The Greek's Pregnant Bride

by Michelle Smart

‘How?’

  ‘By announcing our marriage. We will send out a press release today.’

  She pulled a face. ‘If we announce it now, the press will go into a frenzy.’

  ‘They will,’ he agreed. During their many phone conversations over the past ten days they’d discussed how to handle the press and had agreed to delay notifying them until a week before the wedding, at which point Alessandra would join him in Athens. All the guests they planned to invite could be relied on for their discretion. ‘But it will be a controlled frenzy and give them something to write about that should, hopefully, supersede any rumour that may come about your brother hitting me. You will have to travel to Athens with me...’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘You’ve already agreed to join me there.’

  ‘But not for another week.’

  ‘It will be safer for you. Here, you’re too exposed. The paparazzi can doorstep you.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ Eyes blazing, she folded her arms across her chest. ‘I can’t go anywhere. I have work commitments. Lots of them. It’s been hard enough trying to rearrange my schedule for the wedding and honeymoon but at least I’ve been able to give the editors and fashion houses I freelance for some notice. For me to come to Athens today means letting them all down at the last minute.’

  ‘What’s the alternative? For you to stay here in Milan to face the press on your own? You wanted my support and I am trying to give it to you.’

  ‘Why do I need to leave? Why can’t you stay here?’

  ‘I need to be in Athens. I have important business commitments coming up this week.’

  ‘Are you saying your commitments are more important than mine?’

  ‘No.’ Swearing, he gripped hold of his mug. ‘Yes.’

  Looking at her, he could see she was fighting the urge to punch him in the face just as her brother had done.

  Such passion.

  On the surface, Alessandra Mondelli was the epitome of cool sophistication. Scratch beneath it and the passionate, sultry woman emerged like a vibrant butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.

  Knowing he was the only man to have experienced that passion made his chest fill.

  Her passion was his. All his.

  One day, soon, he would sate himself in her arms again. He knew it and she knew it too; he could see it in the way the pupils of her eyes dilated when their gazes met, the way her breath hitched when they brushed against each other.

  She still wanted him.

  The thought of them sharing a bed again made his loins tighten and the dread of their forthcoming nuptials taste sweeter.

  She would be his again.

  For now, though, all thoughts of making love would have to wait. He’d given his word not to make a move on her until after their wedding and he intended to keep it.

  ‘In the future we will arrange our schedules to accommodate both our obligations, but in this instance I’m afraid my commitments are more important than yours.’

  One of Greece’s major banks—one that had weathered the worst of the financial crisis—had been plunged into serious financial trouble and had called on Christian for help and advice. So many of his compatriots were struggling; it was like a constant pain in his chest. He’d been there once: impoverished. Desperate. He gave his assistance gladly.

  ‘That’s just...’

  ‘There is another alternative,’ he said, knowing perfectly well it was an alternative she would dismiss out of hand. ‘You can stay at Villa Mondelli. The press won’t be able to touch you there, not with all the security measures that have been put in place.’

  ‘What, with my brother? I would rather stay in a convent.’

  ‘Those are your options: stay here alone to deal with the press you hate so much, stay with the brother you’ve just disowned or come to Athens with me where the press can’t touch you.’

  ‘Then I stay.’

  Theos, give him patience. The woman was even more stubborn than her brother. ‘And deal with the press alone? When you hate them so much?’

  ‘At least I know their comments will be kinder than they were before. I’d much rather they harass me by asking questions about our wedding than harass me by telling me who the latest person to call me a slut is.’

  ‘They did that?’ He’d seen much of the coverage, knew she’d had a rough time with the press, but had had no idea they had stooped so low as to tell a vulnerable teenager what despicable names people were calling her.

  ‘That was then. I’m perfectly safe here in my apartment—the press can’t get past the concierge.’

  ‘Who are these people who called you a slut?’ His brain refused to move on from that piece of information. When he learned who had said such insulting words towards her, he would hunt each and every one of them down. He would make them pay.

  The sheer violence of his thoughts shocked him.

  All his life he’d used his brains to better himself, only using his fists when it was a choice of fight or flight.

  The kids in his neighbourhood had roamed the streets of Athens in packs while he had spent his precious free time with his head buried in books, determined to educate himself out of that life. They’d seen him as a freak.

  Often they had lain in wait for him. Between the ages of ten and sixteen he’d been beaten up on average once a month. Always he’d fought back, sometimes more successfully than others. Then, aged sixteen, he’d experienced a monster of a growth spurt, growing six inches in six months. He’d also found himself an early-morning job at the fish market lugging heavy boxes of freshly caught mackerel and sardines. He’d filled out physically to match his new height.

  He’d no longer been the skinny, bookish kid and the bullies had known it. After one particular fight, when he’d broken the nose of the ringleader and blackened the eyes of two others, they’d left him alone.

  He hadn’t wanted to hit anyone since then. Until now.

  How could anyone call Alessandra a slut?

  ‘Too many to name.’ She answered his question with a shrug.

  ‘How could they say such things? You were a child.’

  ‘I was seventeen. Old enough to know better.’

  ‘Do not tell me you blame yourself?’

  ‘Only in the respect that I swallowed Javier’s lies.’ Her eyes pierced right through him. ‘I should have known not to trust the word of a man.’

  ‘Not all men are liars.’

  ‘Aren’t they?’ She didn’t elaborate. She continued staring at him with the same piercing expression.

  ‘No!’ he said forcefully.

  ‘With the exception of my brother, all the men I’ve ever known have been liars. Trusting Javier cost me everything. My grandfather turned into my jailer, the few friends he’d permitted me to have turned their backs on me because their parents didn’t want me corrupting them and Rocco had the humiliation of reading untrue, lewd comments about his baby sister. I’m sorry, but I will never trust you, Christian. All I can do is try and have faith that your indiscretions will be discreet.’

  ‘I will never humiliate you or disrespect you.’ He rose from his seat, ignoring the throbbing pain across the front of his face, and crouched on his haunches before her. Placing a hand on her neck, he rubbed his thumb over the soft skin.

  Theos, one touch of her softness, one inhalation of her scent and his body responded, his groin tightening as memories of burying himself inside her assailed him.

  ‘You are going to be my wife.’ He spoke the words slowly. ‘If you do not believe anything else, believe that that means something to me. I will take my vows seriously.’

  ‘I’m sure Javier said the same thing to his wife.’

  Christian swore and inhaled deeply.

  Alessandra leant forward, matching the intensity of
his stare, close enough for his oaky, masculine scent to swirl around her.

  His hand was still pressed against her neck, heating her skin. For a moment she lost her train of thought, suddenly pulled back to that night two months ago, his naked body covering hers...

  She blinked herself back to the present, grabbing onto his hand and lacing her fingers into his. She squeezed. ‘When Javier’s wife saw those photos of her husband kissing a girl half his age, she must have thought her heart was breaking.’

  Those dreadful, incriminating pictures.

  Her brother and grandfather had taken a business trip together to New York for a long weekend. The Mondelli housekeeper had taken the day off. Alessandra and the man who was supposed to be giving her private tuition in maths over the long summer holiday had had the villa to themselves for the very first time. They could have done anything.

  It had been her suggestion that they go out for lunch at a nearby hotel, famed for its discretion. Javier didn’t live locally. No one would know him.

  She’d longed to do something as a normal couple, not have to keep her feelings hidden away, and this had been the perfect opportunity. She’d believed him when he’d said they had to keep their love a secret until she turned eighteen and finished her schooling.

  How grown up she’d felt, walking hand in hand with her would-be lover. How naïve she’d been.

  They’d dined in the fine hotel restaurant using her allowance to pay the bill, oblivious to the fact that half a dozen paparazzi had swarmed the lobby, awaiting the rumoured arrival of one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors.

  While she’d been blithely oblivious, they’d recognised her in an instant. The photos they’d taken, published the next day across the whole of Italy, had been incriminating. Her and Javier holding hands, stealing kisses that looked a damn sight worse than the chaste kisses they’d actually been.

  That was the last time she’d seen the coward. For a whole weekend, while her brother and grandfather had been in New York, she’d had to cope with a siege of paparazzi on her own. Those reporters had been there to witness Javier’s wife arrive at the villa and bang on the door until a guilt-stricken Alessandra had answered it, her fulsome apology ready on her tongue. She’d never had the chance to say the words. As soon as she’d opened the door, Javier’s wife had spat in her face, slapped her and called her a puttana—a whore. The press had caught every frame for posterity.

  By the time her brother and grandfather had returned the damage had been done.

  ‘Why didn’t you ever put your side across?’ Christian asked. If he felt any pain in his fingers he didn’t show it, allowing her to continue squeezing tightly, as if he knew it to be an outward measure of the fury and pain recalling that awful time provoked.

  ‘I wasn’t allowed. Rocco and Nonno closed ranks.’ She attempted a laugh. ‘They were furious with me.’

  ‘Why? Your tutor took advantage of you. If they were furious with anyone, it should have been him.’

  ‘They were furious with him for taking advantage of me, but it didn’t change the fact that I’d been sneaking around with a man almost twice my age. They forbade me from speaking to the press, saying I’d caused enough shame on the family name.’ Even if she’d chosen to defy them, by the time she’d got over the shock that had rendered her virtually mute the press had moved on to its next victim. Alessandra Mondelli’s affair with a married man had been old news. No one had cared for her side.

  Christian disentangled his fingers from her grip and muttered another curse as he got to his feet.

  The place where he’d rested his hand against her neck suddenly felt cold.

  She shivered and rose to her feet to stand before him. ‘If I leave with you today, my career will be ruined. No editor or fashion director will ever trust me again. It’s the only thing I’ve got to hold onto, the only thing that gives my life any meaning.’ How could she expect him to understand that? Her career was all her own. It had taken everything she had to get her name taken seriously and pull herself out from the cloud of scandal.

  ‘And what about our child? Or does he or she not come into it?’

  ‘Don’t twist it like that. When our baby is born everything is going to change—I know that, and I’m preparing myself for the change it will bring, but right now I’m healthy and capable of working.’

  ‘I’m not happy about this. You can’t take risks with your health.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to be happy about it, but ultimately the decision is mine, so please don’t patronise me about the health aspect—you were there when the doctor said I should live a normal life.’

  He threw his hands in the air and shook his head, not bothering to hide his anger or frustration.

  She continued speaking before he could open his mouth to argue any further. ‘I will hire a bodyguard for when I leave the apartment—I promise I will protect our baby.’

  ‘I will hire a bodyguard for you,’ he insisted, looking only slightly mollified. ‘And I want your word of honour that if at any time you feel in any kind of danger you will call me immediately.’

  ‘I promise.’

  He appraised her with narrowed eyes for a moment longer before inclining his head. ‘Then I will have to trust you to keep to your word.’

  She certainly deserved that.

  * * *

  Welcome to Athens.

  No sooner had Alessandra stepped off Christian’s private jet than two bodyguards appeared from nowhere. They took her luggage and escorted her to the waiting car with its bullet-proof, blacked-out windows.

  A week ago she would have thought this overkill. She’d thought her brother was a pain when it came to being over-protective. Rocco had always been protective of her. After Javier, he’d become even more controlling. Her grandfather had been even worse. He’d withdrawn her allowance and curtailed her freedom, which had always been limited, to the point of non-existence. She’d returned to her private all-girls school when the holidays had finished to find he’d given strict instructions not to let Alessandra leave the grounds under any circumstances. This had been particularly humiliating, it being her final year, the school year when more adult freedoms were permitted. But not for her. All trust between her and her grandfather had broken down irrevocably.

  She’d spent years breaking free and now, just as her life and freedom were hers and hers alone, she found she was pledging herself to a man with the same controlling instinct she had spent so long kicking back from.

  Christian had over-protectiveness down to an art.

  He hadn’t merely employed a bodyguard for her, he’d employed an elite squad of hardened ex-soldiers.

  Unfortunately they didn’t come with personalities, all having been highly trained never to crack a smile or share banter. In the safety of her apartment building she could forget all about them, but the second she stepped outside they would materialise.

  As much as she found their presence stifling, she was grateful. She’d never imagined the paparazzi could be any worse than when she’d been seventeen. She’d been wrong. Eight years ago it had been mostly the Italian press with a handful of Brits thrown in. This time their number included Greeks—lots of them—Americans, French... She swore she’d even heard a Japanese voice throw questions at her. She’d known her engagement to Christian would generate a frenzy but had not been prepared for such madness.

  The granddaughter of the great Giovanni Mondelli, a man of such stature he was regarded like royalty; the sister of Rocco Mondelli, the man credited with dragging the House of Mondelli kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century, a man who’d recently married one of the most famous supermodels in the world; Alessandra Mondelli, the former scandal-hit teenager who’d become one of the world’s leading fashion photographers: for such a woman to be marrying the self-made Greek billionaire, the whizz of the
financial world with the movie-star looks... For the press it was a dream combination.

  For Alessandra it was a nightmare. She consoled herself that at least she wasn’t being called a slut any more. She’d kept her dark sunglasses on and answered only one of the hundreds of questions that had been thrown her way over the past week.

  ‘Are you looking forward to the wedding?’ someone had asked.

  ‘Of course,’ she’d replied with what she hoped was an enigmatic smile.

  She hadn’t been the only target. Christian, his sunglasses permanently attached to his face too, had also been mobbed. As had Rocco, who ignored every single question. Rumours had started circulating in the past few days about the punch, a new frenzy ensuing.

  Relieved to be away from the madness, she leaned back in the leather seat and gazed out at Athens, the city that would play a huge part of her life from this moment on.

  She’d heard it referred to as ‘the cradle of Western civilisation.’ Even if she’d been unaware of its history, she would have recognised it. It had seeped into the walls, some pristine, some falling apart at the seams. With ugly apartment blocks and majestic buildings, it was a city that managed to be cosmopolitan yet obviously ancient and historic. A city of contradictions.

  For the first time she felt something akin to excitement bubble in her veins.

  She had six days in this city before she exchanged her vows. From worrying that she would be bored stuck in a place where she knew no one, she now saw a huge opportunity. If she could ever get anywhere. At this rate, she would be lucky to make it to the hotel before the sun set. She’d thought the traffic in Milan was bad...

  Eventually, they came to a road with manned security gates that opened slowly and led to an enormous white building with pillars either side of the huge entrance. It was as though she was staring at a palace that had been home to the Greek gods themselves.

  A fleet of staff was by her side within seconds of the car coming to a stop, her luggage whisked away while she was taken through to the marble foyer.

  ‘Don’t I need to sign in?’ she asked when a woman, who identified herself as the general manager, offered to take her straight to her room.