The Greek's Pregnant Bride

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.