An Heir Claimed By Christmas (Mills & Boon Modern) (A Billion-Dollar Singapore Christmas, Book 1)

by Clare Connelly

  He pushed the paper aside and gave Zach the full force of his attention.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Dimitrios ground his teeth together. ‘But, either way, she’ll have to get used to that kind of crass reporting. It’s part and parcel of being a Papandreo.’

  ‘And she’s okay with that?’

  Dimitrios paused, his brother’s hesitation pulling at something inside him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Come on, Dim. You might have the rest of the world fooled with the “sweethearts reunited” bit but not me. You guys were never an item.’ Zach laughed softly. ‘Well, with the obvious exception of one night.’

  Dimitrios instinctively recoiled from discussing Annabelle, even with his brother.

  ‘That’s irrelevant. We have a son together.’

  ‘And I can’t wait to meet him, but you can’t let Annie be torn apart in the media like this. She doesn’t deserve that.’

  Dimitrios fought an instinct to point out that Annabelle had kept his son from him for six years. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I have very little control of how rival media outlets decide to spin this story, though.’

  ‘You have control of a lot more than you realise. You just need to make it much harder for her to be criticised; take the wind out of their sails. Change the story, Dimitrios, for Annie’s sake.’

  Annie woke with a start, a terrible feeling in her gut that perhaps she’d overslept. It was just like in high school, when there had been an exam or assessment and she used to wake in the mornings convinced she’d missed it. But there was no exam. Just the rest of her life waiting for her. And the anxiety she felt was like a whole ball of wool knotted in her belly. She pushed out of bed and was crossing the apartment to the small bathroom when there was a knock at the door. A glance at her watch showed the time to be almost seven.

  She was about to open it when she remembered the intrusion of the press the day before, and Dimitrios’s parting warning: ‘They will be waiting for you tomorrow. I’ll send a driver, but be aware—there will be questions.’

  At the door, she paused. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Henderson, ma’am. I drove you home yesterday.’

  Surely it was way too early for the driver to take them to school. She flicked a glance at the clock and groaned. It wasn’t too early. She had overslept. With a small yelp, she pulled the door inwards, keeping her pyjama-clad body concealed behind it. ‘We just need a few minutes, okay?’

  ‘Of course.’ He nodded.

  ‘Would you like to come in? Help yourself to some water or tea?’ She thought longingly of the last two teabags sitting in the bottom of the canister.

  ‘There’s coffee in the car, ma’am.’

  Coffee! Her heart leaped at the promise of caffeine. She smiled. ‘Thank you. We won’t be long.’

  She ran across the apartment, throwing open the door to Max’s room. And it hit her the second she saw the plastic grocery bags filled with his dearest possessions.

  This was happening.

  They were leaving.

  Pushing away all the consequences that came with that, she moved to the bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. ‘Time to wake up, Max. We’re late.’

  ‘Are we?’ he mumbled, so beautifully sleepy, her heart clutched.

  ‘Yep. Can you get dressed straight away?’

  ‘Yes, Mummy.’

  She readied herself quickly, throwing on a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting black shirt, noting that it was a little looser than usual. You look like you haven’t eaten in a week. She frowned as she took a few moments to look at her reflection in the mirror. She had lost weight lately. Too much weight, and not as a result of trying. Her teeth bit down on her lower lip. She tucked the shirt in. That was even worse. She pulled it out, leaving it loose, and added a big bright necklace she’d bought at a charity shop around the corner.

  Slightly better.

  Hair pulled into a topknot, a piece of toast thrust into Max’s hand to eat in the car, and they were ready.

  Except—how could they ever really be ready? The second they stepped a few feet from the apartment, flashes went off and the questions began again—this time, directed at Max.

  ‘Max, how do you feel about your dad?’

  ‘Are you looking forward to the wedding?’

  ‘Have you spent much time with him?’

  ‘Is it true you have twin brothers as well?’

  At that, Annie sent a scowl to the journalist and leaned down closer to Max. ‘Don’t answer them, dearest. Just go straight to the car.’

  Henderson put a strong arm around the pair and shepherded them to the waiting SUV, standing to block the photographers’ view as they stepped in. With the door closed, they were protected by the darkly tinted windows.

  ‘That was weird,’ Max commented, wrinkling his nose.

  Annie burst out laughing. ‘Yes, that’s one word for it.’ She kept laughing because it felt good, and because she was glad for her son’s resilience and calmness. She reached across, squeezing his hand.

  ‘Look, Mummy,’ Max said as the car pulled out from the kerb. ‘There are drinks again.’

  ‘Coffee,’ she remembered. ‘And that looks like a hot chocolate for you.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure?’ His eyes darted nervously towards the front of the car.

  Her heart tightened in her chest. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  His eyes lit up as he reached for the cup, blowing across the top before taking a sip. His smile was the only response Annie needed. He ate his toast and drank his hot chocolate, clearly feeling very special as they drove to school. At the gates, Annie walked him in as normal, though nothing felt normal. Parents—even parents she considered her friends—were regarding her strangely, and Max’s teacher looked as though she wanted to ask a thousand and one questions.

  Annie’s manner was not expansive. She crouched down, lifting a hand to Max’s face, brushing away his thick, dark fringe.

  ‘It’s probably best if you don’t talk too much about all the changes, Max. There’ll be plenty of time to explain to your friends, but why don’t we let the dust settle first?’

  He nodded. ‘Okay.’ His nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t think I’d know what to say, anyway.’

  Something inside her ached. She felt his vulnerability in myriad ways. ‘No,’ she said quietly, roughing his hair. ‘You know you can ask me any question at any time, don’t you?’

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I know.’

  Annie kept her head ducked as she left school, not wanting to engage in conversation with anyone. Henderson was waiting beside the car, arms crossed.

  She strapped herself in, pushing her head against the leather head-rest, her eyes closed.

  It took a few moments before Annie realised the car was travelling in the wrong direction. She frowned, leaning forward. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Mr Papandreo asked me to bring you to him.’

  To bring you to him. As though she were a possession. ‘It would have been nice for him to ask me first,’ she said under her breath, though a quick glance in the rear-view mirror showed the remnants of a smile on Henderson’s face—confirming he’d heard her comment.

  She sighed softly. How was she going to avoid snapping at Dimitrios when he was so...so...overbearing? Most people would naturally seek approval before organising someone’s schedule, but not Dimitrios. He told a member of his staff to ‘bring her to him’, without considering that she might have other plans or might simply not want to ‘go to him’.

  Her eyes fell to her tightly clasped hands sitting in her lap, and the enormous diamond on her finger sparkled brightly.

  It was rush hour, and traffic was thick, but the SUV dug through the cars, drawing Annie deeper into a gridded city cast into shade by the glass-and-steel monoliths that towered overhe
ad. She didn’t come into the CBD often, so found it hard to get her bearings. Eventually, the car stopped—she thought she caught a glimpse of a sign that read ‘Castlereagh Street’. The door was opened and Annie stepped out, breathing in that unique city smell of bitumen, leather, engine exhaust and corporate toil.

  ‘This way, ma’am.’

  She smiled hesitantly. ‘Henderson, if you’re going to be driving me regularly, would you consider calling me Annie?’

  He didn’t respond.

  ‘After all, you look about my age. It feels ridiculously stuffy for you to be calling me “ma’am”.’

  ‘Is it making you uncomfortable?’

  ‘Honestly, yes. It really is.’

  He laughed softly. ‘Fine. Miss Hargreaves.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Just Annie. I’m begging you.’

  He lifted his sunglasses so she could see his eyes—one was blue and the other brown. ‘Fine, Annie. If you insist.’

  ‘I do.’ It was a small victory, but it felt important that Annie should hold on to the essence of who she was for as long as possible. ‘Thank you. Now, where’s Dimitrios?’

  With a nod, Henderson gestured to a pair of shiny black glass doors. Annie stopped walking, her breath hitching in her throat as she read the word boldly emblazoned in the signage above. The name was world-famous, synonymous with luxury and prestige. It was the kind of shop she’d never even walked past, far less thought of entering.

  ‘Why?’ she asked Henderson, a tone of pleading in her voice.

  Henderson smiled, but didn’t respond.

  Annie stifled a groan but started walking once more, one foot in front of the other, until they reached the doors. Henderson lifted his hand to a buzzer, pressed it and then they waited.

  It took only a couple of seconds before the doors whooshed inwards, revealing a shining floor made of large marble tiles, high ceilings, ornate chandeliers dangling from the ceiling and an army of at least ten staff standing in a group. And beside them, Dimitrios, impeccably dressed in one of his custom-made suits with shining shoes, dark hair waved back from his brow, eyes on Annie with a singular focus that made a hint of perspiration form in the valley of her breasts. She was grateful then for Henderson at her side.

  ‘Annabelle.’ Dimitrios strode towards her, drawing her into his arms. His eyes glittered with hers, giving Annie only a moment of warning before he dropped his head and crushed his lips to hers, kissing her with an excellent approximation of fierce possession.

  She knew it was just for the benefit of their audience, but that didn’t change anything. She felt the flicker of desire in the pit of her stomach and, before she could stop it, full-blown need was coursing through her veins. Her arms lifted of their own accord, one hand pressing to his chest, the other curling around the nape of his neck, her fingers teasing the dark hair there, holding him where he was. His tongue expertly duelled with hers, reminding her of his mastery over her, the ease with which he’d driven her senseless with longing all those years ago.

  That should have been enough of a reminder. It should have made her put an end to the kiss. But her body was in complete control and it wanted him with a ferocity that was too hard to bear.

  His arm curved around her back, as though he knew she needed his support, and he held her there as he lifted his head, his eyes boring into hers, his expression impossible to interpret. But his cheeks were darker than normal, slashed along the ridges of his bones, and she knew he had been as stirred by their kiss as she had been.

  ‘What was that?’ she asked, wishing she felt angrier, more outraged, when all she could muster was disbelief that it had ended so quickly.

  ‘Remember, agape,’ he said quietly, then lowered his head so only she could hear the rest of his sentence. ‘All the world believes this is a love match. Try to play along.’

  It was the ice water she needed, the stark dose of reality to bring sense back to her addled mind.

  ‘Of course, darling.’ She mimicked his tone, forcing an over-bright smile to her face.

  ‘Thank you for meeting me here,’ he murmured, taking hold of her hand and weaving their fingers together.

  ‘Did I have a choice?’ she queried, without letting her smile drop, her voice just a whisper.

  His eyes held a warning. ‘Not really.’

  He began to walk towards the staff, who had been discreetly looking away from the couple. A man stepped forward. ‘Madam, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Gustav and I am the manager of the Sydney store. Mr Papandreo has asked me to help you this morning with anything you might require.’

  Annie wrinkled her nose, looking around the high-end boutique with a burgeoning and unwelcome sense of inadequacy. ‘Honestly, I don’t know how you can help me,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t really shop in places like this.’

  ‘Then that has been our loss,’ the manager inserted charmingly. ‘Now, let’s get to work.’

  All the staff scattered except the manager, who asked Annie, ‘Now, champagne and an almond croissant?’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that it was just after nine o’clock in the morning, when she thought about how welcome a glass of bubbly would be, given the over-wrought state of her nerves. ‘Just a little,’ she conceded, nodding a little.

  ‘Excellent. And for you, sir?’

  ‘Coffee.’

  ‘Very good.’

  When the manager disappeared, they were completely alone, Henderson waited by the doors with his arms crossed, the last word in forbidding.

  ‘Where are all the other customers?’

  ‘The store isn’t open yet.’

  ‘I beg to differ.’ She gestured to the staff working to pull dresses, shirts and shoes from racks, transporting them all through a pair of silver velvet curtains.

  ‘They’ve opened early.’

  ‘For you?’

  ‘For you,’ he corrected.

  ‘Dimitrios.’ She sighed, biting down on her lip. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  His hand reached for the collar of her T-shirt, pulling on it gently. ‘Because your clothes are somewhat the worse for wear, and because I can. Because you’re going to be my wife and you will need to dress like it. Because I get the feeling you’ve sacrificed every comfort for yourself over the years just so that my son can have what he needs most.’

  She looked up at him, finding his answers strangely breath-taking. She was both embarrassed that he thought so little of her appearance and touched that he understood how miniscule her budget was for her own clothes.

  ‘It’s been hard,’ she said quietly. ‘But this is too much. I don’t need...’ She reached for the nearest piece of clothing, a pale-pink blouse made of silk with pearl buttons. The price almost made her fall sideways. ‘Dimitrios, this is ridiculous. Who pays this for a shirt, for goodness’ sake?’

  He unfurled her fingers from the fabric, then drew her to his side. It was all an act, for the benefit of the staff, but his nearness set warm arrows darting through her body.

  ‘Don’t think about the price. Just buy whatever you want.’

  She shook her head. ‘But I don’t want anything. I know my clothes aren’t exactly glamorous but they’re perfect for me. For my lifestyle. I work from home. I take Max to school. And, whether we’re here or in Singapore, I can’t see that changing.’

  ‘Last week, the American President came for dinner,’ he said, his voice devoid of emotion. ‘I entertain guests like him regularly. Tell me, Annabelle, what do you have that you would wear to a meal with the President?’

  She forced herself not to show how awed she was by that. He was trying to scare her into obedience but that made it all the more important that Annie remember who she was. ‘I’d wear whatever I had that was clean, and a smile on my face, and I’d ask him about his trip to Singapore and his family, and t
hat would be the end of it.’

  Admiration showed on his face. ‘I’m not asking you to swan around the house in ball gowns.’ His tone was now one of gentle coercion. ‘Just try a few things on...see what you like. If you decide you don’t want anything at the end of the morning, then that’s fine.’

  Gustav returned with a glass so full of champagne it had formed a meniscus. He carried it on a small silver tray. ‘Madam.’

  ‘Please, call me Annie,’ she insisted as she took the champagne.

  ‘Yes, Annie. And coffee, sir.’

  Dimitrios nodded curtly as he took the cup, making the fine porcelain look unspeakably tiny in his tanned, masculine hand.

  His eyes held both a question and a warning. Annie could stand there and argue some more or she could just surrender to this process, try a few dresses on and then tell him thanks, but no thanks. After all, she wasn’t his charity project. She could take her admittedly meagre savings to a department store and buy some new clothes, now that she knew her immediate worries—such as having food on the table—were taken care of.

  It was clear that the sales assistants were skilled professionals. The first thing Annie tried on was a linen dress in a colour just like lemon curd. She was only doing it to be obliging, but the second she slipped the dress over her body she felt something click in place. She stared at her reflection for at least ten seconds before reaching for the glass of champagne and taking a large gulp, unable to shift her eyes away.

  She looked...like she used to look. She’d never worn anything this beautiful, of course, but the dress brought out the youthfulness of her complexion, reminding her that she was, in fact, only twenty-five.

  She stepped out of it quickly, feeling as though the beautiful dress had betrayed her intention not to want any of these designer clothes. White trousers were next, and they were just as flattering. A black-and-white spotty dress followed, then a silk camisole paired with a denim skirt, showing Annie’s slim, tanned legs. An hour passed in a flurry of silk, linen, cotton and chiffon and, unbeknownst to her, a diligent Gustav was piling each outfit she’d tried on beside the cash register. When Annie finally emerged from the sumptuous fitting room—back in her regular clothes—her champagne was empty and her resolve was beginning to soften just a little.