‘But don’t take my word for it,’ Xerxes said. ‘If you come with me he can tell you himself.’
Everything was the same. Nothing had changed. She still loved a lonely mountain of a man who’d cut her out of his life. Who’d told her that he would never wake up one day and realise that he wanted her love.
But it seemed as if never was here. And she had nothing better to do. The convent was still a prison. And there was a wedding. Her wedding.
‘Anna,’ Xerxes said gently when she didn’t move. ‘Please. He needs you.’
She didn’t know what that meant, and Xerxes wouldn’t explain, but in the end she went with him, shocked when she was taken from the convent to a private airfield and the royal jet took off up into the sky.
On the plane, Xerxes showed her a room where a simple, long, white, silky dress was hanging, plus a raft of feminine beauty products, hairbrushes and pins and make-up.
A wedding, Xerxes had said. Her wedding.
Anna’s heart thumped hard, and after Xerxes had closed the door behind her she stared at the dress on the hanger. Her wedding dress.
With shaking hands, she took it off the hanger and put it on. It fitted perfectly.
She paused over the make-up and then settled for her hair loose over her shoulders and a bit of lipstick. She didn’t need blusher. Her cheeks were already glowing.
And when she came out of the room, Xerxes’s smile filled the entire cabin.
Then there was nothing to do but wait.
Eventually, the jet touched down in Axios and she expected to be taken to the cathedral. Instead she was taken to a helicopter and bundled inside, and then they were flying over the mountains and across the sea, to a small, familiar island.
Anna’s eyes filled with tears as the helicopter touched down and the doors were opened, and then Xerxes was guiding her out of the machine and along a rocky path strewn with white rose petals that led to the sea.
And there on the pure white sand, with the blue of the ocean beyond, stood a man.
Just a man.
He was tall and broad and powerful, and he wore a simple white shirt with black trousers. His feet were bare, and pinned to his breast was a gold crowned lion.
He was looking at her and his eyes weren’t cold; they were a fierce bright blue, full of heat, full of the passion that burned in his soul. The mountain had become a volcano.
Anna’s throat closed and the tears threatened to spill, but when a little girl with bright red curls dressed in a sparkly white dress rushed up to her and thrust a bouquet of sea lilies into one of her hands while taking the other, Anna held on tight. And together they walked towards the man waiting on the beach.
There were only three others watching, Xerxes and his wife, Calista, and the priest standing with Adonis.
And when Anna arrived at last by his side he held out his hand to her, and the love and fierce possession that shone in his face made her heart tremble in her chest.
‘You came,’ he said, his deep voice hoarse as he took her hand in his. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would.’
‘I told you I’d wait.’ She took no notice of the tears on her cheeks. ‘And I would have waited even longer.’
‘I didn’t want you to.’ He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it, passion blazing in his eyes. ‘You already waited too long for me to come to my senses. Forgive me, little nun. I’ve caused you such pain.’
Anna’s tears fell and she didn’t wipe them away. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. You were just afraid and I understood that.’
‘But I never meant to hurt you.’ He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, keeping his gaze on hers all the while. ‘I should have trusted you and I didn’t. All I ever wanted was someone to put me first, to be more important to someone than a throne. But when you gave me that... I couldn’t take it. Because you were right, I was afraid. I told myself I was afraid that you would fail me somehow, but it wasn’t that. It was the pain I was afraid of.’
Her throat closed in helpless sympathy. ‘Oh, Adonis...’
His eyes gleamed hotter, fiercer. ‘I thought my detachment would save me from that, but it didn’t. There was too much inside me, all those feelings I’d been denying. I couldn’t shut them off. Then someone I know pulled me aside and told me what a fool I was.’ He glanced over to where Xerxes stood and smiled. ‘He told me where to find the strength I needed to step away from my father’s lessons. To overcome my fear.’ Adonis glanced back at her, the fierce love of the man shining in the king’s eyes. ‘It was you, little nun. You’re my strength. You showed me how to love without fear, how to love with passion and bravery. You would never fail anyone. And so I don’t want to fail you. I want you to teach me new lessons, better lessons. I want you to bring happiness into my life and I want so much to bring it into yours too.’
Anna couldn’t stop her tears and she could barely speak, her throat was so tight. ‘I want that,’ she forced out, her voice husky and raw. ‘That’s all I ever wanted.’
His smile was like the dawn after a long, dark, lonely night. ‘Then marry me, Anna. I should have come for you myself, but I wanted this to be a surprise for you. And I wanted to give you a choice too.’
Anna took a shuddering breath. ‘My choice will always be you, Adonis.’
His gaze was bluer than the sea behind him. ‘I always chose my crown before. But not today, little nun. Today, I choose happiness. Today, I choose you.’
And so they were married on the beach, with no fanfare, only family and a priest.
Not a nun and a king.
Just a man and a woman.
And after the ceremony Adonis took her into his arms and kissed her passionately and for a long time, much to Ione’s disgust.
Then much, much later, after celebrations with their family and after Xerxes, Calista and the priest had got into the helicopter and gone, Adonis and Anna let their little girl put Anna’s bouquet into the sea as an offering for Ione’s mother.
‘Will she get it?’ Ione asked her father as it floated in the waves.
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘She will.’
Then, as Ione scampered down to the water’s edge to play, Anna leaned back in her husband’s arms, his body tall and powerful against her back, a mountain protecting her, sheltering her. Loving her.
‘You haven’t said it, you know,’ Anna murmured, watching the moonlight on the waves, and listening to Ione’s laughter.
‘Said what?’ Adonis’s breath was warm against her neck.
He was teasing her, of course he was. ‘Xerxes told me to come with him so I could hear it from you myself.’
‘You’re mine.’ His lips brushed against her skin, making her shiver. ‘Is that enough?’
Anna turned in his arms and looked up into his strong face, meeting blue eyes gone dark as midnight. ‘And are you mine, Lion of Axios?’
He smiled just for her, lighting up her heart. ‘Of course, Anna Nikolaides. Who else’s would I be?’
Her new name made her happiness overflow inside her. ‘Say it.’
His expression intensified, blazing into hers. ‘I love you, little nun. I love you, my wife, my lioness, my strength. I love you, Anna.’
‘And I love you, my husband,’ she whispered back.
He kissed her under the moonlight, there on the beach, with Ione’s laughter in their ears. He was a king and a lion. A mountain and a man.
But most importantly of all, he was her love. He was her heart.
He was her home.
He was hers.
EPILOGUE
XERXES LOOKED INTO the crib and pulled a face. ‘Twins? Really, Adonis? You always have to go one better, don’t you?’
Adonis, feeling very smug indeed as he looked down at his two sons, laughed. ‘What did you expect? I am a king.’
Ione st
ood on the other side of the crib, looking as smug as he felt. ‘Achilles and Hector,’ she pronounced. ‘Those are their names, Papa. And they’re my Defenders of the Throne, aren’t they?’
‘They are,’ Adonis agreed. ‘Both of them.’
‘God help them,’ Xerxes muttered. ‘She’s been reading too many myths.’
But Adonis wasn’t listening. He was already turning back to the bed where his beautiful wife lay, resting on the mound of pillows he’d arranged behind her head.
He sat down and snuggled her into his arms, every muscle in his body relaxing as she turned her radiant smile on him. ‘We should keep those names,’ she said.
‘Really? You like them?’
‘Yes.’ Her smile deepened. ‘They’re heroes. Just like their father.’
‘Next time, I want heroines,’ he said and kissed her. ‘Just like their mother.’
Anna gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘There won’t be a next time. Not after that.’
But there was. And another. And then again.
Because, though the Lion of Axios was a stern and regal king, Adonis Nikolaides was a man who turned out to have an unlimited appetite for laughter and joy and happiness. For his wife.
And for love.
Always love.
* * *
Wrapped up in the drama of Jackie Ashenden’s The Most Powerful of Kings?
You’re sure to enjoy the first instalment in The Royal House of Axios duet Promoted to His Princess, available now!
And why not explore these other
Jackie Ashenden stories?
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The Sicilian’s Banished Bride
by Maya Blake
CHAPTER ONE
‘HE’S YOURS, ROCCO. Find him...find him!’
The words pounded a relentless refrain in Rocco Vitelli’s head as his Gulfstream sped him in the opposite direction towards a destination that had been nowhere on his itinerary when he’d woken up that morning.
The photograph in his hand shook and he tightened his grip.
Impossible.
His grandmother’s words were simply...impossible.
Didn’t they say everyone had a twin somewhere in the world? Dio, even that extrapolation was too far-fetched. This picture was of a child. He was a grown man of thirty-three. This child had nothing to do with him. Nothing...
‘We’ll be landing shortly, signor. Is there anything you require?’ his attendant enquired.
Inform the pilot that I wish to change course immediately, he wanted to say. He held his tongue, his grandmother’s pale face etched in anguish fresh in his mind.
Jaw clenching, he closed his fist over the picture, hiding it from sight. Unfortunately, Nonna’s distressing words weren’t so easy to dismiss.
‘He’s yours. Find him!’
Ridiculous. If he had a son, a flesh and blood extension of him somewhere in this world, he would know...wouldn’t he?
A sudden wave of long-suppressed yearning swept through him, stealing his breath.
He would know. He was strict about taking precautions with his sexual partners. None of his liaisons in the recent past had lasted longer than a few weeks. And, by strict choice, none of them had been English.
He hadn’t set foot in England in years and he hadn’t taken an English lover since—
‘Signor?’
He sighed. ‘No, grazie.’
Just this once, he promised himself grimly. His grandmother rarely asked him for anything, not because he’d refuse, but because she insisted she needed nothing but the roof he’d provided over her head. After everything she’d sacrificed for him, running this fool’s errand, even though it lodged a fist of remembered bitterness in his gut, was necessary if only to reassure her.
This visit would be short, however. Whoever this child was, Rocco intended his presence in its life to be very brief indeed.
‘Has the driver been apprised of our destination?’ he asked.
‘Sì, signor. I emailed the details immediately after take-off.’
Satisfied, he nodded. Barring traffic, he should be back in the air within a few short hours. A quick detour via his Palermo villa to reassure Nonna there was no mysterious great-grandchild to be distressed about, and he could return to Abu Dhabi to oversee the final phase of the children’s hospital his company was building.
Wheels touched down with barely a bump. Before it had rolled to a stop, he was moving towards the exit. His car waited on the tarmac and he slid into the back seat, grateful for its warm interior. It was early autumn, yet the temperature was near freezing.
Easing back in his seat, he glanced once more at the photo. The cherubic features, the strange, yet familiar blue eyes of the child sent another stab of deep yearning through him.
No. He wouldn’t think of the past. Of her. The past was done, buried—
I don’t want your baby!
He clenched his teeth against the chilling words slicing through his thoughts. Why were memories he’d successfully expunged for years resurfacing, today of all days?
Grimly, he shoved the photo into his breast pocket and turned his thoughts to his grandmother.
Her hysteria over the billboard picture she’d spotted on the way to morning mass was beyond his understanding. Nonna had collapsed on the pavement, much to the distress of her companion, and no amount of reassurance had soothed her except Rocco’s promise, once he’d rushed to her side, that he would verify the child’s identity immediately.
So here he was, on what could only be politely described as a wild goose chase. He stifled a dark curse and looked up at his driver’s discreet cough.
‘The news reports gridlocked traffic ahead, sir. I’ll have to take a different route if you’re to keep your schedule.’
Rocco’s mood darkened further. With every fibre of his being, he wished himself elsewhere. But he’d made his grandmother a promise. He’d keep it, even if it meant being in the same country, breathing the same air as that...Jezebel.
He inhaled, brought his feelings under control.
‘Take whatever route you must. But make sure it’s quick.’
* * *
Mia Gallagher stole another indulgent caress of her sleeping son’s soft cheek before stepping away with a wry smile. Nap time was fast becoming a battle of wills. At two and a half, Gianni was vigorously resisting taking his much-needed naps. This afternoon he’d hidden behind his bedroom door, unaware his chubby legs were clearly visible through the gap in the door frame. How he managed to keep so still at his age astounded her.
Her smile slipped.
She knew exactly how he came by that particular trait. The man whose blood ran through her son’s veins possessed that formidable knack, after all—
No, she wasn’t going to think about him. Not now, not ever, if she could help it.
She shut the bedroom door with a sigh of relief. With an hour to herself before he woke, she had enough time to tackle the laundry and start dinner.
The sound of the doorbell as she approached her small living room made her heart sink.
Mrs Hart.
With her financial juggling getting trickier by the day and another of Gianni’s photo shoots cancelled—the third one i
n two weeks—the last thing Mia needed was her neighbour’s nosiness disguised as friendly concern. For a moment, she considered not answering.
The doorbell pealed again, followed by an insistent knock.
Mrs Hart had probably seen them return from the park. Mia had no choice but to answer or risk Gianni waking up.
She pulled open the door, a firm but polite excuse on her lips, only to take a horrified step back, her words choking in her throat as a painfully familiar figure filled the doorway.
* * *
Rocco reeled with the shock of coming face to face with the woman he’d banished from his life three years ago, even as the molten burn of instant lust thickened the blood roaring through his veins.
‘Cosa è questo?’ He wasn’t sure whether he questioned his body’s unwelcome reaction to her or the fact that someone in his security team had made a fatal blunder when he’d asked for the location of the child in the photo. Because this had to be an inexcusable, colossal error.
The breath he sucked in did nothing to provide clarity.
Someone’s head...hell, several heads, would roll for delivering him to the last person on earth he wished to encounter; the one person he’d sworn never to even think of, ever again!
He conducted a swift scrutiny of Mia Gallagher and experienced a fresh jolt of shock.
Gone was the sleekly coiffed, elegant and voluptuous woman who’d graced his boardroom and bedroom for several months over three years ago. Gone were the thigh-skimming designer suits and the stunningly made-up face that had held him in thrall for far longer than he’d deemed wise, even then.
This woman looked pale and shadows lurked under her eyes, rendering the once vibrant depths a dull green. Her honey-blond hair, scraped back in a utilitarian ponytail, lacked its former lustre. Her face was devoid of make-up, and her mouth, now hanging open, although still full and sensually curved, was bare of gloss.
His gaze lowered, and he frowned. She’d lost weight but, somehow, her breasts seemed fuller, heavier than he remembered. Lower still, her long legs were covered by pair of baggy shapeless jeans.
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