished ballroom guests drank champagne and feasted on canapés and my father gave a painfully false speech. I only managed to sit through it by reaching into my pocket and clutching the envelope within.
The moment the speeches were done Axios was swarmed upon by fawning acquaintances, eager to engage the great man in conversation. I told myself that my primary emotion was relief as the stylists, also roped into acting as my attendants, rushed to straighten my veil and train, twitching and tweaking until they were satisfied that I’d been restored to their vision of bridal beauty.
But just when I thought I’d have a moment’s reprieve Axios’s gaze zeroed in on me, his eyes falling to the barely touched food on the plate that lay next to my untouched glass of champagne.
One brow rose. ‘Not in the mood for celebrating? Or are you trying to make some sort of point by not eating?’
I couldn’t eat—not when the inkling was deepening that Axios Xenakis was far from a willing participant in this devilish deal. And if that was the case, what had I let myself in for?
I pushed the anxious thought away and let my gaze fall on his equally full plate. ‘You should talk.’
He lifted his champagne and took a healthy gulp. ‘Unlike you, this occasion isn’t one I feel inclined to celebrate.’
My breath caught, but before I could ask him to elaborate, he continued.
‘And in the interest of clarity let me warn you that neither you nor your father have any cards left to play. Should you feel inclined to make more demands.’
Christos, what exactly had my father done?
But even as the question burned fire boiled in my blood. ‘Are you threatening my family? Because if you are, please know that I will fight you with everything I’ve got.’
His lips twisted at my fierce tone. ‘What a fiery temper you have. I wonder what other surprises you’re hiding beneath those unfortunate layers of… What is that material?’
As much as I hated my wedding dress, his remark sparked irritation. ‘It’s called tulle. And you should know. You paid for it, after all.’
The barest hint of a sardonic smile lifted his sensual lips. ‘Writing a cheque for it doesn’t mean I pay attention to every single detail of a woman’s wardrobe. I have better things to do than concern myself with the name of the fabric that comprises a wedding gown.’
‘But this is your wedding too,’ I taunted, knowing my mockery would aggravate.
Something about this towering hunk of a man, who’d made it clear that this was the last place he wanted to be, riled me on a visceral level, firing up a need to dig beneath his formidable exterior.
‘Isn’t it supposed to be one of the momentous occasions of your life?’
Every trace of humour disappeared. Piercing grey eyes pinned me in place, and the tension vibrating from him was so thick I could almost touch it.
‘Momentous occasions are highly anticipated and satisfactorily celebrated. You’d have to be delusional or deliberately blind to imagine I’m in such a state, Calypso Petras.’
The way he said my name, with drawling, mocking intonation, fired my blood. Along with other sensations I couldn’t quite name.
‘It’s Calypso Xenakis now—or have you already forgotten?’ I fired back, taking secret pleasure in seeing the irritated flare of his nostrils.
‘I have not forgotten,’ he answered with taut iciness.
‘If this is such an ordeal for you, then why all this?’ I waved my hand at the obscenely lavish banquet displayed along one long wall, the champagne tower brimming with expensive golden bubbles, the caviar-laden trays being circulated, and the designer-clad guests, shamelessly indulging their appetites.
‘Because your father insisted,’ he replied, his voice colder than an arctic vortex. ‘As you well know.’
I opened my mouth to tell him for once and for all that none of this made sense to me because no one had bothered to consult me about my own wedding.
The sight of my mother’s face, staring at me from one table away, pain and misery etched beneath her smile, dried the words in my throat.
For whatever reason fate had tangled the Xenakises and the Petrases in an acrimonious weave and my mother and I were caught in the middle. I could no more extricate myself than I could turn my back on her.
A tiny, tortured sound whistled through the air and I realised it came from my own throat—a manifestation of that hysteria that just wouldn’t die down. I stood abruptly, knowing I had to get away before I did something regrettable.
Like climb on top of the lavishly decorated lonely high table, set apart from everyone else to showcase the newly married couple in all their glory, and scream at the top of my lungs.
That just wouldn’t do. Because while I might have acquired a new surname, it was dawning on me that until I learned the true nature of what I was embroiled in I would be wise to keep a firm hold of my feelings.
And an even firmer hold of my wits.
CHAPTER TWO
MONEY MAKES THE world spin.
I swallowed my champagne, careful not to choke on it as I dispassionately observed the guests indulging in the revelry of my sham of a wedding.
Money had made this happen, and in the exact time frame I’d requested it.
Money had put that smug smile on Yiannis Petras’s face.
Money had made the family, decimated by my grandfather’s fall from grace, rally together for the sake of enjoying the rejuvenated fruits of my labour.
I’d seen first-hand how the lack of it could cause backbiting and untold strain. Ostensibly solid marriages crumbled under the threat of diminished wealth and influence. I’d seen it in my parents’ marriage. It was why I’d never have freely chosen this route for myself.
My gaze shifted to my brand-new wife.
Had money influenced her agreement to this fiasco?
Was she getting a cut of the hundred million euros?
Of course she was. Had she not proclaimed herself a true Petras?
For those seconds as she’d hesitated at the altar I’d entertained the notion that she shared my reluctance, had imagined the merest hint of resistance in her eyes.
Her words had put me straight.
A cursory investigation had revealed that while she’d graduated from Skypos University with a major in Arts, she’d done nothing with her degree for the last two years. Her father’s daughter through and through, sitting back and taking the easy route to riches.
So what if outwardly she wasn’t what I expected?
I snorted under my breath at this colossal understatement. Calypso Petras…ochi, make that Calypso Xenakis…was beyond a surprise. She was a punch to my solar plexus, one it was taking an irritatingly long time to wrestle under control.
Even now my senses still reeled from what I’d uncovered beneath her veil. She was far from the drab little mouse I’d assumed.
‘I believe there’s a rule somewhere that states you shouldn’t scowl on your wedding day.’
I resisted the urge to grind my teeth and faced my brother. ‘You think this is funny?’
‘This whole circus? No. I believe that ring on your finger and the look on your face makes it all too real.’ Neo affected a mocking shudder intended to rile me further.
It worked.
‘I’m talking about your implication that my… Calypso.’ Thee mou, why did her name sound so…erotic?
Neo’s eyes widened before glinting with keen speculation. ‘If I recall, I didn’t give you any specifics.’
There was a reason Neo was president of marketing at Xenakis Aeronautics. He could sell hay to a farmer.
My fingers tightened around my glass. ‘You deliberately let me to think she was…unremarkable.’
She was quite the opposite. Hers was the confounding kind of beauty one couldn’t place a finger on. The kind that made you stare for much longer than was polite.
Neo shrugged. ‘No, I didn’t. And don’t blame me for the dire state of your mind, brother,’ he answered.
The low heat burning through my blood intensified. And while I wanted to attribute it to this conversation, I knew I couldn’t. Ever since I’d pulled that hideous veil off her face and uncovered the woman I’d agreed to marry a different irritation had lodged itself deep inside me. One I wasn’t quite ready to examine.
But that wasn’t to say I was ready to let Neo off the hook for…
For what?
Making obfuscating observations about Calypso Petras that had made me dismiss her from my mind, only to be knocked off-kilter by her appearance?
Granted, she still wasn’t my type. Her eyes were too large…much too distracting. They were the type of turquoise-blue that made you question their authenticity. Framed with long eyelashes that begged the same question. And then there were her lips. Full and sensual, with a natural bruised rose hue, and deeply alluring despite the absence of gloss.
The dichotomy of fully made-up eyes and bare lips had absorbed my attention for much too long at that altar. And it had irritated me even further that since our arrival at the reception those lips had been buried beneath a hideous layer of frosty peach.
But it hadn’t stopped me puzzling over why the two aspects of her initial appearance had been so at odds with each other. Or why she’d seemed…startled by our very brief kiss on the altar.
False innocence wrapped around her true character? A character that contained more than a little fire.
My mind flicked to other hints I’d glimpsed over the last few hours. While I was yet to discover what lay beneath the layers of the wedding gown, there were more than enough hints to authenticate her voluptuousness.
Yet to discover…
The peculiar buzz that had been ignited during that fleeting kiss notched up a fraction, the fact that the brief contact still lingered on my lips drawing another frown.
‘Your new wife is looking a little…unhappy. Perhaps you should see about fixing that?’
About to state that I had nothing to fix, that her happiness was none of my concern, I found my gaze flicked to the table. Despite the picture of poise she was trying to project she looked pale, her eyes flitting nervously. A quick scrutiny of our guests showed she was the object of several stares and blatant whispers.
A helpless prey in a jungle of predators.
My feet moved almost of their own accord, the niggling urge to reverse that look on her face irritating me even as I moved towards her, effectively silencing the whispers with quelling stares.
Regardless of how this union had come about, rumours couldn’t be allowed to run rife. This was how undermining started.
As I neared, silence fell. Her gaze shifted, met mine. Her chin lifted, a wisp of bewilderment and skittishness evaporating and her eyes flashing with defiance.
For some absurd reason it sparked something to life inside me. Something I fully intended to ignore.
Defiance or bewilderment, the deed was done. She and her family had capitalised on an agreement made under duress and bagged themselves a windfall. She should be celebrating.
Instead I caught another trace of apprehension as I stopped beside her chair. Eyes growing wide, she looked up at me. The graceful line of her neck—another alluring feature that seemed to demand attention—rippled as she swallowed.
Thee mou, if this was an act then she was a good actress!
Aware of our audience, and a burning need to find out, I held out my hand to her. ‘The traditional first dance is coming up, I believe.’ The earlier we could get this spectacle out of the way, the quicker I could resume my life.
Her gaze darted to the dance floor, her reluctance clear. ‘Is that…really necessary?’
Something about her reluctance and her whole demeanour grated. She was behaving as if I was contaminated!
‘Enough with this pretence. That wide-eyed innocent thing will only work for so long. Give it up, Calypso.’
She offered me her hand, but the eyes that met mine as she stood sparkled with renewed fire. ‘No one calls me Calypso. My name is Callie,’ she stated firmly.
I attempted to ignore the slim fingers in mine, the smooth softness of her palm and the way it kicked to life something inside me as I led her to the middle of the dance floor.
‘I’m your new husband—surely I don’t fall under the category of no one?’ I curled my arm around her waist, a singular need to press her close escalating inside me as the band struck up a waltz.
She stiffened. ‘Are you insinuating that you’re special?’
For some reason my lips quirked. ‘By your tone, I’m guessing I’m not. Not even special enough for you to grant me the simple gift of addressing you as I please?’
Her lips firmed again, drawing my attention to their plumpness. Reminding me of that all too fleeting taste of them.
‘And what am I to call you? Other than stranger or husband?’
For some reason the fiery huskiness of her voice drew another smile. A puzzle in itself, since humour was the last emotion I should have been experiencing. I was in this situation because of money and shameless greed.
‘Call me Axios. Or Ax, as most people do. I doubt we will reach the stage of coining terms of endearment.’
‘On that I think we’re agreed,’ she replied, her gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
Another scrabble of irritation threatened to rise, but I suppressed it when I noticed that once again, beneath the show of sharp claws, she was trembling, her wide eyes a little too bright. As if she was holding on to her composure by a thread.
‘Is something wrong?’ I asked. Again I questioned my need to know. Or care.
‘What could possibly be wrong?’
She didn’t bother to meet my gaze. If anything, she attempted to detach herself, which ought to have been impossible, considering how close we were dancing. But I was learning that my new wife had several…interesting facets.
‘It is polite to look at me when you address me.’
She maintained her stance for another few seconds, then her blue eyes rose to mine. The urge to stare into them, to commit every fleck and expression to memory, charged through me, this time bringing a wave of heat to my groin.
I inhaled slowly, forcing myself to ignore that unsettling sensation and address her as I would any acquaintance.
Even though she wasn’t.
Even though she’d taken my name and we were effectively bound together for twelve long months.
‘This thing will go smoother if we attempt to be civil with one another. Don’t you agree?’
‘I’m not a puppet. I cannot act a certain way on command.’
‘But you can dispense with that little-girl-lost look. And I find it curious that you would choose to refer to puppets. Perhaps you’re familiar with knowing exactly which strings to tug to get what you want?’
Unlike me, she didn’t attempt to disguise her frown. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘This whole scheme, orchestrated by you and your family, has gone off without a hitch. Feel free to stop acting now.’
She inhaled sharply, her eyes darting to the guests dancing around us. ‘Please keep your voice down.’
‘Afraid you’ll be found out? Are you really so blind to the fact that every single guest is speculating wildly about how two people who’ve never met are now married?’
Her plump lips pressed together for a moment. ‘I can’t control what other people think. But I do care about perpetuating unfounded rumours.’
‘Do you, yineka mou?’
Her blue eyes shadowed and her gaze quickly flicked away. ‘Can you not call me that, please?’
‘Why not? Are you not my wife?’
The more the term fell from my lips the deeper it bored into me, as if rooting for a place to settle. Of course the search would be futile, because this was far from what I wanted.
The strain and stress of trying to save his failing company while keeping his family and his marriage together had driven my grandfather into an early grave, his spirit broken long before the heart attack that had suddenly taken him. It was the same stress that had nearly broken my own father, forcing him to step down after a mere two years as CEO.
I didn’t intend to weigh myself down with similar baggage.
I refocused on Calypso, attempting to ignore the effect of her soft curves against my body as she asked, ‘So, what happens after this?’
‘“This”?’
‘After we’re done here,’ she elaborated.
Unbidden, my thoughts flew ahead. To when the evening would turn exclusive and intimate. When wedding euphoria traditionally took on another, more carnal dimension.
A traditions I wouldn’t be indulging in.
‘Do you plan on getting back into your helicopter and leaving me here?’
The carefully disguised hope in her voice threw me back to that day in my father’s office a month ago, when an agreement that bore all the hallmarks of blackmail had crash-landed into my life and threatened the Xenakis name and business. Did she really think she and her family could take financial advantage and then sail off into the sunset?
The silent vow I’d taken that day to ensure neither Calypso nor her father escaped unscathed resurged as I looked down into her face. A face struggling for composure and a body twitching nervously beneath my hand.
I pulled her closer, steadied her at her slight stumble, and lowered my lips to her ear.
‘It’s our wedding night, matia mou. How would it look if we didn’t stay under the same roof? Sleep in the same bed?’
My lips brushed the delicate shell of her ear and she shivered. A moment later wide, alluring eyes sought mine.
‘Sleep in the same bed? But you don’t even know me. What…what’s the rush?’
I opened my mouth to tell her there was no rush. That giving her my name was the final payment she and her family would extract from me. Instead I shrugged, noting absently that a part of me was enjoying this a little too much.
‘Other than ensuring there will be nothing to be held over my head when the whim takes your father? Are you suggesting a period of getting to know one another before we decide if we must consummate this marriage?’
She gave a little start. ‘If? Don’t you mean when?’ she whispered fiercely, her eyes wider, searching.
Again the words to answer, to state that this dance was as close as we would get for the duration of our agreement, remained unsaid on the tip of my tongue. If she believed I would further compound this debacle by gracing her bed, so be it. She would discover differently later.
Absurdly, the pleasure in that thought of delivering disappointment never arrived. Instead I was unarmed by a disturbing throbbing in my groin, by the temptation to take a different approach. To gather her closer, breathe in the alluring perfume that clung to her silken skin.
I did just that, nudging her close with a firm clasp on her lower back. And heard her sharp intake of breath.
Pulling back, I glanced at her pale face. ‘Are you all right?’
Her swift nod assured me that she was lying, and the wild darting of her gaze confirmed that belief.
‘Calypso?’
‘I… I’m fine. Just a little headache. That’s all.’
I frowned. ‘Then why are you touching your stomach?’
Her hand quickly relocated from her midriff to my shoulder, her smile little more than a grimace. ‘It’s nothing, I assure you.’
About to refute that assurance, I was forestalled by the end of the music and the applause that followed. And then by the arrival of Iona Petras.
My introduction to Calypso’s mother, along with everyone else in the Petras clan, had been stiff and perfunctory, with no disguising exactly what this bloodless transaction was.
Everyone except Calypso.
‘May I have a private moment with my daughter?’ the older woman asked, although I got the feeling it was more an order than a request, giving me a momentary glimpse of where Calypso had inherited her quiet fire.