From One Night to Wife

He turned and looked at her. The firm tone of her voice brooked no argument. He knew there and then that his being there wasn’t serving any purpose. If anything it was making things worse.

She hadn’t written that article, or instigated it in any way. Christos had betrayed him, exploiting his weakness for all to see. Deep down he’d known Serena wasn’t behind it, but he had used the excuse of confronting her to fly to London. He’d needed to see her, to hear her voice.

He didn’t understand this burning need. Lust and passion were involved—and, yes, she was having his baby—but it was more than that. It was so much more than he deserved.

‘I want the baby to have my name.’

When she’d left the bedroom after their last night of passion he’d decided that they would have to marry, no matter where they lived, and that still stood. His child must legitimately have his name.

‘That can be arranged,’ she said with a hint of suspicion in her voice. ‘You can be named on the birth certificate as the father.’

‘That’s not enough,’ he said, and found himself moving towards her.

He wanted to touch her, to place his hand over his baby. Then he paused, remembering what his grandmother had said to Serena. He’d been distracted with lunch preparations that day, but he could still hear himself translating what she’d said.

You hold the key.

At the time he’d put it down to the ramblings of an elderly lady, but now he wasn’t so sure. Was the baby they’d created the key? And, if so, to what? Had she meant the key to being able to lay his ghosts to rest, to being the kind of father he’d wanted to have?

It was then that he knew. His grandmother believed the baby was the key to burying his past—but he could only do that if he married Serena and if they lived as a family. The happy, loving family he’d never had.

‘There isn’t any other way to do it.’

She looked imploringly at him and her words dragged him back to the present. She was wrong. There was one thing they could do.

‘There is if you marry me and return to Greece.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

IT WAS AS if the floor had opened up and swallowed her. To have Nikos in her home was unexpected, but for him to accuse her first of selling his story, then all but demand she go back and marry him, was beyond comprehension. Was this his way of collecting her debt?

For a moment, when he’d spoken of his childhood, she’d almost gone to him, almost put her arms around him and given in to the need to hold him close. But those last words had cooled the burning need.

She’d tried to love him, but he had pushed her away, locked her out. She had wanted them to be a couple, but it hadn’t worked. Neither would getting married because of the baby. She was convinced they would be exactly the same as her parents had been. Unhappy.

‘No, Nikos. We have already proved that’s a bad idea.’

She shook her head in denial as he moved closer to her, looming over her, his height making her feel intimidated, as it had the night she’d first returned to Santorini. He would make a formidable adversary in the boardroom, of that she was sure, but here in her home she wouldn’t be dominated.

‘Is that so?’

‘You know it is.’ The answer came out in a strangled whisper as she tried to hold on to her senses, even as the fresh scent of his aftershave invaded every nerve cell in her body.

How had they come so far from that week of romance they’d spent in Athens? The emerald ring he’d given her hadn’t changed anything—probably because he hadn’t given it out of love, as the assistant had thought. She lowered her gaze, not wanting to look into his, not wanting to see those blue eyes darken and warm with passion. The husky note in his voice was one she’d come to know, one she loved, and one that would spell disaster if she responded now.

He reached for her face, his fingers briefly touching her chin. He wanted her to look up at him. She ducked out of his way and moved into the living room, quickly collecting up the baby clothes she’d bought that afternoon. Those few hours of shopping with Sally seemed as if they had happened weeks ago, but Sally’s admission over her secret IVF funds still felt painfully raw.

‘Please, Nikos, you should go. There is nothing we can say to one another that hasn’t already been said.’

Her heart ached as if it was breaking in two. This was the man she loved completely and utterly, the man whose baby she carried, and yet they couldn’t be together. His ideals and expectations meant they’d be a carbon copy of her parents. She couldn’t do it—not to herself or the baby. She wanted to be happy and loved.