by Lynne Graham
Even though it had gone against the grain, Tor had extended a helping hand to Jordan because that was what she wanted him to do. Even if she only married him for Alfie’s sake and security, she would be making the right choice, she reasoned. But that wouldn’t be the only reason she married him, her conscience piped up, and her face heated. She could have him in bed, if she married him, no worries about what he might think of her for succumbing, no worries about where that intimacy could be heading because marriage would give them the solid framework that they lacked.
Pixie breathed in deep and fast. ‘OK... I’ll marry you, so that we can be a real family.’
Tor lowered lush black lashes over stunned eyes at that seemingly snap decision, wondering what he had said right, done right to ultimately convince her round to his point of view. ‘I’ll get it organised.’
Pixie nodded slowly. ‘I want a proper wedding though,’ she warned him. ‘I know you’ve already done it before, but this is my first time.’
‘Last time,’ he qualified. ‘And I understand. If you have no objection, my mother will be ecstatic to be asked to organise a wedding reception and we’ll get married in Greece.’
* * *
‘You’re looking for trouble,’ Eloise pronounced after Pixie had finished breathlessly sharing her insecurities on the topic of marrying Tor. ‘Why are you doing that?’
Pixie’s smooth brow furrowed as yet another model strolled out wearing a dream wedding dress, only unfortunately, not one she had seen so far matched her dream. She lacked the height and shape to do puffy or elaborate or dramatic. But concentrating even on something as superficial as choosing her wedding gown was a challenge when her brain was eaten up by so many other worries.
‘Am I?’
‘Yes,’ Eloise confirmed without hesitation. ‘Tor is hotter than sin and richer than an oil well. So, he comes with some baggage like a first wife he may not be over... Well, who doesn’t have baggage? Start appreciating what you’ve got, Pixie. Even if he gets bored and dumps you a few years down the road, you’ll be left financially secure and Alfie will still have his father. You can’t expect to get a man like Tor, a wedding ring and undying love too. Life isn’t a fairy tale.’
‘I know it’s not, but do you think he can be faithful?’ Pixie whispered. ‘I mean, from everything I’ve read online about him, he’s been quite a womaniser.’
‘I think if Tor plays away, he’s clever enough to be discreet and you’ll never know about it,’ Eloise countered cynically. ‘And I know that’s not what you want to hear but if you can content yourself with what you’ve got you’ll be far happier.’
Pixie swallowed hard, well aware that the brunette was not the person to turn to for reassurance because Eloise had been hurt and disappointed by men too many times. She was a good friend, but she always spoke her mind and she was correct—she had yet to say anything that Pixie had wanted to hear. Eloise had already pointed out that she was boxing above her weight with Tor, that she had landed the equivalent of a super tanker when by rights on the strength of her attractions she had only been due a tugboat. Pixie hadn’t needed those reminders of her own essential insignificance, her ordinariness and her lack of any surpassing beauty or talent.
Perhaps unwisely, she had researched Tor’s first wife online and had read about the tragic accident that had occurred at their London home, which had later been sold. And she had seen what Katerina looked like: a truly beautiful slender brunette with almond-shaped dark eyes and a mane of dark, glossy hair. She had been on board a yacht, her wonderful hair blowing, looking all athletic and perfect and popular with a bunch of friends around her. After that first glimpse, something inside Pixie had died along with curiosity and she had looked for no further photos.
Tor was in Brussels attending a banking conference and Pixie had been kitting herself out with a new wardrobe and her wedding gown. In the end she had only invited three people to the Greek wedding, Eloise and a couple of gay friends, male nurses she had trained with, who had accompanied her to the stylist and laughed her out of her attempts to go light on Tor’s wallet. Jordan had refused to come to Greece, which had hurt, but at the same time she had understood that, in his current mood as he underwent counselling for his addiction and was forced to face all his mistakes, the idea of having to put on a front for strangers at her wedding was more than he could bear. Tor’s comments on the same score had, predictably, been a good deal more critical.
Pixie had also had to find and engage a new nanny because Emma was only temporary and preferred moving between different jobs. Actually, having to interview potential employees had been nerve-racking for her, but Tor had pointed out quite rightly on the phone that she wouldn’t be happy leaving the task to him. She had found Isla, a cheerful young Scot, who had struck up an instant connection with Alfie that impressed her and who couldn’t wait to make a trip to Greece.
‘Oh, that’s it,’ Pixie said warmly, focusing appreciatively on the slender sheath dress with the pretty scalloped neckline that the current model was displaying. ‘That’s definitely the dress.’
‘But it’s very plain. A bride needs more pizzazz,’ Eloise opined in surprise at the choice.
‘It’s got enough pizzazz for me.’ Pixie laughed, knowing that the dress probably cost a small fortune even though it was unadorned, because they were in a designer bridal salon.
‘Don’t you think you should go for something fancier for a big society wedding?’ Eloise made one last attempt to sway her.
‘No, it’s not going to be a large event. Tor said it would be small and it’s my day and I’m not going to worry about trying to impress people.’ As if she could, she was thinking ruefully, having decided that the only sensible way to behave was to be herself without any false airs or graces.
Three days later, Pixie flew out of London with her friends and Alfie and Isla on board Tor’s private jet. It was her wedding day and all she had to do was show up with her dress and a magic wand would take care of all the other necessities—at least according to Tor, that was. In reality, she was pretty apprehensive about what was coming next. They landed in Athens to VIP treatment and they were ushered straight onto a helicopter to complete the journey to Milnos. She had her friends to comment out loud on the luxury and ease of their journey and what life was like on the five-star side of the fence. And all she could think, thoroughly intimidated as she was by the champagne offered on boarding by attractive stewardesses and the constant service, was how on earth was she ever going to fit into this new world where wealth provided so many of the extras she had never enjoyed before?
For that reason, arriving in the lush landscaped grounds of the Sarantos property on the island, a massive white villa with wings radiating out from it, and meeting up with her future in-laws came as a huge relief. Pandora Sarantos was reassuringly motherly and friendly, and she lit up like a firework display the instant she laid eyes on Alfie. Alfie suddenly became the eighth wonder of the world and Pixie could not be uncomfortable with an older woman that keen to admire and appreciate her son. By her side, Hallas, a shorter, greying version of his sons, was less vocal but truly welcoming. He apologised for the absence of his younger sons, who were with Tor, he explained, and he asked if he could have the honour of walking her down the aisle. Pixie agreed, pleased not to have to undergo the stress of having to walk that aisle alone in front of strangers and touched by the offer, a pang of pain arrowing through her as she thought how much her father would have enjoyed fulfilling that role for her. It would have been wonderful to have her parents with her to share the day, she conceded, but Tor’s parents were a comfort and their enthusiasm for Alfie was very welcome.
‘Alfie is so beautiful, with your hair and Tor’s eyes,’ Pandora enthused in fluent English as Alfie tottered upright, gripping the edge of a metallic coffee table in the foyer. ‘Tor will have to tackle childproofing everything here. Let me show you up to the nursery..
.’
As Pixie left her friends being shown to their rooms with wide eyes fixed to their palatial surroundings, she followed Pandora Sarantos upstairs with Alfie and the nanny, Isla.
‘Wow, this is some place,’ the nanny remarked in a shaken undertone.
Pixie was relieved to have someone else comment on the sheer splendour of the marble stairs and hallways and the airy grandeur of the sunlit walkways left open to balconies and fabulous island and sea views.
‘This is your home now,’ Tor’s mother announced, disconcerting Pixie. ‘I may be here to host your wedding but I’m not the interfering type. I won’t be visiting without invitation or anything of that nature. Tor’s father, Hallas, and I are really happy that Tor is settling down again.’
Because that’s the agreement, Pixie reflected, thinking that she and Tor really were going to have a marriage based on the most practical rules. He would settle down in order to gain regular access to his son and have Alfie become a Sarantos by name. Alfie’s mother, Tor’s bride, was more or less an afterthought, a necessary step towards reaching those all-important goals. Clearly, Tor’s chatty mother had assumed that their marriage was of a more personal, normal nature and she could hardly be blamed for that when most couples married because they were in love with each other, Pixie reasoned ruefully.
Pandora spread open the door of a room furnished as a nursery but not the usual nursery, Pixie adjusted, scanning in wonderment shelves of new toys and every luxury addition known to early childhood. It was a nursery arranged for a little prince, not a normal toddler. ‘I can’t tell you what a thrill I had furnishing this room for Alfie,’ the older woman explained volubly. ‘I was so excited to find out about him and you and Tor. You and Alfie are exactly what I was hoping would arrive in his life...a new family.’
And you couldn’t get much more of a welcome mat than that, Pixie conceded, warmed to the heart by that little speech and finally appreciating, as her soon-to-be mother-in-law looked yearningly at Alfie and smiled, that her son was so welcome and that she was equally welcome because obviously Tor’s parents had assumed that he had fallen in love again. Any parents that loved their son and had seen him heartbroken by the tragic end to his first marriage would want to see him embark on a fresh relationship. Yet even they didn’t know the truth of how very tragic and soul-destroying that prior marriage had been for Tor, she acknowledged ruefully, because they didn’t know about the infidelity and heartbreak involved.
‘I mustn’t keep you back from your bridal beautifying,’ the older woman remarked with a sudden smile. ‘It’s a wonderfully exciting day for all of us.’
‘She’s lovely,’ Pixie told Eloise when she arrived in the suite of rooms designated as the bridal suite.
‘“Mothers-in-law” and “lovely” don’t go together in the same sentence,’ Eloise told her in dismay at the statement. ‘There’s probably a hidden agenda there and it’ll take time for you to work it out.’
‘I don’t think that’s true this time,’ Pixie said with assurance, because she had recognised the genuine warmth in Tor’s mother. ‘Wait until you meet her properly. I think she’s just happy that her son has found someone and that there’s a grandchild. Alfie’s going to be spoilt rotten.’
A pair of strangers entered, accompanied by a young, very pretty brunette, who seemed to be there to act as an interpreter and who introduced herself as Angelina Raptis, a friend of the family. One of her companions was a hairstylist, Pixie learned, and the other a make-up artist.
‘I don’t wear a lot of make-up,’ Pixie began uncertainly.
‘But today you do,’ Eloise whispered in her ear. ‘Today is special. You want to look your very best and feel good.’
Pixie acquiesced, wanting to at least fit nominally with Tor’s expectations. The stylist wanted to cut and straighten her hair and she mustered the courage to say that she preferred her curls and simply wanted to wear her hair up in some fashion.
‘I love curls. They’re so natural,’ Angelina commented. ‘How brave of you to leave them like that for a formal occasion.’
Encountering the steely glint in the brunette’s eyes and noting the scornful curve of her lips, Pixie reddened and turned her head away again, recognising that Angelina was a bit of a shrew while conceding that she couldn’t expect everyone she met at her wedding to be a genuine friendly well-wisher.
‘I can’t wait to meet your son,’ Angelina told her brightly. ‘Does he look like Tor?’
‘Yes, although he’s fair-haired like me. He has Tor’s eyes though.’
‘A very handsome little boy, then. I admire you for being so calm.’
In the background, Eloise was grimacing but, mercifully, her other friends Denny and Steve had come in to join the bridal preparation team and lighten the mood.
‘Pixie’s looking forward to enjoying a wonderful day,’ Denny said cheerfully, earning a relieved smile from Pixie, who loved his positive attitude.
‘Even with that awful story in the press?’ Angelina burbled, startling Pixie. ‘I really admire your strength, Pixie.’
‘What press? What awful story?’ Pixie repeated in consternation. ‘What are you referring to?’
Denny groaned out loud while Eloise stared at Angelina as though she wanted to strangle her where she stood. ‘Until you spoke up, we were keeping that story to ourselves, flower,’ Denny told Angelina.
‘What story?’ Pixie whispered afresh, her heart sinking although she had done nothing that she knew that she should be ashamed of.
‘Some viper called Saffron sold a story to a tabloid newspaper about the night you met Tor,’ Steve explained. ‘And the newspaper did a little digging and made a fluffy story out of it.’
Saffron—the wannabe actress who had brought Tor back to that house Pixie had temporarily stayed in; Saffron, the redhead he had rejected and a woman who would probably relish publicity exposure. What on earth could she have to say about anything? Had she seen Tor leaving the bedroom the next morning? That was the only explanation, Pixie decided unhappily.
‘Let me see it,’ she said to Denny, who was already tapping his phone.
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset anyone,’ Angelina said plaintively.
‘You don’t dump that sort of stuff on a bride,’ Steve said stiffly.
‘I’m sure you didn’t mean anything by it,’ Pixie said politely, forgivingly, her heart racing until Denny had handed her his phone and she glimpsed a very glamorous photo of Saffron next to a brief article about the billionaire banker about to marry the nurse he had got pregnant on a one-night stand. News of her pregnancy had probably got back to Saffron by way of her housemate, Steph, who had given Pixie her cat, Coco. Steph was also the sister of one of Pixie’s former colleagues. A stray piece of gossip had probably exposed Pixie’s secret pregnancy, she thought heavily, and Saffron had put two and two together to register that they made a very neat four.
‘Then I suppose that I shouldn’t say that Tor is absolutely furious,’ Angelina revealed. ‘Look, I feel awkward now... I’ll leave you to get dressed with your friends.’
‘And you’ll not be making a friend of that toxic piece,’ Eloise breathed wrathfully.
‘If there’s nothing untrue in the article I’ll just have to live with it,’ Pixie pronounced with a stiff smile as she struggled to conceal how mortified she was that Tor’s family and friends should have access to the bare shameless facts of their first meeting. ‘Let’s just forget about it for now.’
‘Why on earth would Tor be furious?’ Eloise scoffed.
‘Because I expect he likes his private life to stay private, like me.’ Pixie sighed as the make-up artist fluttered around her, one soft brush after another tickling her brow bone and her cheeks and every other part of her face.
‘You’re going to look totally amazing,’ Eloise told her bracingly.
Denny
gave her a fond appraisal. ‘A complete princess...’
‘A trophy bride,’ Steve completed, not to be outdone on the soothing-compliment front.
After presenting her with a beautiful bouquet of roses, Hallas Sarantos accompanied her down to the church in the village down by the harbour. They travelled in a flower-bedecked vintage car that he confided belonged to him as he admitted to a passion for classic cars. Pixie thanked him for all that he and his wife had done to make the wedding possible, and then she was stepping out with a smile into the warmth and brightness of the day outside the small village church. Her smile lurched a little when she saw how packed the church was and the sea of faces that turned to look at her because being so much the centre of attention unnerved her.
Instead, she chose to gaze down the aisle at Tor and, reassuringly, he didn’t look angry, only his usual cool self-possessed self. And so incredibly handsome that he stole her breath away at that moment just as he had the very first time she saw him, her attention lingering on the slashing black sweep of his brows, the sculpted high cheekbones that lent his features that perfect definition, the straight nose and the masculine fullness of his sensual mouth. It was as if looking at him lit a whole row of little fires inside her, flushing her face with warmth, filling the more sensitive areas of her body with heat and sexual awareness.
There was a smile in the stunning bronzed eyes that met hers at the altar, no, not absolutely furious about anything, Pixie decided, liberated from that apprehension. If he even knew about the newspaper piece, and she doubted that he did, it evidently hadn’t annoyed him in the slightest. He eased the wedding ring over her knuckle and the ceremony was complete. Tor had become her husband and she was now his wife, a conclusion that still shook her.