The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby

by Clare Connelly

  I needed to find Matteo as soon as I could, before I melted into a puddle of nerves or broke an ankle in these wretched shoes.

  I wasn’t under any illusion that he’d be thrilled to see me, but I was hoping he wouldn’t be too put out. We’d had an agreement, and I was breaking it. But three years is a long time, and surely he couldn’t have expected me to languish on Amanos for ever? Not that I was languishing, precisely, but I needed to move on with my life.

  I’d given Matteo what he wanted. Now it was his turn to give me what I wanted.

  ‘Good luck with that,’ I muttered to myself, and someone turned to give me a hard stare.

  I’d always had the slightly odd habit of talking to myself, and three years on a remote island hadn’t helped matters. I gave the stranger a sunny smile and forced myself to move on.

  Where was my husband?

  Then I saw him and wondered how I hadn’t before. He was in the centre of the room, the star of the show, standing half a head taller than any other man. My steps slowed and my heart started to beat hard. He was even more magnificent in the flesh than I remembered.

  I stood there for a moment just watching him, because he was so beautiful. I didn’t want him to be, because I knew that his cold, hard beauty would distract and unsettle me, and in fact it already was. Matteo Dias was breathtaking—a dark and powerful knight in his tuxedo, the expensive material stretching over his broad shoulders and showcasing his long legs and impressive chest. Even from across the room, I could see how his grey eyes glinted like silver, and his mobile mouth captured my fascination as he spoke.

  We’d never kissed, barely even touched, and yet in that moment I was spellbound, caught by his sheer animal magnetism and intense charisma, as if we shared a physical history. As if I could actually remember the way he felt and even tasted, when I knew I couldn’t.

  I hadn’t let myself even imagine either of those things, because our marriage had never been like that. Matteo had been clear on that point right from the beginning, his lip curling in derision at the thought of so much as touching me—and I’d told myself I didn’t mind, because I didn’t want to be touched.

  I took a deep breath and started forward. ‘Matteo.’

  My voice came out more loudly than I’d meant it to, and several people turned. I heard whispers, titters, as their gazes raked over me. So the dress didn’t work, then. I’d suspected as much, but I didn’t care. Colour surged into my face but I kept my chin high, as I had all my life, no matter what it had thrown at me—and it had thrown a lot.

  ‘Matteo.’

  He turned, his eyes narrowing to silver slits as his lush mouth compressed into a narrow, unforgiving line. Clearly he wasn’t pleased to see me. I wasn’t surprised, but stupidly I still managed to feel hurt, although I tried to hide it.

  The woman by his side tilted her head towards him, her green cat’s eyes glinting with malicious laughter as she whispered in a voice loud enough to carry, ‘Oh, dear, Matteo, it looks like someone has a little crush on you.’

  A crush? Hardly.

  ‘We need to talk,’ I told him, keeping my gaze focused on his now scowling face, refusing to be intimidated by the women who circled him as if they were a flock of elegant crows and he was their carrion. Except, of course, Matteo was all predator and no prey.

  ‘Talk...?’

  He pretended to look puzzled, and I realised he was going to try to act as if he didn’t know me. The thought filled me with a sudden empowering fury. No way, sucker. Not after three whole years of doing what he’d said and staying out of his way.

  ‘Yes, talk, Matteo.’ I smiled sweetly even though inside I was trembling like a bowl full of jelly. ‘You do remember who I am, don’t you?’ I forced my smile wider as I started to say the dreaded word. ‘Your wi—’

  ‘Not here.’

  His hand clamped down on my arm and he steered me out of the ballroom as if I were an unruly member of staff. I tripped in my heels and Matteo steadied me, although I could tell the gesture was one of expediency rather than concern. My husband wasn’t merely displeased to see me; he was furious.

  That was made even more clear when he ushered me into a private room off the ballroom, closing the door behind him with a loud click.

  ‘Daisy,’ he said, his teeth gritted and his eyes flashing, ‘what the hell are you doing here?’

  * * *

  I almost hadn’t recognised her. Admittedly she was reassuringly easy to forget—which was why I’d married her in the first place. The only reason I remembered her name was because of the deposits I’d made into her bank account.

  ‘Nice to see you, too,’ she muttered, with a flash of spirit I hadn’t expected.

  Hadn’t I married a mouse? A quiet, tame, unremarkable and invisible mouse, who was supposed to be grateful for what I’d done for her and stay entirely out of my way?

  ‘We had an agreement,’ I told her flatly.

  ‘To keep me prisoner on an island while you gallivant about all of Europe?’

  ‘What?’ I stared at her incredulously. ‘Is that seriously your version of events?’

  ‘We’re married, Matteo.’

  My jaw dropped and I snapped it shut. I could not believe she was playing that card, when she of all people knew what our marriage really was. ‘You signed the agreement, Daisy. You cashed the cheques. You told me it suited you.’

  Her jaw was thrust out, her expression mutinous. I’d never seen her look so fiery—but then, of course, I’d barely seen her at all, and as they say, out of sight, out of mind. Entirely.

  ‘I know I did, but it’s been three years and I want something different now.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  I folded my arms and stared her down. She had to be easy to intimidate. She certainly had been before—although in truth I hadn’t even had to try. I’d offered her a deal—a generous, considerate, honest business deal—and she’d accepted. Clearly she needed reminding of those facts now.

  ‘So you want something different and you decide to stalk me down to a public party—’

  ‘I did not stalk,’ she snapped, cutting across me, which no one ever did. ‘I read about the party online and decided to find you here.’

  ‘I call that stalking.’

  ‘Technically, I don’t think you can stalk your husband.’

  ‘Trust me, you can—especially in a marriage like ours.’

  ‘Which is exactly what I want to discuss.’

  She gave me an acidly sweet smile as she walked across the room—or rather minced, because that dress was so ridiculous—to sit in a chair, looking as demure as I could ever hope for, even though her eyes still sparked.

  ‘What is that hideous dress you’re wearing?’ I asked, knowing I was being blunt to the point of rudeness and not caring in the slightest. ‘You look like a tube of lipstick—and a nasty shade at that.’

  Her cheeks flushed but her gaze didn’t waver. ‘I thought those snarky assistants at the boutique might be setting me up.’

  ‘Couldn’t you tell it didn’t suit you?’ Although, awful as it was, it did suit her. My gaze was reluctantly and irresistibly drawn to the slender curves the outrageously tight dress clung to. ‘What is that material? Pleather?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She glanced down at it without much interest. ‘They insisted it was the latest style, and who am I to know any different?’

  ‘They were lying to you.’

  For some reason it annoyed me that a couple of nasty shop assistants would make a mockery of my wife. Our marriage most certainly wasn’t like that, but she was still a Dias. Even if no one knew it. Even if that was the way I’d wanted it.

  ‘I thought they might have been,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I’m hardly a fashion icon, and I’m sure I seemed like a complete country bumpkin to them.’

  Which begged the question
—‘What are you doing here, Daisy?’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Don’t you mean what the hell am I doing here?’

  ‘I was surprised.’

  I wasn’t normally in the habit of justifying myself, and I didn’t know what it was about her that caught me on the raw, made me defensive. That had to stop.

  ‘Annoyed, you mean? Or perhaps furious?’ One eyebrow arched as her golden-brown eyes glittered like bits of topaz. She was unremarkable, I told myself as I scanned her in cold assessment. Brown hair and eyes, a slight, unprepossessing figure. Completely forgettable.

  So why did I keep staring at her?

  ‘We had an arrangement,’ I stated, yet again. She seemed to need the reminder.

  ‘Which suited you—’

  ‘And you—to the tune of nearly two million euros.’ I was not going to feel guilty. ‘You knew the score all along. You said you were happy with it.’

  Her lower lip—a surprisingly lush and rosy-red lip—jutted out, and she folded her arms across her slight bosom, which for some reason I was having the most exasperating trouble looking away from, considering how unimpressive it was. B cup at best, and yet...

  ‘Well, now I want to change it,’ she said.

  I let out a short, sharp laugh. ‘I don’t negotiate.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ she challenged. ‘It’s hardly a binding contract.’

  I stared at her, shocked. Where was all this brazen confidence coming from? And what could she possibly want from me?

  ‘Not binding, no,’ I agreed silkily, ‘but you know the terms. If you wish the marriage to be annulled without my agreement, then you’ll have to hand back every single euro you’ve received from me over the last three years.’

  Which amounted to nearly two million—one million to start, and then two hundred and fifty thousand for every year she stayed married to me, until my grandfather died. Then we wouldn’t have to have anything more to do with each other—something I had thought suited us both.

  But of course Daisy knew the rules as well as I did. I’d outlined them all very clearly when I’d proposed to her after she’d been fired from a rundown dive of a diner in a less than salubrious neighbourhood in Manhattan and she’d accepted. With alacrity.

  So what had changed?

  I folded my arms and eyed her in consideration. She was sitting as prim as you please in a vamp’s red dress, looking entirely incongruous and making me feel as if I didn’t know her at all—which, of course, I didn’t. I didn’t need or want to know her. But I needed to know what she wanted.

  ‘What is this really about, Daisy?’

  For a second that confidence faltered. Her lips trembled and her gaze slid away. ‘What do you think it’s about?’

  ‘Why are you here? What is it you want? Because I really don’t think you want to repay the two million euros I’ve already given you.’

  ‘One million, seven hundred and fifty thousand,’ she flashed back, recovering her spirit, assembling it like armour. ‘And, according to our agreement, we were to be married for a maximum of two years. It’s now been three.’

  ‘And you’ve been paid accordingly.’

  And she’d spent it all, judging by the amount in the bank account I’d set up for her. Last time I checked, its balance was hovering just above zero. Heaven only knew what she spent the money on.

  ‘So what do you want?’ I shook my head slowly, my lip starting to curl. ‘More money?’

  Her eyes widened, her lush lips parting. In that red dress she looked as ripe as an apple, ready to be plucked, and it disconcerted me. The last time I’d seen her she’d been in a drab waitress uniform, her hair scraped back into a ponytail, her face shiny with grease from the fried food she served. Hardly someone I’d ever think of plucking.

  ‘Would you give me more money?’ she asked, seeming more curious than greedy.

  ‘No.’

  I took a step back, away from temptation. As surprisingly luscious as Daisy seemed right now, she was most definitely off limits. The last thing I wanted to do was consummate—and thus complicate—my marriage. I had plenty of women to choose from. I didn’t need this one.

  ‘That’s good, because I have enough money as it is.’

  ‘You seem to spend it as fast as I can transfer it to your bank account,’ I remarked sardonically. ‘Although I can’t imagine what you spend it on, living on an island with a population of about three hundred.’

  ‘That’s none of your business, is it?’ Daisy countered.

  She had a rather guilty look about her now, with a flushed face and sliding gaze. What did she spend the money on? Perhaps she’d redecorated my villa ten times over, or bought a boat, or a helicopter, or a closet full of designer clothes... Although, judging by that dress, it was probably not the last possibility.

  ‘So what is it that you want, then?’

  Impatience edged my voice and I made a point of glancing at my watch. Daisy Campbell—no, Dias—had taken up fifteen minutes of my valuable time, and that was fifteen minutes too many.

  She cocked her head, her thick, darkly golden lashes lowered as she surveyed me, her lips slightly pursed. Was she trying to be coy? It was a surprising move, and one that unfortunately had the power to affect me.

  Desire surged through my body in a white-hot rush, and although I was tempted to take another step back, to safety, I stood my ground. I would not be cowed by my unremarkable wife. Nor would I be affected.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I want.’

  She stood up, as striking as a flame in that ridiculous red dress, her light brown hair tumbling about her shoulders, her face flushed, her chin angled at a determined tilt—the embodiment of both defiance and desire.

  ‘I want an annulment. I want out of this sham of a marriage. And I’ll give you all your money back to prove it.’

  Copyright © 2019 by Kate Hewitt

  ISBN-13: 9781488044861

  The Greek’s Billion-Dollar Baby

  Copyright © 2019 by Clare Connelly

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