Spread beneath us was the most magnificent sight I’d ever seen. The sprawling whitewashed villa was divided into two giant wings the size of football fields and connected by an immense glass-roofed living area that could easily accommodate a thousand guests. A sparkling swimming pool abutted the living area, and a tiered lawn went on almost for ever, ending at a large gazebo set right on the beach, complete with twin hammocks set to watch the perfect sunset.
I was still drenched in awe when the scene of the wedding ceremony came into view.
Unlike the spectacle of his brother’s wedding—the details of which my mother had delighted in showing me via her magazines—Neo had agreed to a close-family-only wedding. The handful of guests were perched on white-flower-decorated seats, laid out on a blinding white carpet on the vast landscaped lawn. The ‘altar’ was bursting with white and pink Matthiola, specially imported from Italy, and the florists’ gushing use of the flower meant to symbolise lasting beauty and a happy life echoed in my mind as the chopper landed.
The walk from the aircraft to where Neo’s family members had risen to their feet felt like a trek across a field of landmines, my pulse leaping with apprehension with each step, the sea-tinged breeze lifting my organza and lace wedding dress, reminding me how far away I was from normal reality.
I was marrying a wealthy, powerful man. One who’d proved he could bend the path of destiny itself to his will. One who was assuming greater and greater occupation in my thoughts.
One who bristled with impatience as my steps faltered.
Beside Neo, a man matching his height murmured to him, a kind of hard amusement twitching his lips. Neo sent him a baleful glare before his eyes locked on mine, compelling me with the sheer force of his dynamism.
Despite our many charged conversations, I hadn’t seen him since the night of his skewed proposal. His designer stubble was gone, and the lightning-strike effect of his clean-shaven face stalled my feet completely.
Somewhere along this journey I’d fooled myself into thinking I could handle an association with this powerful man. Now, I wasn’t so sure. How could I be when his very presence struck me with such alarming emotions?
The man next to him stepped forward, momentarily distracting me.
Axios Xenakis—Neo’s older brother.
He approached, eyeing me with the same piercing Xenakis gaze, unashamedly assessing me before the barest hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
He placed himself next to me and, with a nod at my mother, offered me his arm. ‘As much as I’m enjoying seeing my brother twisting in the wind, perhaps you’d be so kind as to have a little mercy?’
‘I’m not doing anything...’ I murmured.
‘Precisely. You are merely hesitating long enough for him to feel the kick of uncertainty. Believe me, I know what that feels like.’
His words were directed at me but his gaze flicked to a dark-haired, stunningly beautiful woman cradling an adorable baby in her arms. They shared a heated, almost indecently sensual look that would have made me cringe had my whole attention not been absorbed by the man I’d pledged to marry. The man who looked a whisker away from issuing one of those terse little commands that irritated and burned but also flipped something in my stomach while getting him what he wanted.
What he wanted, clearly, was for me to honour my word.
One hand twitched, and it was as if a layer of that supreme control slipped as he watched me.
Think of Mum. Think of the baby.
Knowing he was eager to secure his child delivered a numb kind of acceptance over me. Helped propel me to where he stood.
He exhaled, and just like that control was restored.
The ceremony went off without a hitch. Probably because Neo had forbidden any.
In what seemed like a breathless, head-spinning minute I was married to one of the most formidable men on earth. And he was turning to me, his fierce gaze locked on my lips.
It was all the warning I got before he leaned down, his lips warm and dangerously seductive as they brushed mine once. Twice. Then moved deeper for a bare second before he raised his head.
His gaze blatantly raked me from head to toe, his nostrils flaring as his gaze lingered on my belly.
‘Dikos mou,’ he murmured beneath his breath.
‘What?’
He started, as if realising he’d spoken aloud, then immediately collected himself. When he circled my wrist with one hand and turned me to face the dozen or so guests, I steeled myself against the fresh cascade of awareness dancing over my body—told myself it meant nothing, was simply a continuation of whatever role he was playing. And when he turned to rake his gaze from the swept-back, loosely bound design the stylist had put my hair into, over my face and down my body, before deeply murmuring, ‘You look beautiful...’ I told myself it was for the benefit of his family.
Barely minutes later, once the wait staff had begun circulating with platters of exquisite canapés and glasses of vintage champagne, Neo had grown aloof. A fine tension vibrated off him, increasing every time I tried to extricate myself from his hold.
When it grew too much I faced him, thankful that we were temporarily alone. ‘Is something wrong?’