Claiming My Hidden Son / Bride Behind The Billion-Dollar Veil. Clare Connelly

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СКАЧАТЬ and faced him. ‘Is there something on your mind?’

      One eyebrow quirked. ‘As conversations go, that’s not quite what I expected as our first. But then I’m making many surprising discoveries.’

      He wasn’t the only one! ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

      He didn’t reply immediately. Then, ‘You’re not what I was led to expect.’

      I couldn’t help my lips twisting. ‘You are aware of how absurd that sounds, aren’t you?’

      He stiffened, and I got the notion that once again something about me had surprised him. ‘No. Enlighten me,’ he replied dryly.

      ‘Not what you were led to expect?’ The slight screech in my voice warned me that hysteria might be winning but I couldn’t stop. ‘Let me guess—you thought you were getting some biddable wallflower who would tremble and trip over herself to please you?’

       You were trembling minutes ago, when he kissed you.

      I ignored the voice and met his gaze.

      He’d turned into a pillar of stone. ‘Considering the ink isn’t dry on our marriage certificate, perhaps we should strive not to have our first disagreement. Unless you wish to break some sort of record?’ he rasped, gunmetal eyes boring into me.

      Apart from our marriage, I still didn’t know the precise details of the deal between my father and my new husband and it momentarily stalled my response. But the fire burning inside me wouldn’t be doused.

      ‘I get the feeling you’re just as…invested in this thing as my father is, so it bears repeating that you’re not getting a simpering lackey who will jump through hoops to amuse you.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Your father? Not you?’

      Short of revealing my ignorance on the matter, I had to prevaricate. ‘I’m a Petras—same as he.’

      Something that looked very much like contempt flickered through his eyes. ‘Consider me forewarned,’ he replied cryptically.

      Before I could query what he meant the limo was pulling up to the double doors of my family home. Liveried footmen hurried to throw our doors open.

      Inside the rarely used but hastily refurbished ballroom guests drank champagne and feasted on canapés and my father gave a painfully false speech. I only managed to sit through it by reaching into my pocket and clutching the envelope within.

      The moment the speeches were done Axios was swarmed upon by fawning acquaintances, eager to engage the great man in conversation. I told myself that my primary emotion was relief as the stylists, also roped into acting as my attendants, rushed to straighten my veil and train, twitching and tweaking until they were satisfied that I’d been restored to their vision of bridal beauty.

      But just when I thought I’d have a moment’s reprieve Axios’s gaze zeroed in on me, his eyes falling to the barely touched food on the plate that lay next to my untouched glass of champagne.

      One brow rose. ‘Not in the mood for celebrating? Or are you trying to make some sort of point by not eating?’

      I couldn’t eat—not when the inkling was deepening that Axios Xenakis was far from a willing participant in this devilish deal. And if that was the case, what had I let myself in for?

      I pushed the anxious thought away and let my gaze fall on his equally full plate. ‘You should talk.’

      He lifted his champagne and took a healthy gulp. ‘Unlike you, this occasion isn’t one I feel inclined to celebrate.’

      My breath caught, but before I could ask him to elaborate, he continued.

      ‘And in the interest of clarity let me warn you that neither you nor your father have any cards left to play. Should you feel inclined to make more demands.’

      Christos, what exactly had my father done?

      But even as the question burned fire boiled in my blood. ‘Are you threatening my family? Because if you are, please know that I will fight you with everything I’ve got.’

      His lips twisted at my fierce tone. ‘What a fiery temper you have. I wonder what other surprises you’re hiding beneath those unfortunate layers of… What is that material?’

      As much as I hated my wedding dress, his remark sparked irritation. ‘It’s called tulle. And you should know. You paid for it, after all.’

      The barest hint of a sardonic smile lifted his sensual lips. ‘Writing a cheque for it doesn’t mean I pay attention to every single detail of a woman’s wardrobe. I have better things to do than concern myself with the name of the fabric that comprises a wedding gown.’

      ‘But this is your wedding too,’ I taunted, knowing my mockery would aggravate.

      Something about this towering hunk of a man, who’d made it clear that this was the last place he wanted to be, riled me on a visceral level, firing up a need to dig beneath his formidable exterior.

      ‘Isn’t it supposed to be one of the momentous occasions of your life?’

      Every trace of humour disappeared. Piercing grey eyes pinned me in place, and the tension vibrating from him was so thick I could almost touch it.

      ‘Momentous occasions are highly anticipated and satisfactorily celebrated. You’d have to be delusional or deliberately blind to imagine I’m in such a state, Calypso Petras.’

      The way he said my name, with drawling, mocking intonation, fired my blood. Along with other sensations I couldn’t quite name.

      ‘It’s Calypso Xenakis now—or have you already forgotten?’ I fired back, taking secret pleasure in seeing the irritated flare of his nostrils.

      ‘I have not forgotten,’ he answered with taut iciness.

      ‘If this is such an ordeal for you, then why all this?’ I waved my hand at the obscenely lavish banquet displayed along one long wall, the champagne tower brimming with expensive golden bubbles, the caviar-laden trays being circulated, and the designer-clad guests, shamelessly indulging their appetites.

      ‘Because your father insisted,’ he replied, his voice colder than an arctic vortex. ‘As you well know.’

      I opened my mouth to tell him for once and for all that none of this made sense to me because no one had bothered to consult me about my own wedding.

      The sight of my mother’s face, staring at me from one table away, pain and misery etched beneath her smile, dried the words in my throat.

      For whatever reason fate had tangled the Xenakises and the Petrases in an acrimonious weave and my mother and I were caught in the middle. I could no more extricate myself than I could turn my back on her.

      A tiny, tortured sound whistled through the air and I realised it came from my own throat—a manifestation of that hysteria that just wouldn’t die down. I stood abruptly, knowing I had to get away before I did something regrettable.

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