by Jane Porter
After twenty-three years of being useless, after twenty-three years of being an embarrassment, she was aiding her father, significantly aiding him by saving him from bankruptcy and all the ensuing humiliation and shame.
Empowered, Kassiani drew a breath, lifted her chin and took her first step into the four-hundred-year-old Greek Orthodox church. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the cool, dark interior, and then she spotted the groom before her. It really was a tiny chapel, with just five rows of pews on either side of the narrow aisle.
Damen Michael Alexopoulos stood at the front, just before the altar and priest. Once Kassiani spotted her future husband, she couldn’t look away. Dressed in a severe black suit, he looked even more intimidating than he had yesterday in the villa suite. She didn’t know if it was his height, or the width of his shoulders, but there was a dangerous stillness about him now that made the air catch in her throat.
Was he suspicious?
Had he already figured out she wasn’t the right bride?
Kass was so heavily veiled that she could barely see through the thick white lace, but he was no fool and it wouldn’t take much to assess her size and shape and realize that there was no way she was Elexis, of Instagram fame. Elexis was opposite Kass in every way imaginable. Even wearing treacherously high heels, Kassiani remained short, her plump figure wrapped in the tightest of undergarments, including the old-fashioned corset necessary to make Elexis’s dress fit, and that was after the dress had been altered to include additional panels and a dramatically shortened hem.
“He knows,” she said under her breath.
“He doesn’t,” her father gritted. “And it’s too late for second thoughts. You cannot fail me.”
A lump filled her throat. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
She clenched his arm and kept her chin high. The only way through challenging times was to go through them. There would be no retreat. There would be no panicking. She would make this work. She would find a way to please her husband. She would bring the two families together. And it would be her, Petra Kassiani, who did it, not Elexis, and not her playboy brother, Barnabas, who had so little familial love that he hadn’t even bothered to show up for the wedding.
She could do this. She could.
The real question was, would he?
* * *
Damen knew the moment Kristopher Dukas entered the chapel with his daughter that it was the wrong daughter.
He watched them process—portly Kristopher with his heavily veiled daughter teetering in her heels—unable to believe the American’s audacity.
It seemed that once again Kristopher took the easy way out. Instead of retrieving the wayward Elexis, Kristopher had simply swapped daughters, substituting the youngest for the eldest.
Who did that?
What kind of man treated his daughters like cattle?
Damen felt a jolt—shock, disbelief—as Kristopher placed his younger daughter’s hand in his, handing her over at the altar, clearly the sacrificial lamb. Even Damen, who was ruthless in business, knew the difference between dishonesty and betrayal. And this was a betrayal.
It’s not that he needed a beauty queen for a bride, but this younger daughter wasn’t Elexis and he’d chosen Elexis for a reason.
Gleaming, polished, ambitious Elexis Dukas suited him in looks and temperament. She’d hold her own socially, and she’d be an accomplished hostess, things he knew he needed in a wife because he detested social engagements and refused to be part of any dog and pony show. Elexis loved the spotlight. She loved attention. She could easily represent them at important functions and no one would miss him. Why would they, when they had her?
He felt no affection for Elexis, but she was the one he wanted, and he hadn’t proposed to her without knowing exactly what he was getting in a wife—both strengths and weaknesses. Elexis led an enviable lifestyle. She traveled with the jet set. She partied at all the best clubs. She wore the best clothes, sitting in the front rows of the biggest fashion shows. Her life was one photo opportunity after another, but he’d let her carry on as she always had during their engagement, aware that once she became his wife, she’d settle down and become a proper wife.
He needed a proper wife, one who understood her place in his world, and wouldn’t make emotional demands. He didn’t do emotions. And he didn’t tolerate demands.
But now Elexis was gone and there was a very different Dukas at his side and it suddenly crossed Damen’s mind that perhaps this had been Kristopher’s plan from the beginning. Perhaps Elexis had never intended to marry him? Perhaps Kristopher had never planned on giving his beloved Elexis to Damen?
Perhaps Kristopher had always intended on dumping his youngest, the one he casually referred to as the Dukas Ugly Duckling, on him.
He should walk out now.
And just when he was about to drop the Ugly Duckling’s hand, she lifted her face, her dark gaze finding his through her veil, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
* * *
They signed the registry in the chapel’s antechamber. Damen gritted his teeth, angry beyond measure as it struck him that the worst part of this—no, not the worst but yet another negative among negatives—was that he didn’t even know his new wife’s name. “So who have I married, if not Elexis?” he ground out as the priest handed him a pen.
Her long lace veil had been folded back on the top of her head and she glanced at him but looked away, unable to hold his furious gaze. He felt a tightness in his chest as her ridiculously long black lashes dropped, concealing her eyes.
“Kassiani,” she said huskily.
He felt angrier by the moment. His fingers itched to smash something hard—like the narrow table, or the nearest stone wall. “That wasn’t the name in the ceremony.”
“No, the priest used my legal first name, Petra, but no one calls me Petra. I’m either Kass or Kassiani.”
He ground his teeth together, not just upset with her, but with himself for not having walked out of the service when he could. Why had he let her apology sway him? Why had her whispered words kept him from leaving her there at the altar?
He didn’t know the answers to any of those questions, and he wasn’t in the frame of mind to sort it out. “Do not think this is over,” he said curtly after signing his name and handing the pen to her.
She looked up at him as she accepted the pen, a faint line between her arched eyebrows, expression troubled. “I don’t.”
“Was this always the plan, to swap sisters on the unsuspecting groom?”
Color suffused her pale cheeks. “No.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t want you.”
The pink color swiftly faded from her face. Her full lips compressed as she drew a slow breath and then she managed an unsteady laugh. “Understood.”
“I’m not trying to be offensive.”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze then, her eyes locking with his. “No offense taken.”
In any other circumstances, he thought he would have liked her. She was direct and smart and articulate. But this wasn’t a casual conversation. He’d just been played and he wasn’t in the most charitable frame of mind. “I’m not one to forgive and forget.”
* * *
He saw a shadow pass across her face, and he almost felt sorry for her, but then the shadow disappeared, leaving her expression calm and composed. “And as you can see, I’m not one to pass up a slice of cake, or a bit of a chocolate.” Then she leaned over the registry and added her name, her long lace veil spilling across her shoulder in a waterfall of white. When she’d finished, she straightened and squared her shoulders and handed back the pen. “It seems we all have our crosses to bear.”
He didn’t know if it was her words, or her ridiculous bravado, but he felt a rush of intense emotion—emotion he didn’t welcome—and drew her hard against him, tilting
her chin back with one hand before covering her mouth, capturing it with his. She was petite, barely reaching his shoulder, and impossibly warm and soft, which made his kiss harder, and fiercer. It wasn’t the kiss a man should give his young bride, but nothing about this wedding was right.
* * *
Upstairs in the luxurious villa bedroom Kassiani had dressed in earlier, she walked back and forth, chewing on a knuckle, trying to calm herself.
He didn’t want her, and he didn’t like her, and she had a feeling this could all still fall apart any moment.
The vows wouldn’t hold, not unless the marriage was consummated, and she couldn’t imagine him taking her to his bed right now. Quite frankly, she didn’t want to be in his bed, either, and she shuddered remembering his coldness as he’d told her he didn’t forgive and forget.
She didn’t doubt him.
Which was why she was here in the bedroom, hiding. She’d lost her nerve. Somehow she’d found the necessary courage this morning to take Elexis’s place for the ceremony, but that courage was gone.
Thank God the ceremony had been small and private. No one but the immediate family attended. However, the reception was large, with hundreds of guests flying in from all over the world to witness the marriage of Elexis Dukas and Damen Alexopoulos.
Kassiani stopped pacing to double over, wanting to throw up as she imagined appearing at the reception. The guests would laugh when they saw her. It was one thing to be Elexis in private, hidden beneath layers of thick lace. It was another to be Elexis in front of those who knew her sister best.
Kass couldn’t imagine joining Damen on the terrace for dinner, or dancing, or cutting of the cake. She’d convinced herself she could do this—but she’d thought only about the ceremony and vows. She hadn’t taken in the terror of appearing in public as his new wife.
His wife.
Kassiani’s legs buckled and she dropped onto the edge of the bed, her full skirts billowing up around her, her feet aching from her stupid shoes.
What had she done?
She was wiping away tears when her bedroom door suddenly opened and Damen entered her room.
He hadn’t even knocked. He’d simply barged in.
Her head jerked up, her lips parting in surprise, but she uttered no protest. His fierce expression silenced anything she might have said.
She waited for him to speak.
He didn’t.
He simply stared at her, and the silence was unbearable. A tremor coursed through her.
Time slowed to a crawl. The seconds felt like minutes. She tried to meet his gaze but his scathing look of contempt was more than she could endure in that moment. “Please say something,” she finally murmured.
“Our guests have been waiting.”
Again she pictured the stone terrace filled with linen-draped tables and gleaming candelabras. The reception was a sophisticated palette of cream, bisque and white and Kassiani did not belong there. It wasn’t her wedding. They weren’t her guests. This wasn’t her party. “I couldn’t go down.”
“Am I to bring the guests up to you?”
“No. Please don’t.”
“Do you want to be carried down?”
“No.” She couldn’t look at him. Her eyes burned. What had seemed so brave and necessary this morning now seemed like the worst idea imaginable.
“It’s a little late to turn coward.”
She hung her head. “I agree.”
Silence stretched. The room was so quiet she could hear his low, irritated exhale. “If you’re expecting sympathy—”
“I’m not.”
“Good. This is your own fault.”
She started to speak, but then closed her mouth, pressing her lips together. He was right, of course. How could she argue the point?
“You can’t just sit up here all night,” he added after a moment.
She plucked at a pearl embroidered into the skirt of her gown. “I’m not much of a party person. I never have been.”
“Even if it’s your own wedding?”
“As we both know, it wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Therein lies the problem.”
She briefly met his gaze, her breath catching in her throat before she swiftly averted her head, blood rushing to her cheeks.
He made her so nervous. He was nothing like her father or brother. He was nothing like anyone she’d ever known before.
“How did you think this would go?” he asked, his tone shifting, less harsh, almost mild.
The change in tone surprised her, but still she couldn’t speak.
Kassiani bit her lip, unable to answer.
“Truthfully,” he prompted.
Her shoulders twisted. She hated this helpless, pathetic feeling. She hated feeling like a failure. She hadn’t married him to be a failure. “I didn’t think about the reception and the guests. To be honest, this part didn’t even cross my mind. It was just the ceremony...and then...” She drew a quick breath and lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. “...the rest.”
“And what was the rest?”
“Being a proper wife.” She could see from the cynical glint in his eyes that he didn’t believe her. “I understand what wives do. Your comfort is my responsibility—”
“Your father told you this?”
“I’m a Greek woman. I know what Greek men expect.”
There was something in his dark, speculative gaze that made her skin prickle and her pulse lurch, and she didn’t know how to manage so many new and strange feelings at the same time.
“Go on, then.”
She swallowed hard, trying not to betray just how nervous she felt. “Besides taking care of you, I’m to manage your home...or homes. I’m to provide you with children. And I understand and accept those responsibilities.”
“It seems one of the Dukas daughters is dutiful, then.”
“Elexis and I have different strengths.”
“She likes parties.”
“She would have enjoyed the reception, yes.”
“And the photographers.”
“The camera loves her.”
“What did your father do to convince you to take your sister’s place?”
Her brow creased. “Excuse me?”
“Did he threaten you? Or was there a bribe involved? How did he get you to walk down the aisle and go through this whole...charade?”
“It’s not a charade. I married you.” She paused, gathering herself. “Of my own volition.”
“So you volunteered?”
“No. I didn’t volunteer. This isn’t exactly a volunteer position.”
He made a rough sound in the back of his throat and Kassiani calmly added, “But when my father presented me the...situation... I agreed that it was a problem and my family was indebted to you. It wouldn’t be right for the Dukases to humiliate you. So I agreed to take Elexis’s place so that the merger of businesses and families could still take place.”
“Wasn’t there a saint named Kassiani?”
“She was a hymnographer, not a virgin bride.”
He gave her another long look. “I’m to be grateful the Dukas virgin has been forced onto me?”
She winced but refused to dwell on his sarcasm. “You’re not being forced into anything. You can annul this afternoon’s ceremony. Tomorrow. The next day. The day after.” Her chin lifted. “As long as we don’t consummate the marriage, you’re free to annul this marriage at any time.”
“Is that what you’re hoping I’ll do?”
“No. I said vows today and I intend to keep them. It is my expectation that we’ll consummate the marriage tonight.”
“And if I don’t feel like falling into bed with...you?”
A lump filled her throat. She was aware of how disappointing she was as a woman. She could never comp
are, or compete, with Elexis. But she was still a woman and she had feelings. And hopes. And dreams. “I will do my best to make you want me.”
The glance he shot her seemed laced with scorn and then he walked away from her, crossing the room to stand at the window, which faced the sea and the ancient Temple of Poseidon, which glowed golden in the setting sun. Tonight promised to be yet another spectacular sunset. Sunsets on Cape Sounio were the stuff of legends.
“Perhaps we should just dispense with this farce now,” Damen said, his back still to her, his gaze fixed on the sea.
“Perhaps,” she agreed serenely, grateful he couldn’t see her hard jaw and how hurt and frustration welled. “I won’t call you a coward if you do.”
He turned suddenly, facing her. Temper blazed in his eyes. “I have done my part,” he gritted. “I invested in Dukas Shipping. I sorted out your father’s legal entanglements. I put aside my mistresses and waited patiently, celibately for your sister—”
“That was obviously a mistake.”
“You’re not helping your case, kitten.”
“I don’t think anything can. Because surely you don’t want my sympathy, do you?” He didn’t answer and her firm chin rose higher. “Maybe you should’ve spent more time with your future bride to make sure she was the right bride.”
“Your father assured me Elexis was the right bride.”
“And there is the root of all our problems. You trusted my father.” Her full lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The world thinks you’re smarter than that.”
He stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “That does not sound very complimentary for a daughter to say of the father.”
“Or for a bride to say of her new husband—”
“I wasn’t going to say it.”
She shrugged, and plucked at yet another pearl on her gown. “I’m a realist, I always have been.” Kassiani drew a breath before continuing, her words cool and measured. “And I know who my family are. I know their strengths. I know their weaknesses.” Her eyebrows flattened, her expression turning pensive. “Personally, I would not have gone into business with them. And I certainly wouldn’t have climbed into bed with them. But you wanted the West Coast of North America. You wanted the ships and the ports and the agreements, and now you have them.”