The Greek's Unknown Bride

He nodded slowly. ‘I took you out the following evening for dinner.’

‘We were in a building...it looked like a piece of broken glass.’

‘The Shard?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I still don’t remember much else beyond that building, the view...but it’s a start.’

Something uneasy moved through Apollo. If she was acting then she’d gone beyond a point that most people could keep up a pretence. He said carefully, ‘That’s good.’

A little colour came back into her cheeks and now she looked nervous. She gestured to the dress. ‘Is this okay? I wasn’t sure... Kara helped me.’

‘Kara?’

She nodded and then looked worried. ‘Is that a problem? Shouldn’t I have asked her?’

Apollo, for the first time, had to bite back a smile. ‘On the contrary, she tried to help you before but you insisted on getting in a professional stylist.’

Sasha looked tortured. ‘I had no idea. I should apologise.’ She made to go towards the kitchen but Apollo caught her hand, aware of how small it felt in his.

‘It’s not that big a deal, you can tell her another time.’ But he couldn’t seem to let her hand go. His gaze swept up and down, taking in the way the swells of her breasts pushed against the thin fabric of the dress. He wondered if she was wearing a bra—imagined cupping one firm weight in his hand, feeling the stab of her nipple—He shut down his rogue imagination and let her hand go. ‘We should leave, or we’ll be late.’

He took her by the arm and led her out of the villa and into the passenger seat of his car.

Sasha took in the view of Athens as they came down from the hills and entered the ancient city. The view was helping to distract her from the proximity of Apollo’s all too masculine presence beside her.

The city was bustling, full of young people out on the streets, enjoying the weekend, laughing and enjoying life. She could see the Acropolis standing majestically over the city, like a sentinel. ‘Have I been to the Acropolis?’ she asked, as the thought occurred to her.

Apollo glanced at her, slowing to a stop at a set of lights. ‘No, you

didn’t express an interest in seeing it.’

Sasha frowned. It was so disconcerting that someone else knew more about her than she did. Before long, they were driving into a wide leafy street with tall exclusive townhouses, and then through huge wrought-iron gates manned by serious-looking security men. They pulled up outside what could only be described as a neo-classical mansion.

Lots of people were milling around outside, then slowly making their way inside. Women dressed in long glittering dresses, men dressed like Apollo, in tuxedoes.

Nerves erupted like butterflies in her belly. Again, she regretted ever saying anything about coming. But the car had stopped and Apollo was uncoiling his tall body out of the car and handing the keys to a young man.

Then he was opening her door and holding out a hand. She took a deep breath and let him help her out. Not even her awareness of him was able to eclipse her nerves. Her palms were clammy. She didn’t belong in a place like this and she didn’t need to regain her memory to know that.

CHAPTER FOUR

APOLLO’S HAND WAS on Sasha’s elbow, guiding her through the throng. He noticed the looks from his peers. The widening eyes as they registered his wife by his side. He gritted his jaw. He’d never asked for this—to be married—but he’d been surprised at what a difference it had made. Much as he hated to admit it, Sasha had been right in her estimation of the worth of having a wife by your side.

It made his married colleagues less nervous. It kept predatory women at bay. And it had lent a more stable veneer to his business. A couple of business associates he’d been trying to meet with for years had finally agreed to meetings and Apollo had realised that it had been because they were family men and they hadn’t totally trusted him when he’d been a bachelor. He’d been seen as a rogue operator.

He looked down at Sasha to check how she was reacting and saw her expression. Genuinely awed, as if she’d never been in this kind of environment before. Certainly not how she’d reacted the first time he’d brought her to an event. Then she’d looked as entitled as everyone else here. Or, at least, she’d tried to.

Now she wore the kind of expression that one would never see in a place like this because everyone was too used to this level of luxury, or wouldn’t be caught dead admitting to being impressed. Or too cynical.

To his surprise, her reaction reminded him of how he’d felt when he’d first started being invited along to high society events: out of his depth and as if he didn’t belong.

He quickly quashed the sense of empathy. Sasha had led him a merry dance for months now, and she owed him. She seemed determined to act the part of his wife again and he’d be an idiot not to take advantage of that. After all, they wouldn’t be married for much longer—as soon as she had fully recuperated—

She interrupted his thoughts, asking, ‘What is this place?’

‘It’s the French Ambassador’s residence. He’s hosting this evening. His wife died of cancer some years ago and now he and his family host this ball every year.’

‘Oh, that’s sad.’