Claiming My Bride of Convenience

Of course, it wasn’t actually about winning, I reminded myself, conscious that Daisy had been making that exact point. She wasn’t a challenge or a novelty, as she’d claimed; she was both, as well as much more. She was my wife, and I had no regrets about having her here with me. No regrets at all.

Briefly my mind flicked back to that necessary but uncomfortable conversation about love. I thought I’d done a fairly good job of showing her the ephemeral nature of such emotions, but of course she would need more convincing.

Still, I was confident she would come to see how pointless it was to hanker after that elusive emotion—a slippery sensation if ever there was one. Love was nothing but an illusion, albeit a powerful one. I’d taught myself not to yearn for it a very long time ago, out of necessity. I could teach Daisy the same.

I leaned back, determined to enjoy the short flight to Athens—as well as what would happen afterwards.

The noise of the rotors made it impossible to talk, which was just as well, since I was still processing all I’d learned from the conversation we’d had earlier. I’d talked more with Daisy than I had with any other woman in my life, and while getting to know her hidden strengths and depths had been fascinating, it had also been a bit uncomfortable. It was a burden, knowing so much about someone, and one I was hesitant to bear.

My life, similar to Daisy’s, has been one of isolation. When you don’t care about people, they can’t hurt you. Cut them off first, so they can’t cut you—that had been my motto from early on. I’d chosen to despise my grandfather, because then his contempt and loathing would roll off me. The only person I’d ever truly cared about was Andreas, and that was the simplest and easiest thing in my life, because of who he was. But caring about Daisy...

Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. And, more importantly, she wasn’t going to care about me—never mind actually love me. I wouldn’t let her.

An hour later the helicopter touched down outside Athens, where a limo was waiting to escort us to my penthouse apartment off Syntagma Square. Daisy followed me, wide-eyed and silent, from helicopter to limo to home. By the time we stepped into the massive marble-lined foyer it was nearing nine o’clock and I could see she was exhausted.

‘Why don’t you shower and change?’ I suggested. ‘I’ll order something for us to eat.’

She glanced around the apartment, with its chrome and leather furnishings, modern artwork and gleaming marble floors. ‘What is this place?’

I looked at her in surprise. ‘My home. One of them, anyway.’

She shook her head slowly, but didn’t say anything else.

‘The bedroom is on the left. There are clothes you can wear in one of the closets.’

Wordlessly she walked down the hall and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving me wondering, a touch uneasily, what she was thinking. Was she simply overawed by the opulence of my lifestyle? Even though she’d been living in a luxurious villa for the last three years, it was obvious to see that her tastes were simple.

I realised I was looking forward to showering her with gifts, spoiling her with things she’d never possessed or experienced before. I was looking forward to it very much indeed.

A few minutes later I strolled into the bedroom, peeling off my shirt and unbuckling my trousers. I

wanted a hot shower myself, as well as to remind my shy bride that we were man and wife, even if she wanted to act as if we weren’t.

‘What are you doing?’

Daisy’s voice came out in a squeak as she stood in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel clutched around her curvy form, her eyes wide with shocked outrage even as her gaze roved up and down my mostly naked form, lingering on my chest before moving back to my face.

‘Stripping,’ I answered succinctly. ‘I’m intending to use the shower after you.’

‘Can’t you use another one?’

The squeaking persisted, as did the gaze-roving. I didn’t mind either. She looked lovely, with her hair in damp tangles around her flushed face, the towel leaving little—and yet so much—to my overactive imagination.

‘There isn’t one.’

‘This place has only one bathroom?’

‘It’s my private home. I only need one bathroom.’

And quite a bathroom it was, with a sunken tub, a double shower, and a sauna room. Perhaps, eventually, we would try out all three...

‘But you said...’ Her voice quivered, along with her chin.

‘That I wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.’ I read her uncertain expression perfectly. ‘Of course I won’t. What kind of man do you think I am?’

‘One who struts naked into my bedroom!’

Ah, the maidenly outrage. ‘I’m not strutting, and this is not your bedroom. It’s ours.’ I took satisfaction in saying that word.