Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks. Кейт Хьюит

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       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHRISTIAN’S HOME WAS a pebblestone villa in a private enclave of Athens, set away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Surrounded by acres of green land, the villa itself was found by means of a private driveway; indeed, the one word that sprang to Alessandra’s mind as she got out of the car was private. They could be anywhere. They could be nowhere.

      The villa was beautiful, there was no denying that— picture perfect—but the silence was deafening. Villa Mondelli had been much the same, the majority of her childhood spent in its splendid isolation. She’d adored the infrequent trips to Milan Rocco would take her on when he was home from university—loved the noise, the smells and the bustle of the big city, that feeling of being a small cog in a big wheel where all the tiny component parts jostled together nicely to make the big picture.

      They’d left the hotel after breakfast, waved off by their remaining guests. She’d forced a bright smile, forced jollity.

      On the drive to his home he’d explained in more detail what he was working on. She’d tried hard to be sympathetic and understanding about the importance that the situation be speedily resolved. That did nothing to prevent the underlying resentment.

      She was used to workaholics. She’d been raised by the various nannies her workaholic grandfather had employed for her. Her brother was of an identical mould.

      But she was one hundred per cent certain that, if such a situation had occurred hours before Rocco’s honeymoon, he would have put Olivia first. At the very least he would have discussed the matter with her and taken her input before making a decision.

      The big difference was that Rocco loved Olivia. She was his world.

      All Alessandra was to Christian was the vessel carrying his child, married to secure his heir and avert a scandal. Love did not and never would feature in it, no matter what foolish feelings had been stoked on her wedding day.

      Against her better judgement she’d allowed hope to rear its head.

      Sex was a dangerous game to play. It evoked feelings that had no business being conjured.

      In future she would make love with her body and detach her mind. Somehow. She was certain it could be done. Lots of other women were able to do it so why should she be any different?

      The vows she’d made had been given honestly but for the sake of the little life growing in her belly, not for herself.

      It would be wise for her to remember that and stop letting her hormones off the leash.

      Christian followed her out of the car and walked her to the large front door, the driver tasked with bringing her luggage in.

      A woman who Alessandra judged to be in her mid-forties opened the door to greet them. Christian introduced her as Evanthia, his head of housekeeping.

      Evanthia took Alessandra’s extended hand, uttered a friendly greeting in Greek then stood back so they could enter.

      The interior was every bit what the average person would expect a bachelor billionaire’s home to look like: lavish. Ostentatious. Cold. All vaulted ceilings, white walls and lots of marble.

      The reception area where they stood led through to an enormous open-plan living space. While she stood at the threshold, craning her neck to take it all in, Christian and Evanthia had a quick conversation.

      ‘I need to go,’ he said to Alessandra a few moments later. ‘Evanthia will show you around and show you where your room is.’

      ‘Where my room is?’ she interrupted, snapped out of her musings about his interior decoration.

      He nodded. ‘If you’re not happy with it then let Evanthia know and she can move you to a different one.’

      ‘Oh.’

      He looked at her with calm eyes. ‘Is there a problem?’

      She forced her own eyes to be bright and wide. ‘Not at all.’

      ‘Then make yourself comfortable—this is your home now. It is doubtful I will be back before the evening but you have my number if you need me for anything.’

      With that he left, leaving Alessandra feeling as if a rug had been pulled out from under her.

      They were to have separate rooms.

      That meant they would be sleeping in separate beds.

      Her reality check that morning when he’d cancelled СКАЧАТЬ