by Kate Hewitt
CHAPTER FOUR
MILLY STARED AT her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror in wondering disbelief. Could this really be happening? Everything felt surreal, from the moment Alex had ushered her out of his office and an assistant had escorted her to the limousine waiting by the kerb.
It had been only a few minutes’ drive to the luxurious hotel just off the other side of the square, and then up to the presidential suite, the most expensive and elegant accommodation in the hotel. Milly had wandered around the gracious rooms with their antiques and art—a dining room, living room, two bedrooms, both with en suite bathrooms nearly as big—wondering if this was what the rest of her life was going to be like. It seemed impossible.
Although her parents were both titled, they’d lived in shabby elegance, if that, barely scraping by on what was left of their inheritances; Milly was used to draughty mansion flats with leaky pipes and the heat cut off, or third-rate boarding schools in distant, remote locations with stern teachers and freezing showers.
Once she’d left home, she’d lived even more modestly—a cramped box room in a dilapidated student house in Edinburgh, and then a shoebox-sized studio in Paris. This was something else entirely, and it made her feel...strange. Was this what she would become used to?
But she hadn’t been left alone to dwell on it for very long; she’d barely walked through the rooms before hotel staff were knocking on the door, ushering in a three-course lunch under silver domes and then, a short while later, a personal stylist from a nearby boutique wheeled in several suitcases of clothes, with instructions for her to pick whatever she wanted. Milly was overwhelmed.
And while it was rather fun to dine on lobster salad and caramel profiteroles, and even more so to pick out several simple and elegant outfits, it was also unsettling. What did Alex Santos want in return?
She knew the answer, of course. An heir. And that thought made her tremble, a shiver that started deep inside, in the core of her being, and spread out to the tips of her fingers and toes.
She could hardly believe she’d agreed to marry a man she barely knew, and yet she felt she’d had no choice. After ending the call with Anna, Milly had realised she would do whatever it took to make her sister safe and happy. And if marrying a stranger was the price she had to pay, so be it. It could be a lot worse.
She believed—or at least she hoped—that Alex Santos was a decent man. The knowledge that she had no real basis for that assumption settled heavily inside her.
At least she would have an opportunity to find out more about him before she signed any agreements or spoke any vows. Milly knew she was resting a lot on a single evening’s conversation, but it was all she had. And hopefully, by the end of the night, she’d know more about the man she’d agreed to marry. Perhaps she’d even like him. That would be as solid a foundation for marriage as any she could hope for, and certainly better than what fools called love.
Her lips twisted grimly as she remembered how carelessly Philippe had used that word. ‘Chérie, I love you. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you...’
And like a besotted fool, she’d believed him. She’d wanted to believe him, because she’d wanted her life to be different from her mother’s... Angelique Dubois, the ageing beauty who fell desperately in love, or seemed to, all the while having her eyes on the prize.
Her mother had married for money thrice over, and was now living in Los Angeles with her D-list celebrity husband, a man whose claim to fame seemed to be how many times he could check himself into rehab. Milly had never met him, and she hadn’t seen her mother in years, except occasionally in the back of tawdry gossip magazines, usually in one of the smallest photos on the society pages.
She glanced in the mirror again, wishing she looked a little more...elegant. She’d taken a shower and spent an age styling her hair and doing her make-up with the high-end beauty products she’d been provided with, but in the end she’d wiped it all over and dragged a brush through her hair because she’d looked like she was trying too hard. She’d looked like her mother, painted with fake gloss, a shiny veneer that chipped all too easily. She never wanted to be like that.
And so here she was, dressed in a burgundy wrap dress of softest jersey, her hair in simple waves about her shoulders, not a lick of make-up on her face. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, so there was no point even trying. Alex Santos was not marrying her for her looks, that much was sure.
From the front of the huge suite a door opened and then clicked shut, and Milly’s heart stuttered. It was him, she knew it. She sensed it, even though staff had been going in and out all afternoon. It was as if the air around her had changed, and another shiver started in her core and radiated out.
‘Milly?’ His voice was terse, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor. Milly turned from the mirror, smoothing her palms down the sides of her dress as she took a steadying breath.
‘Here,’ she called, and stepped out of her bedroom into the hallway. Alex stilled just a few feet away, his gaze training on her, not a flicker of emotion on his face. It was still jarring to see his scars—half of him so very beautiful, and the other half pulled and twisted beyond recognition. She tried not to react, but she could tell she’d failed by the way his mouth tightened. She would get used to them eventually, she was sure. She wasn’t bothered by them, by any means; they were just surprising, the contrast so stark.
‘You look nice,’ he said gruffly, and dropped his briefcase by the hall table.
‘Thank you.’ She let out a nervous little laugh. ‘I’ve been ridiculously pampered since I arrived here. I feel like Cinderella.’
‘And when will the clock strike midnight, do you think?’ he asked sardonically as he tugged at his tie.
Milly watched him uncertainly, her gaze transfixed by the sight of his long, lean fingers pulling at the silken knot around his throat. He pulled it free with a snick of cloth and tossed it aside before undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. Again her gaze was helplessly drawn to his fingers, and the bit of bronzed skin he exposed—the hollow of his throat, the hint of his muscles. He was a beautiful man, and in a strange way the scars emphasised that. Her breath fluttered in her throat and she swallowed. Hard.
‘What do you mean?’ she finally asked when she’d managed to regather her senses. ‘Do you think I’m going to change my mind?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.’
‘I won’t.’ She spoke firmly, determination firing her words. ‘I’ve made up my mind and I won’t change it. But perhaps it is you who will change yours.’ Although she hoped he wouldn’t. She’d wired all her savings to pay for the deposit on Anna’s school fees, and she needed the five million euros by next week to pay the rest.
‘Hardly,’ he scoffed, and then turned to stride into the living room. After an uneasy pause Milly followed him.
She stood in the doorway and watched as he unstoppered a decanter of whisky and poured himself a finger’s worth. ‘I’ve ordered our meal to come shortly.’
‘All right.’
‘So.’ Alex walked to an elegant chair patterned in striped silk and sat down, the tumbler of whisky dangling from his fingers, his face angled away from her so she could only see his unmarked side. ‘Tell me your terms.’
‘I don’t actually want to talk about terms. Not yet.’ Carefully Milly crossed to the sofa perpendicular to him and sat down. ‘I just want to talk.’
Alex lifted the glass of whisky to his lips and took a long swallow. ‘Talk?’ he repeated tonelessly. ‘About what?’
‘About each other. I want to get to know you, Alex, if just a little, and have you get to know me. I... I don’t want to marry a stranger. Even business deals can be amicable.’ She pleated her fingers in her lap, her heart jumping around in her chest. ‘Can we do that?’
* * *
Alex took another sip of whisky as he considered Milly’s question
. Could she get to know him? Could he get to know her? It all sounded so innocuous, so sweetly innocent, and yet...
He was darkness inside, and if she saw that...if she felt it...she might change her mind. She almost certainly would. Never mind the scars on his face, there were worse things for her to discover, things he was able to hide. Yet refusing might make her reconsider. He had to walk a very fine line between friendliness and honesty, darkness and light.
‘All right.’ Alex forced a smile to his lips, and felt the familiar tug of his scar on the corner of his mouth. ‘Let’s talk.’
Silence pooled between them, stole the air. Alex waited it out, watching Milly as she struggled with what to say, where to look.
‘Where did you grow up?’ she asked at last.
‘Here in Athens. Next?’
Her lips twitched, her eyes flashing with annoyance at his abrupt manner, but the truth was he didn’t know how else to be. He’d long ago lost the ability to make small talk, if he’d ever had it. He’d learned to watch himself from an early age, and since the fire he’d become even more private and remote. He could not imagine changing. He had neither the desire nor the ability.
‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’ Milly asked.
He clocked the present tense and answered it accordingly, already feeling far too raw, exposed by these seemingly innocent questions. ‘Just the stepbrother, Ezio, from whom I’m trying to save the business.’
‘You were close to your stepfather?’ Milly recalled, and everything in Alex tightened. Already this was too difficult. Too much. His fingers clenched on his glass, knuckles aching.
‘Yes. Now let me ask you some questions.’
‘All right.’ She settled herself back against the sofa, her slender hands resting on her knees. She looked lovely in the simple wrap dress, the burgundy colour picking up the dark honey strands in her hair, the gold glints in her eyes. Alex’s gaze took in the simple tie at the waist that held the dress together and he imagined giving it one firm tug and seeing it come undone.
Heat flared inside him, dangerous and alarming. How could he desire her with such fierce need? He’d picked Milly James as a prospective wife because she was convenient, not beautiful. And she wasn’t beautiful, in the conventional sense. If anything, she was exceedingly plain, with her brown eyes and hair, her slight figure. And yet right now he wanted her more than he’d ever expected—not just as a wife, but as a woman. That was unfortunate, because he doubted very much that she wanted him in the same way.
‘Where did you grow up?’ he asked, shifting to ease the ache that had started in his groin.
‘All over. London, Paris, Buenos Aires for a bit.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘A few other places.’
‘That sounds rather exotic.’
‘If you like.’
She sounded guarded, which made him curious. ‘Is there a particular place you’d call home?’
‘Your villa on Naxos,’ she replied, surprising him. ‘It’s an oasis of peace compared to some of the other places I’ve lived.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘Yes.’ She glanced away, something in her shuttering. It seemed she had secrets as well, or perhaps just pain. He felt a flicker of empathy, the last thing he’d expected to feel.
‘And your stepsister?’ he asked after a moment. ‘Where does she live?’
‘Rome.’
‘Not too far, then. Do you see her often?’ As far as he was aware, she hadn’t taken off any time since being in his employ.
‘As often as I can, but her father doesn’t always allow it.’
Alex frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Because he likes to be cruel?’ Milly shrugged, glancing back at him with bitterness in her tone and pain in her eyes. ‘He’s a capricious wastrel, and he enjoys nothing more than being petty and cruel simply because he can. I’ve arranged a visit many times and at the last moment he slams the door in my face.’
Alex stiffened at the thought of a man being so wantonly wicked. He knew what capricious cruelty looked like, what it felt like, and he hated it with a fierce and deep-seated passion. ‘Can’t your sister get away to see you?’
‘She’s only fourteen, and she’s afraid of him.’ Milly’s arms wrapped around herself, almost as if she were keeping herself together. ‘Five million euros will help to protect her.’
‘How, if your stepfather is as capricious as you say?’ Making the point was hardly in his favour, yet he couldn’t keep himself from it. The last thing he wanted was for her to regret their marriage more than she had to.
‘I can pay for her school fees,’ Milly said in a low voice. ‘That will make a big difference. And if I offer Carlos a financial incentive, he might be willing to let Anna visit me more often.’ Her gaze flew to his face. ‘That would be all right, wouldn’t it? To have her visit...’
‘Of course,’ he said tersely. ‘I’ll make sure to stay out of the way.’
She looked surprised, but then she nodded. Of course, she wouldn’t want him there, scaring her sister.
‘Who is this Carlos?’ he asked. ‘As a matter of interest?’
‘Carlos Bentano. My mother’s third husband, ex for the last six years.’
‘Ah.’ There was a wealth of meaning, a world of bitterness in her simple statement. He remembered her saying how she would never want to divorce. ‘And what about your father?’
‘He’s on his third marriage. My mother has moved on to her fourth, although I doubt they’ll last very long.’ She shook her head, her hands now clenched in her lap. ‘I don’t see either of them very much at all.’
‘It sounds like it was a difficult way to grow up.’
‘Not much fun,’ she agreed, and then deliberately made herself relax. ‘Not the way I’d choose to raise my own child, certainly.’
‘Our child,’ he reminded her, and watched her eyes flare—with alarm, no doubt. He needed to remind her of the purpose of their marriage—to produce an heir, and as soon as possible. Just in case she might forget that a wedding night was most certainly part of the deal, and as many nights thereafter as it took for her to become pregnant. After that he would leave her alone.
That persistent ache intensified, and his fingers itched to tug at that sash and watch the dress come undone. He pictured himself standing before her, spreading his hands to span her waist, feeling the warm, silky flesh come alive beneath his palms.
Then he pictured her flinching beneath his touch, averting her face. No, their wedding night, or any other encounter, wouldn’t happen like that. It would be as businesslike as the rest of their marriage, because neither of them wished to suffer through anything more.
‘Yes, our child,’ she agreed softly as she lowered her gaze, her head bent.
‘Should we talk about the terms now?’ Alex asked curtly. They’d had enough of getting to know each other, it seemed.
She looked up, her momentary surprise replaced by stoic composure. He wished she didn’t look as if she had to endure him quite so much, but he knew he couldn’t expect anything else. ‘All right.’
‘So the terms of the contract will be simple. In exchange for five million euros, you will marry me, stay faithful to me, and agree to share my bed until you become pregnant.’
She swallowed, the sound audible. ‘And how often am I to share your bed?’
The way she said it made him think she wished to as little as possible. Alex hesitated, surprised by his own reticence to make this aspect of marriage as cold and clinical as the rest of it. And yet of course it had to be. ‘Three times a week, unless it is during your monthly courses.’
‘My...’ Her face began to flush with colour. ‘All right.’
‘Do you wish to suggest something different?’
‘No...’ She swallowed again, and then let out a shuddery little breath. ‘No.’
&n
bsp; ‘I will endeavour to make it as pleasant as possible,’ Alex said, his mouth twisting into a sardonic grimace. ‘I appreciate the difficulties, of course.’
She didn’t answer, which bizarrely annoyed and even hurt him. He had to stop caring so damn much. ‘Is that all satisfactory?’
‘And what about when I...when I am pregnant? If I am? What will happen then?’
‘Then I’ll leave you alone.’
‘For...for good?’ She looked startled. ‘You’re sure you don’t want more children?’
For a second he imagined it, pictured a houseful of them—babies, toddlers, teens. Crowded around the table. Laughing in the garden. A fantasy. ‘As I said before, one will suffice. After you have become pregnant and given birth, there won’t be any need for us to continue the...arrangement, although of course we will still stay married.’
She nodded slowly, seeming to absorb that statement—and not to mind it. ‘And I’ll raise the child...our child...on Naxos?’
‘Yes, until he or she is of an age to need more appropriate schooling. But those things can be negotiated at a later date. The important thing is to have the initial terms set down so we can move forward.’
‘I can hardly believe we’re doing this so quickly...’ She shook her head, and Alex cut across her, determined not to give her the opportunity for second thoughts.
‘It’s how people have been doing it for centuries. There is no reason to think we won’t both be happy.’
He’d meant to sound dismissive, but she cocked her head, her gaze moving over him slowly, taking him in, scars and all. ‘Happy?’ she repeated softly. ‘Are you happy, Alex? Will you be happy?’
There was far too much sorrowful knowledge in her question and in her eyes, too much damned pity. ‘I will be happy with the arrangement,’ he told her shortly. ‘That is enough.’
It wasn’t until after he’d said it that he realised how revealing his answer was. A knock sounded on the door, and Alex called out in Greek for the member of staff to leave their meal in the hall, as they did not wish to be disturbed.