Constantine's Defiant Mistress

Constantine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Does it?’ he questioned, and suddenly his voice sounded harsh. ‘Not to me, it doesn’t.’

And now a very real fear lanced through her. Perhaps he wasn’t asking her to marry him at all—hadn’t he already asked her twice and she’d turned him down? Would a proud man like this really ask her a third time? Why, she was probably being completely arrogant in not accepting that deep down he’d been delighted to see the back of her. ‘Why not?’ she breathed painfully.

He stared at her. The bare feet. The shapeless jeans—and a T-shirt which Demetra would probably have used to polish the tiles with. It was inconceivable that such a woman as Laura had captured his heart, but captured it she had—and so tightly that at this moment it was threatening to burst right out of his chest. Her physical ensnarement of him had never been in any doubt—but her purity and loyalty to him as a lover thrilled him to the very core of his being. As did her fierce determination to protect her son, and her admirable refusal to accept his offer of marriage, showing him that she was not a woman who could be bought by his colossal wealth.

‘Because I have been a fool,’ he declared hotly. ‘I have failed to see what was right beneath my very nose—that you, Laura, are the woman who makes me laugh, who challenges me. The woman who is not afraid to tell me the truth. Who kisses more sweetly than I ever thought it possible to kiss. Who makes diamonds look dull and starlight seem mediocre.’

He drew a ragged breath, knowing that he had still not gone far enough—but admitting love for the first time in his life was hard for a man who had only ever seen warped examples of that emotion.

He stared at her, his heart pounding in his chest, aware as he looked at her that if he said it he had to mean it. Really mean it. And suddenly it was easy.

‘You are the woman I love,’ he said softly. ‘I love you, Laura. I love you so much.’

‘Oh, Constantine…’ she breathed, scarcely able to believe what he was saying to her. But just one look at the incredible tension on his beautiful face told her that every word was true.

‘But the question is do you love me?’ he demanded.

Was he crazy? ‘Yes—yes!’

‘As fiercely as I do you?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘Then for the third time of asking—and because I am finally running out of patience—will you please marry me, Laura?’

Her smile broke out, so wide it felt as if it would split her face in two. ‘Yes! Oh, God, yes. I love you. I love you, Constantine! I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t know any other way—but, oh, I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to actually be able to say it out loud!’

‘Promise me you’ll never stop saying it,’ he declared, amazed at his own need to hear it.

‘Oh, I won’t—my sweet, darling Constantine.’

He pulled her into his arms, and this time he really did destabilise her, for her knees gave way—but Constantine was holding onto her as tightly as could be as he began to kiss her. And this kiss was different from any other they had ever shared. It was tender and healing as well as passionate, and it sealed their love properly—ending all twists and turns along the way which had brought them here to this point.

And if it was a kiss which was mingled with their tears—then didn’t that somehow make it sweeter and more precious still?

EPILOGUE

THE wedding took place in Greece—with Sarah as brides-maid and Alex carrying two platinum rings on a little cushion. Knowing the sensibilities of young boys, Laura had told him that he didn’t have to be involved in the ceremony, but Alex had insisted. He was so happy, Laura realised—blissfully contented that his mother and his father were going to be married at last.

It was a small ceremony, with a big party afterwards, and because it was held on the island it meant that the press could be kept largely in check. Unexpectedly, the message of congratulations which brought most satisfaction to bride and groom was sent by

the supermodel formerly known as Ingrid Johansson, who was now Mrs Ingrid Rockefeller, and living in luxury in the centre of Manhattan. It read:

You did me a favour, alskling—I have now a man who adores me, and we were married last month.

Laura had long ago realised that Constantine had already finished with the supermodel when she had burst into his life again, but it gladdened her heart to know that the Swedish beauty was happy.

Sarah had landed herself a place at art school in London, and was planning a new life for herself there. So they’d sold their bakery shop and the flat for a very respectable sum which had gone towards buying her an apartment near her college. And Sarah—after a little persuasion—had allowed Laura and Constantine to pay off the balance of her new home.

‘You’ve helped me for years,’ Laura had told her fiercely. ‘So please let me pay back something for all your time and kindness.’

It was decided that Alex would go to the school on Livinos until he was old enough to continue his studies on the mainland—just as his father had done. And, as well as taking an intensive course in Greek, Laura was planning to open a bakery on the island. Demetra had moaned about the lack of a bread shop often enough, and Laura recognised that she had a real gift for making a small business work. Two local women had been employed to help her, and if other babies came along—well, then Laura knew there were heaps of people she could call on.

But for now the shop gave her a role and a purpose on Livinos—it meant that she was more than just Constantine’s new wife, and that was important to her. And, she suspected, to him. One of the reasons he had fallen in love with her—so he told her on their wedding night—was because she was so proud and independent. She was the only woman he’d ever known who hadn’t coveted diamonds.

In fact, this lack of enthusiasm for fine jewels had proved to be the only problem in the blissfully problem-free time leading up to their wedding.

‘It is traditional for the groom to give his beautiful bride a gift,’ he murmured, pulling her into his arms and drifting his lips against hers. ‘But—since diamonds don’t impress you—what on earth can I give you as a wedding present that is equally precious, agape mou?’