LITMIR.BIZ

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people like you pretended not to see.’

      Alessandra was like one of those mythical creatures he had watched swish past this very taverna’s front while he’d swept the floor. Unobtainable. Better than him. Better than he could ever be no matter how much money was held in his bank account.

      Angry colour stained her cheeks, and she opened her mouth, surely to argue with him, before she visibly controlled herself. The outrage that had sparked in her eyes softened. ‘Maybe you’re right that I can’t understand what your childhood was like. But I would like to try.’

      He didn’t want her to understand. Christian wanted her to remain untouched by the deprivation and misery that had sucked his mother down a black pit, turning her into a bitter woman who, even if presented with a glass three-quarters full would still regard it as being a quarter empty. All the riches and success in the world hadn’t been enough to earn his mother’s love.

      He had no memory of the happy, vibrant woman Mikolaj assured him she had once been. Love that had turned sour had soured her, marking her with such blackness that nothing he’d done had been enough to turn it into a lighter shade of grey.

      He didn’t want that for Alessandra. Never for her.

      Alessandra needed protection from it before it infected her too.

      ‘We’ve had a good response from all the wedding invitations,’ he said, deliberately and overtly changing the subject.

      One hundred and fifty invites had been couriered across the world. It seemed even heads of state could drop commitments when it suited them and, with all the hype already surrounding their ‘whirlwind courtship,’ as the press was dubbing it, their wedding was shaping up to rival Rocco and Olivia’s as Wedding of the Century. One of the British glossies had offered one million pounds for exclusive rights. They had, politely, ignored the offer. He liked that Alessandra hadn’t been tempted to accept, one of the many ways she differed from all the other women he’d been with.

      But wasn’t that the reason he’d been with those women? Because he could see the pound signs ringing in their eyes and so knew there was absolutely no danger they could ever develop anything like a healthy—or unhealthy, depending on your point of view—attachment to him? He hadn’t needed to protect those women from himself.

      Her eyes sparked again before she sank back into her seat, gazing at him with a thoughtful expression.

      ‘All but a handful have replied and all in the affirmative,’ he added.

      After too long a beat, she asked, ‘What about Rocco? Has he replied?’

      It had been at Christian’s insistence that her brother had been invited. Left to Alessandra, he would have been ignored, something he knew she didn’t mean, her pride and anger doing the talking for her. It would break her heart to walk up the aisle of the chapel in the grounds of the hotel without her brother on her arm.

      ‘No,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘He hasn’t replied yet.’ And neither had Rocco responded to the dozen emails and text messages he’d sent to him, entreating him not to abandon his sister. Rocco hadn’t replied to a single one of them. He’d ignored all the messages and calls from Stefan and Zayed too.

      The Columbia Four had been broken, just as he’d known they would be.

      At least Stefan and Zayed were coming to the wedding. He would need his friends there. But not as much as Alessandra needed her brother.

      If he had to get on his bended knee and beg, he would get Rocco to their wedding.

      ‘I sent a bridesmaid dress to Olivia,’ Alessandra blurted out, her cheeks staining with colour.

      ‘Have you heard back from her?’ he asked hopefully. If anyone could get through to Rocco, it would be his wife.

      She shook her head. ‘I didn’t expect to. Her loyalty is with Rocco, not me.’

      Conversation paused when a waiter arrived at their table laden with plates of steaming food.

      Once they had helped themselves to a little of each meze, Alessandra said, ‘Are many of your family coming?’

      ‘I don’t have any family.’

      She looked confused. ‘What about your mother?’

      ‘I haven’t invited her.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘We do not want my mother at our wedding.’

      ‘Why not?’ she repeated.

      ‘Trust me.’ He dipped some pitta bread into the hummus and popped it into his mouth, leaving her in no doubt that, as far as he was concerned, this thread of discussion was over.

      Her eyes glittered with incredulity, as if to say, trust you?

      Instead of arguing with him, she took a drink of water and allowed him to steer the conversation to innocuous small talk about music they liked and films they had both seen and enjoyed. Their tastes were surprisingly similar.

      Theos, she was so easy to talk to; she had a way of fixing her honey eyes on him and making him feel he was the only man to exist in the world.

      To know he was the only man to have tasted her delights and to imagine tasting them again made him feel as if he had heated syrup running through his veins. It wasn’t just the contents of his trousers that stirred to be with her— everything felt heightened.

      In that respect, the day of their wedding couldn’t come fast enough.

      The hotel was in silence when they returned. For the first time Christian regretted having the entire complex to themselves. There was no one—other than the handful of duty staff—to distract his attention away from Alessandra.

      His fiancée.

      She’d taken the hint and stopped digging for information on his past, although something in her eyes had warned him not to expect her silence to last for long. Instead, they had relaxed into easy conversation, just as they had on their one real date together. As on that night in Milan, he’d found his eyes drawn to her lips. They fascinated him. She fascinated him.

      What was it with this woman? he wondered as they climbed the private lift to the top floor. His awareness of her was off the charts. His body reacted to everything, from the way her mouth moved to her husky laugh, to the way she smoothed her hair back to keep it from her face.

      Alessandra’s eyes had been as firmly fixed on him as his had been on her. She hadn’t drunk any alcohol but he recognised the signs of inhibitions loosening. Just as they had that night in Milan.

      He would not act on it. Not tonight. Not until they were legally man and wife.

       Man and wife.

      Three words he would never have put together with himself and, he knew, Alessandra would never have put with herself.

      If he were being honest, he would have to admit that, if someone had put a gun against his head and said he had to choose one woman of all the women he’d been with to marry and have a baby with, Alessandra would have topped the list. All the other women had been fun and flirty but without an ounce of substance. Exactly the way he’d liked them. No commitment, no emotions. No chance of them falling in love and that love turning into bitterness.

      Alessandra had a fun and flirty streak in her but she also had substance by the barrel. Her emotions were right there on the surface, no pretence, no subterfuge and, Theos, she was sexier than any mortal had a right to be.

      He’d spent half the evening fantasising about those luscious lips.

      They reached the door to her suite.

      ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she said, leaning against the wall by the door. Her eyes were wide; even under the

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