Greek Bachelors: Bound By His Heir: Carrying the Greek's Heir / An Heir to Bind Them / The Greek's Tiny Miracle

And one thing she was learning faster than any other was that it wasn’t so easy to put the brakes on her own emotions. She wasn’t sure if it was her fluctuating hormones which were changing her feelings towards her Greek husband, or just that sex had removed the protective shield from her heart. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from caring for him in a way that went bone-deep. Her heart was stubbornly refusing to listen to all the logic her head tried to throw at it.

Yet she knew what happened to women who were stupid enough to love men who didn’t love them back. She’d watched her mother’s life become diminished because she had wanted something she was never going to have. She’d wasted years on bitterness and resentment, because she’d refused to accept that you couldn’t make another person do what you wanted them to.

And that was not going to happen to her.

She wouldn’t let it.

Smoothing down the folds of her tea dress, she walked into the kitchen to find Alek seated at the table, a half-full coffee pot beside him as he worked his way through a stack of financial newspapers. He glanced up as she walked in, his eyes following her every step, like a snake bewitched by a charmer. She had become used to his very macho appraisal of her appearance and, with a certain amount of guilt, had grown to enjoy it.

He put the newspaper down as she sat down opposite him and his eyes glinted as she reached for the honeypot.

‘I enjoyed licking my favourite honey last night,’ he murmured.

Her eyes widened. ‘Alek!’

‘Are you blushing, Ellie?’

‘Certainly not. It’s just the steam from the coffee making me hot.’

‘Would you like to come to Italy?’ he questioned.

Ellie dropped the little wooden spatula back in the pot. ‘You mean, with you?’ she said.

‘Of course with me. Unless you had someone else in mind?’ He smiled and gave a lazy shrug. ‘We can treat it as a kind of honeymoon, if you like. I thought we could go to Lucca. I have business in Pisa and I can go there afterwards while you fly home. And Lucca is an extraordinarily pretty city. They call it the hidden gem of Tuscany. It has an oval piazza instead of a square one and a tower with trees growing out of the top. Lots of dark and winding streets and iconic churches. You’ve never been there?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve never been anywhere apart from a day trip to Calais with my mother.’

‘Well, then.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t you once tell me how much you longed to travel?’

Yes, she’d told him that, but that had been when she’d still had ambition burning big in her heart. When travelling had been part of her work plan and independence had been a believable dream which seemed to have fallen by the wayside since she’d discovered she was pregnant. She thought of Italy—with its green hills and terracotta roofs. All those famous churches and marble statues she’d only ever seen in pictures.

Wouldn’t it be good to go on an unexpected honeymoon for some sunshine and culture—even if it was the most unconventional honeymoon in the history of the world? And yet, just the fact that Alek had suggested it brightened her mood. Wasn’t this a bit of a breakthrough from her enigmatic husband? Could she possibly make it a real honeymoon—as if they were people who genuinely cared about one another, rather than two people who were just trying to make the best of a bad situation?

She began to spread the thick, golden honey on her toast and smiled at him. ‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘I’d like that very much.’

‘Thavmassios. We will fly the day after tomorrow.’

* * *

Two days later their flight touched down in Pisa where Alek had arranged for a car to take them to Lucca. The drive took less than an hour and they arrived in the late afternoon, when all the shops were closed and the place had a drowsy feel about it. Ellie looked up at the high city walls and thought she’d never seen anywhere more beautiful. Alek had rented an old-fashioned apartment overlooking a sheltered courtyard, where geraniums tumbled brightly from terracotta pots. The wooden frame of their bed was dark and worn and the sheets were crisp and scented with lavender.

She knew that they weren’t like other traditional honeymooners, and yet as he closed the apartment door behind them Ellie was filled with something which felt awfully like hope. She thought: We’re in a city where nobody knows us. Two strangers blending with all the other strangers. Mightn’t there be a chance that here the man she had married would let his mask slip for once, when there was only her to see?

They made love, unpacked and showered and then Alek took her out to dinner in a garden shimmering with candlelight where they ate the local delicacy of tortelli lucchese—a bright yellow stuffed pasta, topped with a rich ragu sauce. Afterwards, they sat beneath the star-spangled sky and drank their coffee—their fingers linking together on the table, and for once it felt real. As if they really were genuine honeymooners and not just a pair of actors acting out the parts. When he took her home, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately and he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom with a look on his face which made her tremble.

The following morning Ellie awoke alone. For a minute she lay there as sensual memories of the previous night filtered into her mind, then she pulled on a robe, splashed cold water over her sleepy face and went off to find Alek. He was sitting on their balcony with breakfast laid out on the small table and the aroma of coffee vying with the powerful scent of jasmine.

‘Where did all this come from?’ she questioned as she looked at the crisp bread, the buttery pastries and the rich red jam.

‘I got up early and you looked much too peaceful to wake. I went for a walk around the city walls and called in at the panificio on the way back.’ He poured out two cups of coffee and pushed one across the table and smiled. ‘So what would you like to do today?’

And suddenly—she had no idea what caused it—the perfect scene before her began to disintegrate. It was like tugging at a tiny nick on a delicate piece of fabric which suddenly ripped open. It all seemed so false

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