Modern Romance October 2019 Books 5-8. Annie West

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       CHAPTER TWELVE

      HANNAH HAD BUTTERFLIES in her tummy and they wouldn’t quit. She looked at the dress the couturier had brought earlier that day—it was the perfect wedding dress for this perfectly fake wedding.

      ‘Keep it simple,’ she had instructed, feeling as if the wedding was enough of a farce without a frou-frou white cupcake dress. And simple it was. A silk slip with spaghetti straps and cut on the bias so it emphasised the curves of her breasts, hips and the roundedness of her stomach. It was not a dress one would wear to a public wedding, in front of hundreds of people.

      It was a dress to be worn for a lover. Beautiful, but so incredibly sensual. She ran her fingers over the silky fabric, and then dropped her gaze to the floor, where a pair of rose-gold sandals had been teamed with it. They were casual and comfortable and the perfect bit of whimsy to offset such a stunning piece.

      She heard a noise and startled, quickly putting the simple gown back in the wardrobe and slamming the door, spinning around almost guiltily as Leonidas entered their bedroom. When had she started to think of it as theirs, rather than just his? It had been just under a week since she’d arrived on the island and she barely recognised the woman she’d been then.

      ‘Marina has set dinner up on the terrace,’ he said. He looked at her as he had on the plane, with a smile that was at ease, as though he’d made his peace with how this would work—he’d slotted her into a space in his mind and he was content with that.

      She wasn’t his wife by choice, but they could still ‘make this work’.

      Hadn’t she said something along those lines to him, right at the beginning of all this? She’d been happy to take a pragmatic approach then. But something had changed and now the limitations of that sat strangely in her chest.

      ‘Okay.’ Hannah returned his smile, but it didn’t light up her face as usual.

      They walked in silence to the terrace, and when they reached it, Leonidas held a chair out for her.

      Mrs Chrisohoidis had gone to a lot of trouble.

      Candles flickered everywhere, and fresh flowers had been picked from around the island, filling the terrace with an even more delightful, heady fragrance than usual.

      She breathed it in and told herself to relax.

      She told herself nothing had changed. They were two people who were forging a relationship, who were getting married the very next day, and all the reasons for agreeing to this marriage were still there. Aside from the possible danger to her and their daughter, Hannah’s desire to provide their child with a father was as strong as ever. To know that if anything ever happened to her, Leonidas would be there—that she would know and love him.

      She was doing the right thing—these doubts would lessen once they were married and she could get on with building their marriage.

      They would have a lifetime together. A lifetime to make sense of this madness.

      But as Leonidas took the seat opposite Hannah, she realised with a terrifying bolt of comprehension that she didn’t need a lifetime to make sense of this. He took the seat opposite her and she breathed out, relaxing.

      Because he was there; he was near her.

      She clutched the stem of her wine glass—filled with ice-cold apple juice—and stared at her groom, as a thousand memories exploded inside her.

      Perhaps it was the starlit sky overhead, just like the night they met, but suddenly, Hannah seemed to be looking through binoculars, seeing everything larger and bigger and more true to life.

      Why had she slept with him that night?

      She’d never done anything like that, and yet one look from Leonidas had made her want to throw herself at his feet. That couldn’t be anything other than desire, could it?

      So why had she thought of him every day since? Why had he tormented her thoughts and dreams and filled her chest with a strange palpitation?

      What was the underlying reason that had made accepting his proposal easy? Beyond the very sensible reasons of security and support, what had really made her agree to this?

      Because marriage meant this.

      Time with him. Sitting opposite him. Lying with him. Kissing him. Making love to him.

      No, not making love.

      It was sex. Just sex.

      Except it wasn’t.

      She swept her eyes shut, remembering every kiss, every touch, the way he laced his fingers through hers and stared into her eyes when she exploded with pleasure.

      ‘Hannah?’ He leaned forward, curving a hand over hers, and she startled, piercing him with her ocean-green eyes. ‘Are you okay? Is it the baby?’

      She shook her head, and tried to smile, but her pulse was frantic and her stomach was lurching.

      There was no way on earth she’d done something as stupid as fall in love with the man she’d agreed to marry.

      Every step of the way he’d told her he didn’t want that. Their marriage wasn’t about love. It was convenient. Sensible. And yet a rising tide of panic made breathing difficult because they were due to say their vows in the morning, and Hannah knew hers wouldn’t be a lie.

      In one week…no. Not one week. This thread had begun to stitch its way into her heart that very first night, on Chrysá Vráchia.

      She hadn’t understood it then—how could she?

      It was only now that she comprehended what she hadn’t been able to with Angus. Love wasn’t a choice, it wasn’t a sensible, practical formula one could apply to the ‘right’ candidate to ensure a lifetime of happiness.

      It didn’t work like that.

      Love was as organic as breathing and laughing. Love was magic and, somehow, it had placed Hannah and Leonidas on the same island at the same time and the chemistry of their bodies had demanded something of them. It hadn’t been about chemistry alone, though, she saw that now. He’d offered a one-night stand—and instead, she’d seen his heart and buried a piece of it in her own.

      She gasped again, standing jerkily, moving to the balustrade and staring out at the inky black ocean. If it weren’t for the sound of the waves, it would have been impossible to know what was beyond the balcony.

      ‘Hannah? Christós! What is it?’

      She shook her head, unable to speak, definitely unable to put any of this into words. She had to make sense of it herself first. ‘I… It’s nothing. I just wanted to look at the view.’

      She felt his disbelief. ‘There is no view. It’s pitch black.’

      She turned around to face him, surprised to find Leonidas standing right behind her. ‘There are stars,’ she said softly. ‘Lights in the dark. See?’

      Her СКАЧАТЬ