Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: July 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Sharon Kendrick - Страница 18

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘WOW! I’VE NEVER seen a bride wearing red before!’ exclaimed Megan. ‘Is this some new kind of fashion?’

But before Keeley had a chance to answer the woman who’d lent her the ill-fated dress on Lasia, her brand-new husband leaned forward and spoke for her.

‘It’s an ancient Greek custom,’ said Ariston smoothly, his words curling over her skin like dark smoke. ‘Traditionally, the bride wore a red veil in order to ward off evil spirits. But I suspect Keeley has deliberately adapted the look and given it a modern twist by wearing a crown of scarlet roses to match her dress. Isn’t that right, Keeley?’

Resenting his perception even more than the way he’d just butted in, Keeley looked up into the blue blaze of Ariston’s eyes, trying not to react as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, looking for all the world like a loving and attentive groom. How appearances could deceive, she thought bitterly. Because he was not a loving groom—he was a cold-hearted control freak who was positively glowing with satisfaction because an hour earlier he had slipped an embellished golden wedding ring onto her rigid finger. He’d got exactly what he wanted and she was now his wife, stuck in an unwanted marriage he was determined would last.

He dipped his mouth to her ear and she hated the involuntary shiver which trickled down her spine as his breath fanned her skin.

‘Clever you for researching Greek customs so thoroughly,’ he murmured. ‘Am I the evil spirit you’re trying to ward off, Keeley?’

‘Of course!’ she said, curving her mouth into a big smile, because she’d discovered she could do the appearance thing just as well as Ariston. She could play the part of the blushing bride to perfection—all it took was a little practice. And why spoil a day with something as disappointing as the truth? Why not let people believe what they wanted to believe—the fairy-tale version of their story—that the struggling daughter of a notorious actress had bagged one of the world’s most eligible men?

In the back of her mind she’d wondered if her past might catch up with her and if Ariston would have second thoughts about marrying a woman with a history like hers. Yet when a newspaper had regurgitated the old story of Keeley’s mother cavorting on the back seat of the ministerial limo and asked Ariston whether the tawdry behaviour of his new mother-in-law gave him any cause for concern, he had broken the habit of a lifetime and given them a quote: ‘Old news,’ he’d commented, in a bored and velvety drawl. ‘And old news is so dull, don’t you think?’

Which was kind of ironic when Keeley thought about how much fuss he’d made about what had happened in the past. But she supposed her pregnancy changed everything. It made him overlook her mother’s transgressions. It made him act proprietorially towards her, something which he made no attempt to hide. She could feel him stroking his finger across the front of her scarlet dress, lingering lightly over the curve of her belly as if it was his right to do so. And she guessed it was. Because he was pulling the strings now, wasn’t he? Certainly the purse strings. He had given her a brand-new credit card and told herself to buy what she liked—to transform herself into the woman who would soon become his wife. ‘Because I want you to look like my wife from now on.’ His eyes had glittered like blue ice as he had spoken. ‘Not some little supermarket stacker who just happens to be wearing my ring.’

His remark had riled her and she’d been tempted to wear her oldest clothes all the time and see how he liked that. Would such defiance make him eager to be rid of her and thus grant her the freedom she craved? But then she thought about her baby...and the fact that she was soon going to be a mother. Did she really want to be seen pushing her buggy around the fancy places which Ariston frequented, wearing clothes which had come from the thrift shop? Wouldn’t that whittle away at her confidence even more?

But the disturbing thing was that once she’d started, she’d found it surprisingly easy to spend her billionaire fiancé’s money. Perhaps there was more of her mother in her than she’d thought. Or maybe she’d just forgotten the lure of wealth and how it could make people do unpredictable things. During her childhood when they’d been flush, money had trickled through her mother’s fingers like sand and sometimes, if she’d been feeling especially benevolent, she had spent some of it on her only child. But her gifts had always failed spectacularly. Keeley had been given impractical frilly dresses which had made her stand out from the other little girls in their dungarees. There had been those frivolous suede shoes, ruined by their first meeting with a puddle—and ribbons which had made her look like some throwback to an earlier age. No wonder she’d grown up to be such a tomboy.

But she took to her new credit card like a duck to water, shopping for her imminent role as Ariston’s wife with enthusiasm and allowing herself to be influenced by the friendly stylist who had been assigned to her by the fancy department store. She bought new clothes chosen specially to accommodate her growing frame, as well as new underwear, shoes and handbags. And didn’t she enjoy the feeling of silk and cashmere brushing against her skin instead of the scratchy qualities of the man-made fabrics she’d worn up till then? She told herself she was only doing what she’d been instructed to do, but the speculative rise of Ariston’s dark eyebrows when his driver had staggered into the City apartment under the weight of all those shiny shopping bags had left her feeling...uncomfortable. As if she’d just affirmed some of his deeply held prejudices about women.

But money was liberating, she realised. It gave her choices which had previously been lacking in her life and that newfound sense of liberation encouraged her to buy the scarlet silk dress and matching shoes, secretly enjoying the stylist’s shocked reaction when she explained it was for her wedding day.

‘You’re some kind of scarlet woman, are you?’ the woman had joked drily.

And now, at the small but glittering reception, Keeley realised that Ariston’s hold on her had changed and he was pushing her away by a fraction so his gaze could rake over her, those smouldering blue eyes taking in every centimetre of the scarlet silk which was clinging to her curves.

‘Spectacular,’ he murmured. ‘Quite...spectacular.’

She felt exposed—almost naked—which hadn’t been her intention at all. She felt aroused, too—and surely that was even more dangerous. She tilted her chin defiantly, trying to swamp the sudden rush of desire which was making her skin grow heated and her nipples hard. ‘So you approve of my wedding dress?’

‘How could I not approve? It would have been entirely inappropriate for such an obviously pregnant wife to wear virginal white.’ He gave a slow smile. ‘Yet despite your unconventional colour choice and what I suspect was your intention to rile me, let me tell you that you really do make a ravishing bride, Keeley. Glowing, young and intensely fecund.’

‘I’ll... I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she stumbled, the tone of his voice making her momentarily breathless.

‘That’s what it was intended to be.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘So how are you feeling, wife?’

Keeley wasn’t quite sure how to answer, because the truth was complex—and strange. For the first time in her life she actually felt safe—and cosseted. She realised that Ariston would never let anyone harm her. That he would use his strength to protect her, no matter what. But he wasn’t doing it for her, she reminded herself. He was doing it because she was carrying the most precious of cargoes, and as custodian of his unborn child she merited his care and attention. That was why he was suddenly being so considerate—and if she read anything more into it than that, then she would be embarking down a very perilous road.

‘I’m a little tired,’ she admitted. ‘It’s been a long day and I wasn’t expecting it to be such...such an occasion.’

He frowned. ‘You want to skip the meal and go home?’

‘How can I? It wouldn’t look very good if the bride didn’t turn up for her own wedding breakfast.’

‘You think I care?’ He reached out to stroke his fingertips beneath her eyes. ‘Your welfare supersedes everything.’

‘No, honestly. I’m fine.’ The touch of his fingers was doing crazy things to her heart and as she noticed Megan hovering close by with a camera phone pointed in their direction, something made her want to maintain the whole myth of this marriage. Was it pride? She forced a smile as the phone flashed. ‘Let’s join the others,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’m hungry.’

But Keeley’s reluctance to leave the reception wasn’t just about hunger. She was dreading returning to Ariston’s gleaming apartment as man and wife and not just because she’d found its vast and very masculine interior intimidating. She had been staying at the famous Granchester Hotel while all the necessary pre-wedding paperwork was completed, because Ariston had insisted that they would only share a home as man and wife. Which seemed slightly bizarre since her rapidly increasing girth made a mockery of such old-fashioned sensibilities. But at least it had given her some breathing space and the chance to get used to her new life without Ariston’s distracting presence. She knew she couldn’t keep putting off living with him but now the moment of reckoning was approaching, she was terrified. Terrified about sharing an apartment with him and unsure how she would cope. At times she felt more like a child than a grown woman who would soon have a child of her own. Was that normal? she wondered.

But she pushed her reservations aside as she sat down to the Greek feast which had been provided by the hotel and it was a relief to be able to eat after what seemed like weeks of sickness. She could feel her strength returning as she worked her way through the delicious salads, though she could manage only half of one of the rich baklava cakes which were produced at the end of the meal. Despite the relatively small guest list, it somehow managed to feel like a real wedding and Ariston had even asked if she wanted her mother there. Keeley had been torn by his unexpected suggestion. She had felt a wave of something symbolic at the thought of her mother witnessing her marriage, until a last-minute chest infection had put paid to the idea. And maybe that was best. Even if she had been aware of what was going on around her, what would her mum have cared about seeing her married, when she’d made such a mockery of marriage herself?

Keeley had wondered why Ariston hadn’t suggested a short trip to the register office with the minimum fuss and no guests other than a couple of anonymous witnesses gathered from the street. Wouldn’t that have been more appropriate in the circumstances? But his reply had been quietly emphatic.

‘Maybe I want to make a statement.’

‘A statement?’

‘That’s right. Shout it from the rooftops. What is it they say? Fake it to make it.’

‘By putting your stamp on me, you mean?’ she questioned acidly. ‘Branding me as a Kavakos possession—just like you did the night you had sex with me?’

His eyes had glittered like sunlight on a dark Greek sea. ‘Humour me, Keeley, won’t you? Just this once.’

And somehow she had done exactly that. She’d even managed to smile when he stood to make a speech, his fleeting reference to shotguns getting an affectionate laugh, especially from his brother.

‘It’s funny,’ Pavlos said afterwards, with a bemused shake of his head. ‘Ariston always vowed he would never marry and he said it like he really meant it. I’d never have guessed there was anything going on between you two. Not after that day at the art gallery when you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.’

And Keeley didn’t have the heart to disillusion him. She wondered what he’d say if he realised that Ariston had bedded her simply to ensure that Pavlos would never want her for himself, and that she had been too stupid and weak to resist him. Yet his need to control had backfired on him because he was now saddled to a woman he didn’t really want, though he hid it well. As he raised his glass to toast his new bride, Keeley should have resented his ability to put on such a convincing show of unity—but the reality was a stupid, empty ache in her heart as she found herself yearning for something which could never be hers. He looked like a groom and acted like a groom—but the cold glitter in his blue eyes told its own story.

He will never care for you, she told herself. So don’t ever forget it.

During the drive to his apartment, she tugged the scarlet flowers from her head and shook little bits of confetti from her blonde hair. But she couldn’t shake off her detachment as she and Ariston walked into the impressive foyer of his apartment building, where doormen and porters sprang to instant attention and a few men in suits shot her bemused glances. She hugged her pashmina around her shoulders in a vain attempt to hide as much of the scarlet dress as possible. Why on earth hadn’t she changed into something more sensible first?

A private elevator zoomed them up to the penthouse suite, with its impressive views over many of London’s iconic buildings and its seemingly endless suites of rooms. There was even a swimming pool and a gym in the basement—and the outside terraces were filled with a jungle of plants which temporarily made you forget that you were in the heart of the city. She had been there only once before—an awkward visit to oversee the installation of her new clothes in a large room which was now called her dressing room and where every item had been hung in neat and colour-coordinated lines by Ariston’s housekeeper.

She hugged the pashmina as they stood in a hallway as big as her bedsit, where a marble statue of a man appeared to be glaring at her balefully.

‘So now what do we do?’ she said bluntly.

‘Why don’t you go and change out of that dress?’ he suggested. ‘You’ve been shivering since we left the reception. Come with me and I’ll remind you where our bedroom is.’

Our? She looked up at him. Had he mentioned that to her before, or had she just not been concentrating? Probably not. His housekeeper had been hovering helpfully during her previous visit, so maybe it had only been alluded to. ‘You mean we’re going to be...sharing?’

‘Don’t be naïve, Keeley.’ He glittered her a smile. ‘Of course we are. I want to have sex with you. I thought I’d made that clear. That, surely, is the whole point of being man and wife.’

‘But the vows we made weren’t real.’

‘No? Then we could make them real. Remember what I said about faking it to make it?’ He gave an odd kind of laugh. ‘And don’t widen your eyes at me like that, koukla mou. You look like one of those women in an old film who has been tied to the railway line and only just noticed the train approaching. I don’t intend behaving like a caveman, if that’s what concerns you.’

‘But you said—’

‘I said I wanted to have sex with you. And I do. But it has to be consensual. You would need to give yourself to me wholeheartedly—and consciously,’ he added with a cool smile. ‘I’m not talking about one of those middle-of-the-night encounters, where two bodies collide...and before you know it we’re having mind-blowing sex without a single word being exchanged.’

‘You mean...’ the tip of her tongue snaked over her top lip as she followed him along the corridor, to a room which contained a vast bed which reminded her of a sacrificial altar ‘...like the night our child was conceived?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. But this time I want us both to be fully aware of what’s happening.’ There was a pause as he turned around to face her. ‘Unless silent submission is what secretly turns you on?’

‘I already told you—I have practically no experience of sex,’ she said, because suddenly it became important that he stopped thinking of her as some kind of stereotype and started treating her like a real person. ‘I...’ She bit her lip and said it before she had time to think about the consequences. ‘I’d never even had an orgasm before I slept with you.’

He looked at her and she could see a glint of something incomprehensible in his narrowed blue eyes.

‘Maybe that’s the reason why I’m not trying hard to seduce you,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Maybe I want you to stop staring at me as if I was the big, bad wolf and to relax a little. Your dressing room is next door—so why don’t you get out of your wedding dress and slip into something more comfortable?’

‘Like...what?’

‘Whatever makes you feel good. But don’t worry,’ he said drily. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you, if that’s what you want.’

‘That’s what I want,’ she said, seeing his tight smile before he turned away and closed the door behind him. And wasn’t human nature a funny thing? She’d been gearing herself up to fight off his advances, but the news that he wasn’t actually going to make any left her with a distinct feeling of disappointment. She never knew where she stood with him. She felt as if she were walking along an emotional tightrope. Was that intentional—or just the way he always was around women? She undid the side zip of the red wedding dress, trying to get her head around the fact that this vast room with its amazing views over the darkening city was hers.

No. Not hers. His. He owned everything. The dress she stood in and the leather shoes she gratefully kicked off.

But not the child in her belly, she reminded herself fiercely as she walked into the gleaming en-suite bathroom. That child was hers, too.

Stripping off and piling her hair on top of her head, she ran a deep bath into which she poured a reckless amount of bath oil, before sinking gratefully into the steamy depths. It was the first time all day that she’d truly relaxed and she lay there for ages, studying the changing shape of her body as the scented water gradually cooled and she was startled by the sound of Ariston’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

‘Keeley?’

Instantly her nipples hardened and she swallowed. ‘I’m in the bath.’

‘I gathered that.’ There was a pause. ‘Are you coming out any time soon?’

She pulled out the plug and the water began to drain away. ‘Well, I’m not planning on spending the night in here.’

She towelled herself dry and tied her damp hair in a ponytail. Then she pulled on a pair of palest grey sweat-pants and a matching cloud-like cashmere sweater and found her way back through the maze of corridors to the sitting room, where the lights on the skyscrapers outside the enormous windows were beginning to twinkle like stars. Ariston had removed his tie and shoes and he lay on the sofa, leafing his way through a stack of closely printed papers. His partially unbuttoned white shirt gave a provocative glimpse of his chest and, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, his powerful body looked relaxed for once. He glanced up as she walked in, the expression on his shuttered face indefinable.

‘Better?’

‘Much better.’

‘Stop hovering by the door like a visitor. This is your home now. Come and sit down. Can I get you anything? Some tea?’

‘That would be great.’ She thought how formal they sounded—like two total strangers who had suddenly found themselves locked up together. But wasn’t that exactly what they were? What did she really know about Ariston Kavakos other than the superficial? She realised she’d been expecting him to ring a discreet bell and for his housekeeper to come scurrying from some unseen corner to do his bidding, just as she’d done on her previous visit. But to her surprise, he rose to his feet.

‘I’ll go and make some.’

‘You?’

‘I’m perfectly capable of boiling a kettle,’ he said drily.

‘But...isn’t your housekeeper here?’

‘Not tonight,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be preferable to spend the first night of our honeymoon alone and without interruption.’

Once he’d gone Keeley sank down on a squashy sofa, feeling relieved. At least she would be able to relax without the silent scrutiny of his domestic staff who might reasonably wonder why one of their number was now installed as their new mistress.

She glanced up as Ariston returned, carrying a tray, with peppermint tea for her and a glass of whisky for himself. He sat down opposite her and as he sipped his whisky she thought about all the contradictory aspects of his character which made him such an enigma. And suddenly she found herself wanting to know more. Needing to know more. She suspected that in normal circumstances he would bat off any questions she might have, with the impatience of a man who held no truck with questions. But these weren’t normal circumstances and surely it wasn’t possible to co-exist with a man she didn’t really know? A man whose child she carried in her belly. She’d humoured him as he had requested earlier in the day, so wasn’t it his turn to do the same for her?

‘You remember asking whether I wanted my mother at the wedding?’ she said.

His eyes narrowed. ‘I do. And you told me she wasn’t well enough to attend.’

‘No. That’s right. She wasn’t.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘But you didn’t even mention your own mother and I suddenly realised I don’t know anything about her.’

His fingers tightened around his whisky glass. ‘Why should you?’ he questioned coolly. ‘My mother is dead. That’s all you need to know.’

A few months ago, Keeley might have accepted this. She had known her place in society and had seen no reason to step off the humble path which life had led her down. She’d made the best of her circumstances and had attempted to improve them, with varying degrees of success. But things were different now. She was different. She carried Ariston’s child beneath her heart.

‘Forgive me if I find it intolerable to be fobbed off with an answer like that.’

‘And forgive me if I tell you it’s the only answer you’re getting,’ he clipped back.

‘But we’re married. It’s funny.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘You talk so openly—so unashamedly—about sex yet you shy away from intimacy.’

‘Maybe that’s because I don’t do intimacy,’ he snapped.

‘Well, don’t you think you ought to try? We can’t keep talking about cups of tea and the weather.’

‘Why are you so curious, Keeley? Do you want something to hold over me?’ He slammed his whisky glass down on a nearby table so that the amber liquid sloshed around inside the crystal. ‘Some juicy segments of information to provide you with a nice little nest egg should ever you wish to go to the papers?’

‘You think I’d stoop to something as low as that?’

‘You already did when you wanted to leave Lasia, remember? Or are you blaming a suddenly defective memory on your hormones?’

It took a moment or two for Keeley to recall her blustering bravado, spoken when she’d been swamped by humiliation and the realisation that he’d had sex with her for all the wrong reasons. ‘That was then when you were intimating that you might not allow me to leave your island,’ she retorted. ‘This is now...and I’m having your baby.’

‘And that changes things?’ he demanded.

‘Of course it does. It changes everything.’

‘How?’

She licked her lips, feeling as if she were on trial, wishing her gaze wouldn’t keep straying towards his hands and wishing they would touch her. ‘What if our little boy...?’ She saw his face change suddenly and dramatically. Saw the same look of fierce pride darkening his autocratic features, as it had done when the sonographer had skated a cold paddle over her jelly-covered bump and pointed out the unmistakable outline of their baby son. For a man who claimed not to do emotion it had been a startling about-turn.

‘What if our little boy should start asking me questions about his family, as children do?’ she continued. ‘Isn’t it going to be damaging if I can’t answer a simple query about his grandma just because his daddy is uptight and doesn’t do intimacy? Because he insists on keeping himself hidden away and won’t even tell his wife?’

‘I thought you said our vows weren’t real?’

She met his eyes. ‘Fake it to make it, remember?’

There was a pause. He picked up his glass and took a long mouthful of whisky before putting it down again. ‘What do you want to know?’ he growled.

There were a million things she could have asked him. She was curious to know what had made him so arrogant and controlling. Why he possessed a stony quality which made him seem so distant. But maybe the question she was about to ask might give her some kind of insight into his character. ‘What happened to her, Ariston?’ she questioned slowly and watched his face darken. ‘What happened to your mother?’