The Greek's Pregnant Bride

by Michelle Smart

  He gave a silent prayer of thanks as his driver turned the car into the long driveway.

  They were home.

  In silence they entered the villa. The live-in staff had long since retired to their own quarters for the night.

  Tiny nightlights glowed from the reception through to the living area and up the stairs, bathing Alessandra in a dim light that magnified her sultry beauty.

  The ache in his groin, far from diminishing as he’d valiantly willed it to do in the car, increased, his arousal spreading from his loins...

  That damn bare arm...

  She paused at the bottom of the staircase to look at him. ‘Thank you for a nice evening–’

  ‘You have enjoyed yourself?’ he cut in, delaying the time she would climb the stairs and head to her room.

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ she answered with a wry smile. ‘It was hardly a night of music and dancing but it was a lot less stuffy than I expected.’

  ‘That’s good. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable when we go to these functions.’

  She nodded, looking away. ‘Well, good night.’

  He inclined his head in return, fighting to keep his feet from crossing the marble floor to her. ‘Good night.’

  Holding on to the rail, she climbed the stairs and crossed the landing to her bedroom. Only when she reached her door did she turn her head to look back round and gaze down at him.

  Then she disappeared inside her room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ALESSANDRA’S PHONE VIBRATED in her pocket. Grimacing, she fired off a couple more shots then carefully let go of her camera, which she kept around her neck. ‘You can change into the next set now,’ she said to the model standing in front of the white board, wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy knickers and bra.

  She’d spent the past three days working on a shoot for a well-known lingerie brand. With a waist that seemed to be thickening by the day, spending days with semi-clad underwear models was not doing a great deal for her ego. Her pregnancy would soon be obvious to everyone.

  She pulled her phone out, her heart skipping to see Christian’s name flash up. She read his message:

  Just landed. How long are you going to be?

  She fired off a quick reply.

  A couple of hours. Meet you at my apartment.

  When they weren’t physically together, most communication between them was done via messaging. She’d steered it that way. The first time he’d called after the embassy do a month ago, her hands had gone clammy just to see his name flash up in the screen. She’d stared at it until it had gone to voicemail, wiped her hands and written a quick message back, apologising that she’d missed his call. He’d messaged straight back. The next few times she’d done the same—avoided the call and then messaged him. Since then, he’d taken to messaging her without bothering to call. It made it easier for her. Having his rich tones play directly into her ear made more than her hands clammy.

  Shoving her phone back in her pocket, she forced her concentration back to the skinny model, who’d changed into another lacy number with the help of an assistant, uncaring of who in the studio saw her fully naked.

  ‘Left arm in an arc above your head please,’ she said, lifting her camera back up to her face.

  When the final frame was taken she packed her camera away, had a quick chat with her assistant, who was happy to pack everything else up, and left the building.

  Soon she was nodding at the concierge and climbing the stairs to her apartment, grabbing the extra seconds gained by not using the lift to compose her thoughts and get her emotions in check.

  Only three days apart, the longest since they’d been married.

  She’d hoped the distance would be good for her.

  Christian sat at the dining table, cradling a coffee and eating a bowl of pasta.

  ‘I saved you some,’ he said by way of greeting. ‘I thought you might be getting hungry.’

  Alessandra had taken her health seriously from the moment she’d realised she was pregnant but since she’d entered the second trimester, she’d become fanatical about her diet.

  Food and calorie intake she could control and she did so rigidly, making sure everything she ingested was as nutritionally perfect for her baby as it could be.

  It was the only thing she could control. Everything else seemed to be slipping through her fingers.

  ‘How was Hong Kong?’ she asked, walking over to her little office space in the corner which was a little too close to the dining table than she liked. Being in Milan made it harder for her to tune Christian out. The apartment she’d always thought of as wonderfully spacious seemed to shrink whenever he was there with her.

  God knew she was trying to keep her distance from him, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

  Thankfully her work load had increased. The days she wasn’t on shoots were spent developing the results, spent in meetings with directors whether in person or via conference calls; being busy.

  Conversely, Christian’s workload had seemed to abate. He now made it home at a decent time most evenings.

  Now it was Alessandra holing herself away, burying herself in work. Avoiding him as much as she could.

  It was the only way she could keep herself sane.

  She’d never imagined marriage would be so hard emotionally, a feeling exacerbated at Stefan’s wedding to the beautiful Clio a couple of weeks ago. It had been a wonderful occasion but watching them exchange their vows had brought everything back about her own wedding day and the hope she’d been foolish enough to allow through.

  She’d never imagined she would feel so emotional towards him.

  ‘No problems,’ he said. ‘The contract was signed.’

  ‘How did Kerstin get on?’ Good. Her voice was normal as she spoke the German’s name.

  ‘Very well. She’s staying in Hong Kong for a few days.’

  Kerstin had started working for him a couple of weeks before. Right at the exact time as Alessandra’s nutrition control had taken on a life of its own.

  Typically of Christian, as soon as he’d decided on a course of action he implemented it immediately. He’d decided they should marry—a month later it was done. He’d decided to employ Kerstin—a fortnight later she was his new protégée.

  ‘That’s good.’ Taking a seat at her desk, she fired up her laptop.

  ‘Are you working?’

  ‘We don’t have to leave for half an hour.’

  ‘I wanted to talk.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘We need to start looking for a proper house here in Milan. One we can raise a child in.’

  She shrugged. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to a property agent.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘I’ve shortlisted a couple of homes we can look at after we’ve seen the obstetrician.’

  She could feel his eyes upon her as she placed her memory stick into the side of the laptop. Her hands trembled.

  ‘We need to get moving on this,’ he continued. ‘I’ve asked the agent to provide a valuation for this place too.’

  She snapped her head round to stare at him. ‘I don’t want to sell it.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘We agreed...’

  ‘No, you agreed. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.’

  Christian counted to ten in his head, fighting to keep his features neutral.

  He pushed his bowl across the table and got to his feet. ‘We should leave now.’

  ‘We’ve plenty of time.’

  ‘It’s always good to be ahead of the traffic.’

  He didn’t want to argue with her, especially not prior to their appointment with the obstetrician, but if he stayed another
minute in this damned apartment he would go crazy.

  He’d given her carte blanche to redecorate all his homes to her own taste so she would come to think of them as her homes too, and what did he get in return? Nothing.

  This was Alessandra’s apartment, not his. She had no intention of ever making it theirs.

  It probably wouldn’t bother him so much if not for the fact that the distance between them now came from her, a state of affairs that had grown since the embassy function. Even at Stefan’s wedding she’d been distant, when normally she thrived at social events.

  If he’d thought she was happy with the status quo it wouldn’t disturb him so much but, whenever he looked in her eyes, all he saw was unhappiness. When she was with him, she withdrew into herself. He was doing everything in his power to bring her spark back but she resisted at every turn. There were times when he thought he saw glimmers of it, generally if a magazine was released with her photography in it or if they passed a billboard she’d created—her face would light up like an enchanted child’s.

  It pained him to see her so withdrawn. It unnerved him. It reminded him too much of how things had been with his mother, when nothing he did made any difference to her mood.

  Today, he was determined to get to the bottom of it—he would learn whatever it was troubling her and fix it, whether she wanted to talk about it or not.

  She must have seen the no-nonsense light in his eyes for she pursed her lips together, slapped the lid of her laptop down and grabbed her handbag.

  ‘Let’s go, then.’

  * * *

  All was good with the obstetrician. Alessandra was healthy. Her blood pressure was normal. Their baby’s heartbeat was strong. Yes. All was good. Christian always left those appointments feeling lighter.

  The good feelings dissipated quicker than normal this time. They’d visited a number of homes in excellent parts of Milan, all large enough to raise a football team, if they so wished, with rooms to spare. Alessandra’s interest had been minimal. Grudging.

  It only added to his intuition that something was seriously wrong with her.

  ‘Let’s get something to eat,’ he said after the third viewing. Maybe she was tired.

  She didn’t argue. ‘Where do you want to go?’

  He was about to suggest somewhere quiet where they could talk but had a flashback of their date and the trendy restaurant she had led them to. The lively atmosphere there had certainly played its part, along with the alcohol, in loosening them up. Maybe it would have the same effect on her again. ‘Let’s go to Nandini’s.’

  He shook the agent by the hand, promised to be in touch soon and waited for Alessandra to get into the back of the waiting car.

  Instead she met his eye. ‘Can we walk? It’s not far.’

  He gazed down at her feet. Only small heels on the black boots she wore. Almost practical. Ever the fashionista, though, she wore a black-and-white drop-waisted mini-dress. The gap between the hem of the dress and the top of her boots was tantalising him to the point of distraction.

  If anyone looked closely or from a profile view, they would see the hint of a burgeoning bump beneath it.

  They walked in silence down the bustling streets, past tourists and locals alike, gazing through windows at the glamorous wares of the now closed shops, and into a narrow street packed with cafés and bars. People sat on tables outside, smoking, eating, drinking and enjoying the weather.

  When they’d dined in Nandini’s that last time, it had been a Friday evening and the place had been full of people ready to let their hair down after a hard week of work.

  Tonight, a Wednesday, it was much quieter. Even the music was on a lower setting, no longer loud enough to burst your eardrums.

  A waiter took her jacket then showed them to their booth. She slid onto the long leather seat with obvious relief.

  ‘Are your feet hurting?’ he asked.

  ‘A little.’ She opened the menu. ‘I’ve been on them all day.’

  ‘Then why did you want to walk?’ It made no sense to him. That was why he had a driver at his disposal at all times.

  Alessandra shrugged. ‘I like walking.’ She didn’t add that she couldn’t face sitting in the back of the car with him any more.

  She’d felt his irritation at her attitude to the beautiful homes they’d been shown round. And they were beautiful, palatial in size and structure, the kind of homes any little girl dreaming of being a princess would love to live in. But those little girls also dreamt of living in their palatial homes with their princes, not with the man who’d married them so he could have legal rights to their child.

  It wasn’t that she worried he would bawl her out for her ungrateful attitude—God alone knew, she wished she’d been blessed with acting genes so she could fake pleasure for him—because he didn’t bawl her out over anything. She knew when she displeased him, though. He might not verbalise it, keeping his anger contained within him, but it was there in his eyes and the tone of his voice when he wasn’t quick enough to curb it.

  She wished he would bawl her out. At least it would show he felt something for her, that she was worth expending some hot air arguing with.

  The main reason she hadn’t wanted to sit in the back of the car with him was because spending time alone with him had the effect of turbo-charging her emotions. It would be easier to contain if it were just sexual feelings but it ran so much deeper than that. Whenever they listened to their baby’s heartbeat, she longed to reach out to him and clasp his hand, to unite for those few magical seconds.

  Sitting alone in the back of the car with him, his hard, warm body so close...

  She wanted to reach out and grab more than his hand. She wanted to climb onto his lap and nuzzle into that strong neck that smelled so good, taste the smooth skin...

  Far from the distance she’d imposed lessening these longings, it had only increased them. She needed proper physical distance, and not just emotional distance, because keeping only an emotional distance wasn’t working. The three days apart they’d just had were nothing. Three months might do the trick.

  At least tomorrow she had an overnight trip to London without him.

  They ordered their meals and drinks, both opting to go straight into the main course. While they waited, they chewed on breadsticks and made idle small talk.

  She remembered that first date, here in this restaurant. They’d had to sit close to each other to make themselves heard. They’d talked about anything and everything, their conversation easy.

  Tonight it felt as if she were dragging barbed wire from her throat.

  As was normal, Christian’s phone vibrated at regular intervals.

  ‘You should answer it,’ she said upon the fourth vibration.

  He shrugged. ‘Whoever it is can wait.’

  ‘It might be important.’

  His eyes fixed on hers. ‘This is important.’

  ‘Si, food is very important,’ she answered, as if making light of it could evaporate the growing tension.

  A bowl of butternut squash and spinach ravioli with strips of crispy pancetta and flakes of parmesan was placed before her. She didn’t know which dish she liked the look of more, hers or Christian’s cotoletta alla Milanese which looked equally divine.

  ‘Would you like to try some?’ He held up his fork, a good helping of breaded cutlet on it.

  ‘No, no, you eat it.’ Quickly she forked a delicate raviolo into her mouth, dropping her eyes away from his thoughtful expression.

  ‘Are you still travelling to Tokyo next week?’ he asked, referring to a fashion shoot she’d been booked for for one of Japan’s up-and-coming fashion houses. She was looking forward to the trip. Five whole days away from him.

  ‘I was thinking I’d meet up with you there,’ he added. ‘I’ve some clients in Tokyo I
need to touch base with.’

  ‘Don’t rearrange your schedule on my behalf.’ Never mind the distance she wanted to take advantage of, he’d made enough sacrifices for her. If all his sacrifices had been purely for the baby’s sake, she could have lived with it. But they weren’t. He’d made sacrifices for her too. The more she thought of them all, the more nauseous it made her feel.

  ‘I want to,’ he said, his voice dropping.

  ‘I think the press are convinced about our marriage now,’ she said, keeping her attention firmly on the bowl of food before her. ‘I haven’t been stalked for days.’

  ‘I’m surprised they haven’t picked up on the pregnancy yet.’

  ‘So am I.’ It was only a matter of time.

  ‘I will still travel with you. I don’t like the thought of you being away for a week without me.’

  ‘It’s only five days, not a week,’ she corrected. ‘I’ve been travelling with my job since I was eighteen. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘You weren’t my wife then. Is there something wrong with me wanting to spend time with you?’

  Yes, she wanted to scream. There was everything wrong with it. Every minute they spent together made her heart hurt even more that their marriage could never be real, that the love she felt for him could never be reciprocated...

  Love?

  Where had that thought sprung from?

  Amore?

  Frantically she fought with herself to deny it, to refute the obvious.

  Dear God, had she really fallen in love with her husband?

  No. She couldn’t be that foolish. She wouldn’t be.

  In a flash, she remembered the first time she’d seen him, sitting with the rest of the Brat Pack in her brother’s den, drinking beer and watching football.

  Little Alessandra had taken one look at the blond Adonis and immediately pictured him on a white horse coming to rescue her from the tower where the evil witch held her.

  A young girl’s crush, that was all it had been. She’d had plenty of them: pop stars, film stars—her bedroom walls had been littered with posters of her favourites. Christian had seemed as remote to her young self as they had been.