Lucy’s smile had stayed firmly in place. ‘That’s right.’
‘Okay... Well, if you’re quite sure...’
She supposed it wasn’t conventional for the bride to be so sparsely represented but Lucy had been strong in her determination only to have people there who meant something to her. Wasn’t this wedding fake enough already without her shipping in a load of guests just for show? Her parents and brother were dead and her only other living relative was Auntie Alice, who lived in Australia and had been unable to make the wedding this close to the holidays. And it wasn’t as if she and Drakon had already formed lots of friends between them as a couple, was it? They’d barely spent more than a couple of hours together at a time during the frantic run-up to the big day.
And whose fault was that?
Hers and hers alone. Her determination to keep their sleeping arrangements separate until after the ceremony had given Drakon free rein to throw himself into his work and he had been out at the office from dawn to dusk. Why, he hadn’t even asked her a single question about what they’d be eating at the wedding breakfast!
Caroline, her boss from Caro’s Canapés, was going to be in attendance—as well as two of the other waitresses, Judii and Jade. A heavily pregnant Patti, her best friend from midwifery days, was also going to be there—along with Tom, her new husband. And they all loved her, Lucy reminded herself fiercely. They would be rooting for her even if her sudden decision to marry a man they’d never heard her mention had perplexed them. She didn’t even have anyone to give her away, but had been loath to go searching for someone suitable. Tom had kindly offered to step in but Lucy barely knew her best friend’s husband. Which was why she would be walking towards Drakon completely on her own.
Donna stuck her head round the door and gave her a thumbs up. ‘Ready?’
Lucy touched her fingers to the pale glittery veil which rippled down her back, and nodded. She just needed to remember the special Greek traditions she’d been taught and which were to be incorporated into the day. They would eat sugared almonds at some point and people would attempt to pin money to her dress. After their wedding rings had been blessed, they would be placed on their fingers three times—to symbolise the unity of their entwined lives.
And during all this she would try her best not to feel like a hypocrite.
‘I’m ready,’ she whispered.
The double doors were opened with a flourish and all Lucy could see was the long walk which lay ahead, decked on either side by chairs festooned with yet more greenery and slivers of golden ribbon. Everyone turned to look at her and she clutched her bouquet even tighter, aware that even in here Donna had gone over the top with the Christmas theme, but she hadn’t wanted to come over as some sort of Grinch by telling her not to bother. Yet somehow the gloriousness of the occasion was starting to feel overwhelmingly poignant. Tall candles of scarlet flickered patterns of transparent gold onto the gilded walls and silver stars dangled on spangled strings which hung from the vaulted ceiling. The sound of a carol being sung by a single boy’s voice in Greek was making Lucy want to blink her eyes against the unwanted threat of tears and she hoped she didn’t need to blow her nose during the service because she didn’t have a handkerchief.
And there was Xander, fast asleep in the arms of his nanny, Sofia. Darling little Xander, whom she’d fed and played with that morning before she’d left for the hotel, wondering if Drakon ever intended to be anything other than a father in name. Because the man who was supremely confident in all things seemed wary of the innocent child he had adopted. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times she’d seen him hold the baby and she’d found herself wondering if she should try to bridge the distance he seemed to have constructed between himself and Xander. Was it her place to even try?
She began to walk with small steps—partly because she was terrified of toppling over in her spiky heels, but also in an attempt to quell her spiralling nerves as she saw her Greek bridegroom standing beneath an arch of Christmas roses.
As the music heralded her arrival, he didn’t turn to look at her and although Lucy told herself it was easier not to have to face the enigmatic glitter of his eyes, it was also daunting to be confronted by his imposing back view. She gazed at his powerful body, clad in a dark suit which accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular limbs. A body which very soon...
No. She wasn’t going to fret about her wedding night or give into the nebulous fears which had been bugging her. She wasn’t going to start worrying that their time on Prasinisos had been an aberration—a peculiar one-off, fuelled by sunshine and novelty.
Because what if she disappointed her new husband on the first night of their honeymoon? What if the reality of an arranged marriage had somehow extinguished the passion they’d shared before? Wasn’t that another reason why she had been secretly relieved to maintain separate rooms until the wedding—because she’d been afraid of being put to the test, and failing?
At long last she reached the fragrant green arch and Drakon turned around and stared down at her. He took her trembling hand in his and suddenly this became about much more than whether this was the craziest thing she had ever done. Suddenly Lucy felt breathless with longing as Drakon’s strength seemed to radiate from his powerful frame, his black eyes crinkling in a way which reminded her how long she’d known him. Surely that counted for something. Surely they could make this work if they worked at it.
‘Okay?’ he mouthed.
She gave a quick nod. ‘I think so.’
‘You look beautiful.’
‘Th-thank you.’
Her voice sounded tremulous, Drakon thought as the celebrant began to intone the words. And her face was as white as her dress. He stole another glance at her, aware that his compliment had been dutiful rather than genuine because this dazzling creature didn’t look a bit like Lucy. The huge dress swamped her and the sequin-spattered veil did not seem to sit well with the simple country image she’d always projected. And her fingers were cold. As cold as the gold band which, moments later, he slid onto her finger. He looked down at a similar band which now gleamed unfamiliarly against his own olive skin. He’d never worn a ring before and it felt heavy and alien.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’
The finality of the words shattered his thoughts like a spray gun and Lucy’s blue eyes were blank as she looked up at him, almost as if the whole ceremony had happened without her realising it. You and me both, agape mou, he thought with a black-humoured sense of identity.
‘You may now kiss the bride.’
Drakon slid his arms around her waist and bent towards her, aware that the kiss was mainly for the benefit of the watching congregation. He hadn’t kissed her since that afternoon when she’d arrived at his apartment and, as a consequence, his desire for her had reached a level of intensity he’d never experienced before. For days it had been heating his blood and gnawing at his senses with a remorselessness which had left him barely able to think straight. It had tortured him. Tormented him. But hadn’t he almost enjoyed the boundaries she’d primly put in place, which had heightened his exquisite anticipation of tonight’s consummation? Strange to think that this most unlikely candidate was the first woman who had ever denied him anything. Which was why he didn’t make this a real kiss. He didn’t dare. He was afraid that once he’d started he wouldn’t be able to stop. That he would pin her down to the ground and rip that monstrous dress from her body—contemptuously tossing aside the tattered satin to touch the soft flesh beneath. He gave a brief nod as he brushed his lips over hers, in nothing more than a swift acknowledgement that the deal was done and dusted.
But he was aware of the disappointment which flashed through her eyes as he pulled away from her. And something else, too. Something which looked almost like fear, as the applause of the assembled guests echoed up into the gilded arches and they walked into an adjoining room to sign the r
egister. Was it the sudden inexplicable need to quell that fear which made him whisper his fingertips against her waist, so that she relaxed a little?
‘All done,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I guess so.’
‘So how does it feel to be Mrs Konstantinou? Kyria Konstantinou,’ he amended as they made their way towards the desk, where the registrar was waiting.
‘Slightly weird,’ she admitted. ‘Probably about as weird as it feels for you to have taken a wife, but no doubt we’ll get used to it.’
Her brisk words were reassuring. Drakon had wondered if she would expect him to recite affectionate words he didn’t really mean—saccharine statements which would leave him with a bad taste in his mouth. But if she was prepared to treat this marriage as nothing more than a business merger with benefits—what could possibly go wrong?
‘I suggest the best way of getting used to it is by having as early a night as possible,’ he said smoothly, scrawling his signature on the wedding licence and strangely pleased by the blush which flared in her cheeks. ‘Since tomorrow I’m taking you on honeymoon.’
She blinked at him—unaccustomed mascara making her eyes look huge and smoky. ‘We’re having a honeymoon?’
‘Isn’t that traditional?’ he murmured as his finger trailed over her pearl-encrusted sleeve. ‘As traditional as your white gown and veil? You’ll enjoy it, Lucy. I thought we’d fly to my island for the Christmas Eve celebrations.’
‘You mean Prasinisos?
He smiled. ‘At the last count, Prasinisos was the only island I owned.’
She pushed the waterfall of white veil back over her shoulder. ‘I never really thought about going to Greece at Christmas time.’
‘You thought my homeland neglected the winter holiday entirely?’ he challenged mockingly. ‘Or that it only comes to life when you can dip your sun-baked body into the wine-dark sea?’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Then you must be prepared to have your mind changed.’
‘And what about Xander?’ she asked tentatively. ‘What’s going to happen to our...son?’
Drakon frowned. His son. It was a word he had so far avoided using because it had been strange to think of himself as a parent. It still was. Every time he looked at the helpless infant, he could feel a cold fear clench at his heart, which made him turn away. But while nobody could accuse him of being falsely demonstrative, surely she didn’t think him uncaring enough to drag the infant halfway across the world and back for a couple of days? He narrowed his eyes. ‘The child’s presence is unnecessary,’ he said. ‘And the journey will be too much.’
‘But it’s Christmas!’
‘And you think a baby of less than three months will miss out on opening his presents?’ he demanded.
‘Please don’t put words in my mouth, Drakon!’
‘Then stop being so emotional. We will be gone for just three nights and then we will be back home in Mayfair.’
‘It just feels... I don’t know... It feels weird to leave him behind.’
‘You’ll get used to it. That’s why we employ a loyal and caring nanny. Now, wipe that frown from your face and let’s go and greet our guests. My godfather has travelled here from Honolulu and I really want you to meet him.’
With a heart which felt suddenly heavy, Lucy followed Drakon back into the ballroom to the sound of loud clapping and people crying, ‘Opa!’
Smiling at the guests, she tried to shake off her worries about guilt she’d felt when the celebrant had talked about them extending their family and her gaze had dropped to stare at the gleaming marble floor. But she’d told herself that none of his words were relevant, not in their case—and there was no need to feel guilty. Drakon didn’t want any more children, so the fact she was unable to give him any was neither here nor there.
Her heavy train slithering like a giant white snake behind her, she accompanied her new husband to the far end of the crowded ballroom, where his godfather was holding court. A handsome, silver-haired property magnate in his early sixties, Milo Lazopoulos was charming as he bent to kiss her on each cheek. The adoring crowd around him instantly dispersed, leaving the two men to speak briefly in Greek before Drakon excused himself and disappeared. Putting her bouquet down on a nearby table and finding herself alone with his godfather, Lucy was forced to address Milo’s probing line of conversation once the traditional pleasantries had been dispensed with.
‘I thank heaven that Drakon has stepped up to the plate and taken on the responsibilities left behind by his brother.’ Milo shook his head. ‘It was a terrible business. A terrible end to all that golden promise Niko was born with. To lose everything because you want to stick a needle in your arm. I just can’t understand it.’
‘They say that addiction is an illness,’ said Lucy quietly. ‘So perhaps we should feel compassion for him.’
Milo’s gaze was piercing. ‘Drakon tells me you used to be a nurse.’
‘That’s right.’ Lucy nodded. ‘A midwife, actually.’
‘Which means you are well equipped to take on a young baby,’ he observed.
‘I’m going to do my very best.’ She wondered what else Drakon had told his godfather. That they had agreed to a loveless marriage which was more of a business arrangement than anything else?
‘But you left midwifery?’ Milo continued.
‘Not everyone stays in the job for life,’ she commented gently.
‘Because it was too distressing?’
There was a pause and Lucy could hear the loud beat of her heart hammering beneath the embellished bodice of her wedding dress. He was insightful, she thought, as well as being blunt. There were distressing aspects in every field of nursing, of course there were. But she wouldn’t be telling Milo about her real reason for leaving the profession. Or Drakon, come to think about it. There was no need to, she reminded herself painfully. ‘Something like that,’ she agreed.
Something about her guarded reply made Milo’s eyes narrow. Was he aware of her misgivings and did this make him decide that his interrogation had been a little on the harsh side? ‘You seem the perfect choice of wife for my godson, Lucy. Someone calm and solid. A safe harbour after all those years of him resisting all forms of commitment. Funny, we always thought he’d...’ His words came to an abrupt halt as he plucked two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress and handed one to Lucy. ‘Let me be the first to toast the beautiful bride,’ he said, the fine lines which edged his black eyes crinkling into a smile as he held his goblet aloft. ‘Na zisoun!’
But Lucy could be insightful too and as she chinked her glass to his she wondered what he wasn’t telling her. ‘Always thought he’d, what...?’
She could see speculation flashing in Milo’s eyes, as if working out what she would or wouldn’t be able to tolerate. But she kept her gaze firm and steady, willing him to tell her the truth. Because this was a marriage based on truth, wasn’t it? Not fairy tales or fantasy.
He shrugged. ‘We always thought he might marry Amy.’
Lucy nodded, recognising the name immediately. Of course. Amy. Drakon’s business partner—and the woman who had bought his prospective bride a wardrobe of beautiful new clothes. The elusive Amy who was currently in Singapore wheeling and dealing and had apparently been unable to make the ceremony. She’d wondered if Amy’s explanation of back-to-back meetings had been true, or whether it had been too painful for her to watch Drakon take another woman as his bride. Lucy hoped her expression didn’t give her feelings away as insecurity began to pump through her veins. Instead, she aimed for the calmness she’d always been able to project even in the most trying circumstances—and this was hardly up there with those, was it?
‘We haven’t actually met,’ she said, managing to produce a smile from somewhere.
Milo turned his head as there was some sort of commotion over by the double set of gilded doors and a murmur went up around the ball
room. ‘Well, I think that’s just about to change,’ he said.
Lucy followed the direction of his gaze in time to witness the entrance of the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The rich emerald material of her slinky dress provided a luscious backdrop for the shiny hair which spilled over her narrow shoulders like melted dark chocolate. Her lips were as red as the berries in the garlands of holly and people were crowding around her making spontaneous whoops of joy—their behaviour in marked contrast to the wariness they’d displayed when introduced to Lucy.
Amy’s dark eyes were searching the room until they alighted on the bride and Lucy felt her heart give a great lurch as Milo spoke.
‘Here’s Amy,’ he said quietly. ‘And she’s heading this way.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘DON’T LOOK LIKE THAT,’ Drakon instructed softly.
‘Like what?’
‘Like a sacrificial lamb all poised and ready for slaughter. Close the bathroom door, agape mou, and come over here so that I can take off your wedding dress as quickly as possible and make love to you, as I have been badly longing to do for so long.’
But Lucy felt paralysed and unable to move. Struck by unwanted fears and an apprehension which was making her limbs feel awkward and heavy. She was trying to blame it on the long day—on the tension leading up to the ceremony itself and the supreme weight of her heavy gown—but deep inside she knew the real cause of her anxiety.
She licked lips which had grown as dry as bone. Because she’d met Amy. She hadn’t wanted to, but she’d liked Amy. She’d liked her very much. Her warm American voice had sounded both friendly and genuine. She’d found herself wishing that Amy had chosen her wedding dress because she was a damned sight sure it would have been more flattering than the one she’d ended up wearing. Remembering Milo’s words, Lucy had even found herself wondering why Drakon hadn’t married the stunning partner who’d been with him for years—when she seemed so beautiful and confident and fitted into his world much better than Lucy ever could.
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