As the red sun was setting into the sea below the cliffs, three hundred people on the terrace burst into spontaneous applause amid a cacophony of approving Greek.
Darius’s heart was in his throat as he looked at her. He was dazzled. He thought she’d put Aphrodite, freshly risen from the sea, completely to shame.
And the fact that he’d even have such a ridiculously poetic thought stunned him.
As she came closer, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling shyly.
He did not touch her. He was almost afraid to. She was simply too desirable, and after their hours of kissing on the beach, he did not know how much more temptation his self-control could take. They’d been married for over twenty-four hours, but had not yet made love.
The party was torture. It lasted for hours, testing his resolve. If it had been any other situation, he would have told everyone to go to hell and taken his bride straight to bed.
But this was his family. His village. He couldn’t be rude to them or reject the warm welcome they gave his bride.
His whole body ached to possess her. He could think of nothing else. It was causing him physical pain. He was just glad he was wearing a long, loosely tailored jacket and loose trousers so the whole village could not discuss with amused approval his obvious desire for his bride.
The party was over the top, as only village affairs could be, with music, drinking and dancing. A feast had been lovingly prepared by his family and all the rest of the village. So many people rushed to Letty and started talking excitedly i
n Greek that she’d announced she planned to start taking Greek lessons as soon as possible. Some of his cousins immediately started cheering, and when Darius translated her words for his elderly great-aunt, Theia Ioanna actually stood on tiptoe to kiss Letty on both cheeks. His family loved her.
Of course they did. Letty Kyrillos was the perfect bride. She would be the perfect wife and mother. Now he’d gotten her away from her father, there would be no bad influences in her life.
Darius would be the only one to claim her loyalty. And the expression in Letty’s eyes as she looked at him now—a mix of longing, hero worship and fear—did strange things to his insides. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, reminding him of the insecure, lovesick youth he’d once been for her.
No. He just desired her, he told himself firmly. He was appreciative that she was comporting herself as a proper Greek wife, with kindness and respect to his family. And he hoped—expected—that she would soon love him. It would make all their lives easier.
Darius did not intend to love her in return. He would never leave himself that vulnerable again. As the protector of their family, as a husband, as a father, as a man, it was his duty to be strong.
Letty’s heart was her weakness. It would not be his.
His great-aunt went to bed at midnight, and the rest of the older generation soon after, but with the ouzo flowing and loud music and enthusiastic dancing, his cousins and many of the younger villagers remained well into the wee hours. It wasn’t until the ouzo was gone and the musicians were falling asleep over their instruments that the last guests finally took the hint and departed, after many congratulations and kisses for the newly married couple.
Darius and Letty were finally alone on the terrace, surrounded by streamers and empty champagne glasses.
She looked at him, her eyes huge in the moonlight, the pink flowers wilting in her dark lustrous hair.
Without a word, he took her hand.
Leading her to their bedroom suite at the farthest end of the south wing, he closed the door behind them and opened the windows and sliding glass door to the balcony. The wind blew from the sea, twisting the translucent white curtains, illuminated by moonlight.
Turning back to her, he lifted her long dark hair from the nape of her neck and slowly unzipped her dress. In the hush of the night, it felt like an act that was almost holy.
Her dress dropped to the floor. She turned to him, her eyes luminous in the silvery light. Reaching up, she pulled off his jacket. She unbuttoned his shirt. He felt the soft brush of her hands against his chest and caught them in his own. She looked up at him questioningly.
A strange feeling was building in his heart. Desire, he reminded himself fiercely. I desire her. He kissed her hands—first one, then the other.
The wind blew against her hair, causing pink flower petals to float softly to the floor like a benediction. Without a word, he pulled her to the enormous bed.
This time, as they made love, there were no words beyond the language of touch. There was only pleasure and delight.
He’d thought he’d known ecstasy the night they’d made love over and over in his Manhattan penthouse.
But this was something else. It felt different.
Why? Because they were married now, and she was permanently his? Because she knew him better than anyone on earth? Because she’d truly joined his family?
Whatever the reason, as he made love to her on this, their first true wedding night, it felt sacred.