Nine Months to Tame the Tycoon--An Uplifting International Romance

by Chantelle Shaw

  * * *

  A week later, the helicopter flew over Santorini, but instead of going to the villa it landed in the grounds of the Aphrodite hotel. The hotel had not opened for guests yet, so Lissa was surprised to see several cars parked on the driveway.

  ‘Maria will take Elias for a walk in the pram,’ Takis told her as he ushered her into the hotel.

  ‘Is an event taking place here today?’ Lissa asked.

  ‘A wedding.’ His eyes gleamed with an expression she could not decipher. It did not happen often for they no longer had secrets from each other.

  She walked into the wedding room and saw that a long table was set with delicate crockery, champagne flutes and a stunning floral display down the centre of the damask tablecloth. The pure white roses intertwined with spikes of purple lavender and sprigs of fragrant rosemary were exactly what she would have chosen for her dream wedding, Lissa thought wistfully.

  Outside on the terrace, chairs had been arranged in rows facing the arbour, which was swathed in white voile and decorated with roses. Beyond the romantic arch was that amazing view of the caldera, and the sky and the sea were as blue as the sapphire on Lissa’s engagement ring.

  It was astonishing how the bride, whoever she was, had incorporated every detail that Lissa had drawn on her designs when she’d planned the wedding venue.

  ‘I hope I haven’t forgotten anything,’ Takis murmured. ‘I used your designs to create the wedding setting.’

  ‘I hope the bride approves,’ she said lightly, trying not to show her disappointment that another woman would enjoy her perfect wedding.

  Takis smiled. ‘I hope she does too.’ He captured her hands and linked his fingers through hers. She was stunned when he dropped down on to one knee. ‘Will you marry me, Lissa mou? Here, today, in front of our family and friends, and will you let me show you how deeply I love you for the rest of our lives? All of this...’ he glanced around at the beautiful wedding setting ‘...is for you, for us, so that you can have the wedding of your dreams.’

  ‘B-but we are already married,’ she stammered.

  ‘The ceremony will be a blessing of our marriage and a renewal of the vows we made to one another.’

  ‘Oh, Takis, I love you so much.’

  ‘I love you, kardia mou.’ He framed her face with his hands and lowered his mouth to hers to kiss her with tender devotion.

  ‘Are we really going to have a wedding ceremony today?’ Lissa asked several blissful minutes later when he trailed his lips over her cheek and nuzzled the tender spot behind her ear.

  ‘We are.’

  She gave a rueful glance down at her strap top and denim skirt. ‘I’m not dressed to be a bride.’

  ‘I left your sister to organise your wedding dress and she delivered it to the hotel just before you arrived. Your brother is here too.’

  ‘Eleanor is here in Santorini? Did she know you were planning all this?’

  ‘I needed her help so that I could make our wedding perfect.’

  She smiled at him through her tears. ‘I thought you were not a fan of weddings?’

  ‘I will love ours, because I love you, koúkla mou, and I’ll do anything to make you happy.’

  ‘That’s easy. You just have to keep loving me.’

  Takis caught hold of her hand and led her up to the honeymoon suite. ‘Your dress is hanging in the wardrobe. I am under strict orders from your sister not to take a look at it.’

  ‘How long do we have before the ceremony?’ Lissa murmured. She met his smouldering gaze and recognised his hunger, which was as urgent as hers.

  ‘Just long enough,’ he growled as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed. And then he was kissing her like she had longed to be kissed, wildly and passionately, his tongue tangling with hers while his hands made short work of undressing her.

  She felt the thunder of his heart beneath her fingertips when she skimmed her hands over his chest, tracing the arrowing of rough hairs down to where his arousal was thick and hard. When he eased into her, he told her how much he loved her. He kept nothing back as he whispered the secrets that were no longer hidden in his heart and were all for her.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Lissa stared at her reflection in the mirror and decided that this must be a dream. Her wedding dress was from the pages of a fairy tale, an exquisite concoction of ivory tulle and lace with an off-the-shoulder bodice and a full skirt adorned with tiny pearls and diamanté. Her brother, Mark, escorted her down to the terrace where her friends from England had gathered with Takis’s friends, who had welcomed her into their social circle in Athens. Eleanor was there with Jace and their baby daughter, and Elias was asleep in his pram.

  Her eyes flew to Takis, who looked impossibly handsome in a light grey suit, a navy blue shirt and silvery grey tie. Her husband who loved her. It was in his eyes when he gazed at her in a kind of awe, and in his husky voice when he whispered that she was the most beautiful bride there had ever been.

  When they renewed their vows he slid a stunning diamond eternity ring on to her finger, where it sparkled as brightly as stars next to the blue sapphire engagement ring and her wedding band.

  ‘The honeymoon suite has a pool where we can swim beneath the stars,’ Takis whispered against her lips.

  ‘I didn’t pack my swimsuit.’

  He grinned. ‘Neither did I.’

  * * *

  Dinner was a noisy, happy affair as the wedding party laughed and chatted and toasted the health and happiness of the bride and groom. It was all a little too much for the youngest guests, and as the sun sank into the sea and the sky turned pink and gold, Takis carried his son across the terrace to show him the breathtaking sunset.

  Jace was there, cradling his little daughter in his arms. ‘Do you remember how we used to say that we would never get married, and we definitely didn’t want children? What happened?’ he asked ruefully.

  ‘Love happened.’ Takis grinned. ‘We have come a long way, my friend. Who would have guessed that we would end up with our own families?’

  ‘I have no regrets,’ Jace said. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I am the luckiest man in the world.’ Takis looked down at his angelic son before he turned his head and gazed at his wife, who was the love of his life. She looked over at him and her smile was full of love and promise for tonight when they would be alone. ‘No regrets,’ he said softly.

  * * *

  Caught up in Nine Months to Tame the Tycoon? Don’t miss the first instalment in

  the Innocent Summer Brides duet

  The Greek Wedding She Never Had

  And why not check out these other stories by Chantelle Shaw?

  Reunited by a Shock Pregnancy

  Wed for the Spaniard’s Redemption

  Proof of Their Forbidden Night

  Her Wedding Night Negotiation

  Housekeeper in the Headlines

  Available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Sicilian’s Forgotten Wife by Caitlin Crews.

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  The Sicilian’s Forgotten Wife

  by Caitlin Crews

  CHAPTER ONE

  JOSSELYN CHRISTIE DID not expect to enjoy her wedding day.

  It wasn’t that kind of wedding. She wasn’t that kind of bride—the sort who had dreamed her whole life of a white dress, a battalion of attendants, and a ceremony filled with personal details and love—which was just as well, because there was an appropriate dress, but no battalion. And the ceremony had been about the
solemnity of marriage itself, not the couple getting married. A necessity as the couple hardly knew each other.

  Josselyn understood it wouldn’t be a modern marriage, either, bristling with romance and mushy public declarations. Enjoyment really wasn’t on the menu.

  But she had hoped for some degree of civility from the groom.

  Her reception was in full swing in the ballroom. Old money Philadelphia milled genteelly around the ballroom in all their usual glory, here in her father’s house on the historic Christie estate, considered one of the most elegant addresses in Pennsylvania. And therefore, by definition, in the whole of America.

  Just ask anyone here, Josselyn thought, as close to amused as she’d been in months.

  The money on display in this ballroom tonight was so ancient that those who had inherited it didn’t call themselves Old Philadelphians. They preferred proper Philadelphians, or perennial Philadelphians, depending on the audience. But one thing they could all agree upon was that they were the direct—and in some cases, indirect—descendants of the first families of Ye Olde Pennsylvania colony. They felt, almost universally, that their bloodlines made them personally responsible for settling the state of Pennsylvania—and by inference, therefore, these United States.

  If she listened closely, Josselyn was sure she could hear some of the snootier guests murmuring the so-called Philadelphia Rosary just under the sound of the band, that old rhyme of worthy Pennsylvania family names.

  Morris, Norris, Rush and Chew...

  Drinker, Dallas, Coxe and Pugh...

  The Christies had Whartons on one side and Pennypackers on the other. Their money was old, their blood blue, and Josselyn supposed she should always have known that she was destined for a future precisely like the one she was embarking upon tonight. She should not have imagined that, somehow, she would be saved from sacrificing herself to her family name like all the blue-blooded brides before her.

  “You look pensive, my dear,” came a familiar voice from beside her, startling Josselyn out of her gloomy thoughts. Thoughts of bloodlines and sacrifice did not inspire the average bride to beam about her reception, apparently. But she smiled almost instantly anyway, the usual rush of affection taking her over.

  Even today.

  Especially today.

  Because she loved her father to distraction. She would do anything for him, as this day proved. She smiled down at him now, remembering when he had seemed bigger and stronger than anything that might threaten her. Now the years had seemed to shrink the elderly Archibald Christie, but she could see the differences in him already. Now that he had settled his daughter’s affairs as well as he could, in the best way he knew.

  Because he believed that this marriage would keep Josselyn safe. And having lost her mother and brother, even if the accident was so long ago now, Josselyn had always understood that her safety was her father’s primary concern.

  Even at such a cost.

  Her gaze moved of its own accord toward the towering, brooding figure across the ballroom, engaged in deep conversation with a collection of other billionaires—all hanging on his every word, naturally—but she forced her eyes back to her father. No good could possibly come of making herself more anxious. Worrying would not change what lay ahead of her.

  “I think the beginning of any marriage requires some level of pensiveness,” Josselyn said, but lightly. She slid her arm around her father’s shoulders, trying not to notice that he felt more frail than he should have. Because noticing it only broke her heart anew. And her poor heart was in enough trouble today. “Some sober reflection, perhaps. Clearheadedness and calm in preparation for what is to come.”

  She could feel her father sigh a bit, next to her. They stood side by side, looking out over all the very best people who danced, drank, and cavorted beneath the gleaming lights. And who, Josselyn knew, would give not one thought to her again. Not one single thought.

  Because this was the kind of wedding people attended for any number of reasons, but none of them having to do with celebrating love. And really, Josselyn had no one to blame but herself for imagining love would ever factor into her situation.

  More fool her.

  “I understand that this is not, perhaps, what you wanted,” Archibald said in his usual tone, gruffness overlaid with seven decades of innate polish. “I may be an old fool, but I hope I’m not entirely delusional.”

  “Of course not, Papa,” Josselyn murmured. Placating him, of course. She’d told herself a million times that she needed to stop doing it, because surely it was time she strode forth and claimed her own life. But no matter how many New Year’s resolutions she made, she couldn’t quite bring herself to stop.

  That was what affection did. It made her act against her own interests, and she couldn’t even say she’d minded too much until now.

  Her father was many things, but easily placated was not among them. “You might think that I am a doddering idiot. I accept that. But I think, in time, you’ll see that all of this is for the best.”

  “I understand,” Josselyn said as calmly as she could. “If I didn’t understand, I would never have agreed.”

  And that was the thing. She had agreed.

  No matter how overwrought she might have felt when she’d walked down the aisle this afternoon, no one had forced her to do it. There had been no gun at her back, no threats, no direct pressure. Josselyn had taken her father’s arm of her own free will and walked down that long aisle to her own doom.

  Her father was drawn into conversation with an old family friend, but Josselyn stayed where she was. She smoothed her hands down the front of her exquisite gown, a near replica of the one her gorgeous mother had worn at her wedding. It had been Josselyn’s great joy, if laced with the usual bitter sweetness, to hold on tight to that connection today. She ordered herself to breathe. To smile. Instead, against her will, her gaze was drawn back across the room to where he still stood, holding court in his typically unyielding fashion.

  Cenzo Falcone, a man so widely feared and admired that his first name was usually enough to create commotion. Cenzo, they would whisper, then shudder, and no explanation was needed. Cenzo, descended through European royalty and considered Sicilian nobility, heir to crumbling castles across the globe and a fortune so vast it was said a man could not possibly spend it all in ten lifetimes.

  Cenzo Falcone. Her husband.

  God have mercy on her soul.

  A passing waiter offered Josselyn a drink and she took it gratefully. She was tempted to neck it straight down, but she managed to control herself. Rendering herself insensate might be appealing—more than appealing, at the moment—but she doubted it would end well. Because the wedding and the reception were one thing, but the clock was ticking. And all too soon, Josselyn would have to leave this place.

  With him.

  As his wife.

  She took a small sip of the sparkling wine and kept her gaze trained on the groom.

  Her husband. Maybe if she kept calling him what he was, this whole thing would seem more real. Or less overwhelming. Because many people had husbands. They were thick on the ground. There was surely no need to find the term intimidating.

  Maybe if she called him what he was, she would find her way to some kind of peace with her new role as his wife.

  When she looked across the room at this man who had stood up before all these people—there at the head of the long aisle, unsmiling while tightly coiled power swirled all around him, his brutally sensual features a raw assault—her mouth went dry. When the wedding ceremony had been hours ago now.

  It was something about those arresting eyes of his, copper and gold, as if he was making a mockery of all the robber barons who had made their fortunes here. Many of whose descendants were currently eating canapés and having a waltz across the ballroom floor.

  Breathe, Josselyn ordered herself.

&nb
sp; Their courtship, such as it was, had been conducted over the course of only two in-person meetings. The first meeting had occurred two years ago, in Northeast Harbor, Maine, where Josselyn’s family had been summering for more than a hundred years. Josselyn had been acting as her father’s social secretary since she’d graduated from Vassar four years before, and she had been spending the cool afternoon catching up on his correspondence in the blue and white sitting room where her mother had once sat and read to her.

  And everything seemed divided into before and after that fateful meeting.

  There was before, when she had been writing out notes by hand because her father prided himself on his old school, old world approach to things. The secret to my success, my dear, he would tell her jovially, when they both knew the real secret was having been born a Christie. And better still, the male heir.

  Josselyn had been humming her favorite summer anthem beneath her breath, silly and bright. She had been thinking that the breeze coming in through the windows was lovely, but it was making her a bit cold, so she might run up in a moment to grab a light scarf. Her plans had involved a walk later. Possibly a sail, though her father didn’t like it when she sailed out alone, so she rarely did it. It had been a Thursday, so her father’s housekeeper was off and it would fall to Josselyn to prepare their supper later. She was planning on a cold soup with fresh vegetables from the garden.

  Such a mundane, quiet summer’s day in the middle of what she’d considered a happy little life. At least, Josselyn thought she’d been happy. It seemed to her she must have been, in those last, sweet moments before everything changed.

  “Josselyn,” her father had called from the parlor in the front part of the house. “Come meet our guest.”