LITMIR.BIZ

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strength seemed to radiate from his powerful frame, his black eyes crinkling in a way which reminded her how long she’d known him. Surely that counted for something. Surely they could make this work if they worked at it.

      ‘Okay?’ he mouthed.

      She gave a quick nod. ‘I think so.’

      ‘You look beautiful.’

      ‘Th-thank you.’

      Her voice sounded tremulous, Drakon thought as the celebrant began to intone the words. And her face was as white as her dress. He stole another glance at her, aware that his compliment had been dutiful rather than genuine because this dazzling creature didn’t look a bit like Lucy. The huge dress swamped her and the sequin-spattered veil did not seem to sit well with the simple country image she’d always projected. And her fingers were cold. As cold as the gold band which, moments later, he slid onto her finger. He looked down at a similar band which now gleamed unfamiliarly against his own olive skin. He’d never worn a ring before and it felt heavy and alien.

      ‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’

      The finality of the words shattered his thoughts like a spray gun and Lucy’s blue eyes were blank as she looked up at him, almost as if the whole ceremony had happened without her realising it. You and me both, agape mou, he thought with a black-humoured sense of identity.

      ‘You may now kiss the bride.’

      Drakon slid his arms around her waist and bent towards her, aware that the kiss was mainly for the benefit of the watching congregation. He hadn’t kissed her since that afternoon when she’d arrived at his apartment and, as a consequence, his desire for her had reached a level of intensity he’d never experienced before. For days it had been heating his blood and gnawing at his senses with a remorselessness which had left him barely able to think straight. It had tortured him. Tormented him. But hadn’t he almost enjoyed the boundaries she’d primly put in place, which had heightened his exquisite anticipation of tonight’s consummation? Strange to think that this most unlikely candidate was the first woman who had ever denied him anything. Which was why he didn’t make this a real kiss. He didn’t dare. He was afraid that once he’d started he wouldn’t be able to stop. That he would pin her down to the ground and rip that monstrous dress from her body—contemptuously tossing aside the tattered satin to touch the soft flesh beneath. He gave a brief nod as he brushed his lips over hers, in nothing more than a swift acknowledgement that the deal was done and dusted.

      But he was aware of the disappointment which flashed through her eyes as he pulled away from her. And something else, too. Something which looked almost like fear, as the applause of the assembled guests echoed up into the gilded arches and they walked into an adjoining room to sign the register. Was it the sudden inexplicable need to quell that fear which made him whisper his fingertips against her waist, so that she relaxed a little?

      ‘All done,’ he said.

      She nodded. ‘I guess so.’

      ‘So how does it feel to be Mrs Konstantinou? Kyria Konstantinou,’ he amended as they made their way towards the desk, where the registrar was waiting.

      ‘Slightly weird,’ she admitted. ‘Probably about as weird as it feels for you to have taken a wife, but no doubt we’ll get used to it.’

      Her brisk words were reassuring. Drakon had wondered if she would expect him to recite affectionate words he didn’t really mean—saccharine statements which would leave him with a bad taste in his mouth. But if she was prepared to treat this marriage as nothing more than a business merger with benefits—what could possibly go wrong?

      ‘I suggest the best way of getting used to it is by having as early a night as possible,’ he said smoothly, scrawling his signature on the wedding licence and strangely pleased by the blush which flared in her cheeks. ‘Since tomorrow I’m taking you on honeymoon.’

      She blinked at him—unaccustomed mascara making her eyes look huge and smoky. ‘We’re having a honeymoon?’

      ‘Isn’t that traditional?’ he murmured as his finger trailed over her pearl-encrusted sleeve. ‘As traditional as your white gown and veil? You’ll enjoy it, Lucy. I thought we’d fly to my island for the Christmas Eve celebrations.’

      ‘You mean Prasinisos?

      He smiled. ‘At the last count, Prasinisos was the only island I owned.’

      She pushed the waterfall of white veil back over her shoulder. ‘I never really thought about going to Greece at Christmas time.’

      ‘You thought my homeland neglected the winter holiday entirely?’ he challenged mockingly. ‘Or that it only comes to life when you can dip your sun-baked body into the wine-dark sea?’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Then you must be prepared to have your mind changed.’

      ‘And what about Xander?’ she asked tentatively. ‘What’s going to happen to our…son?’

      Drakon frowned. His son. It was a word he had so far avoided using because it had been strange to think of himself as a parent. It still was. Every time he looked at the helpless infant, he could feel a cold fear clench at his heart, which made him turn away. But while nobody could accuse him of being falsely demonstrative, surely she didn’t think him uncaring enough to drag the infant halfway across the world and back for a couple of days? He narrowed his eyes. ‘The child’s presence is unnecessary,’ he said. ‘And the journey will be too much.’

      ‘But it’s Christmas!’

      ‘And you think a baby of less than three months will miss out on opening his presents?’ he demanded.

      ‘Please don’t put words in my mouth, Drakon!’

      ‘Then stop being so emotional. We will be gone for just three nights and then we will be back home in Mayfair.’

      ‘It just feels… I don’t know… It feels weird to leave him behind.’

      ‘You’ll get used to it. That’s why we employ a loyal and caring nanny. Now, wipe that frown from your face and let’s go and greet our guests. My godfather has travelled here from Honolulu and I really want you to meet him.’

      With a heart which felt suddenly heavy, Lucy followed Drakon back into the ballroom to the sound of loud clapping and people crying, ‘Opa!’

      Smiling at the guests, she tried to shake off her worries about guilt she’d felt when the celebrant had talked about them extending their family and her gaze had dropped to stare at the gleaming marble floor. But she’d told herself that none of his words were relevant, not in their case—and there was no need to feel guilty. Drakon didn’t want any more children, so the fact she was unable to give him any was neither here nor there.

      Her heavy train slithering like a giant white snake behind her, she accompanied her new husband to the far end of the crowded ballroom, where his godfather was holding court. A handsome, silver-haired property magnate in his early sixties, Milo Lazopoulos was charming as he bent to kiss her on each cheek. The adoring crowd around him instantly dispersed, leaving the two men to speak briefly in Greek before Drakon excused himself and disappeared. Putting her bouquet down on a nearby table and finding herself alone with his godfather, Lucy was forced to address Milo’s probing line of conversation once the traditional pleasantries had been dispensed with.

      ‘I thank heaven that Drakon has stepped up to the plate and taken on the responsibilities left behind by his brother.’ Milo shook his head. ‘It was a terrible business. A terrible end to all that golden promise Niko was born with. To lose everything because you want to stick a needle in your arm. I just can’t understand it.’

      ‘They say that addiction is an illness,’ said Lucy quietly. ‘So perhaps we should feel compassion for him.’

      Milo’s gaze was piercing. ‘Drakon tells me you used to be a nurse.’

      ‘That’s right.’ Lucy nodded. ‘A midwife, actually.’

      ‘Which

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