He knew that all too well; it was the whole reason he was demanding this from her. ‘Marriage needn’t be a prison for either of us. You can carry on with your career.’
‘How generous of you. You’re welcome to carry on with your career too.’
He ignored her sarcasm, understanding the place of fear it came from. If he felt his world had just turned on its axis he could only imagine how it must be for her. She had to carry their baby into the world.
It was their baby he was thinking of. Christian had grown up knowing somewhere out there was the man who had fathered him but who wanted nothing to do with him, his own son. He had never understood why. He still didn’t.
It had taken many years for him to accept his father’s abandonment as a simple fact of life but as a child it had been a painful knowledge. He would never put his own child through that. His child would grow up feeling loved and secure with two parents who both wanted nothing more than to love and protect him or her.
Looking at Alessandra rest a protective hand against her still-flat stomach, he could see how deeply she already felt for their child.
Their child. His responsibility. Their responsibility, to be shouldered together.
‘When we marry the world will see a united couple...’ he started.
‘Don’t talk as if it’s a done deal. Marriage changes everything. It’s not just two people signing a piece of paper and exchanging a bit of jewellery. There are legal implications.’
‘And it’s those legal implications I want. I want our child to know their parents loved them enough to create a stable family for them.’
‘This is too much.’ She got to her feet. He experienced a sharp pang to see her tremble, to witness her keeping it all together, just as she’d done at her grandfather’s funeral.
She carried herself so tall it was easy to overlook that she was a slip of a woman. Her glossy hair was sprawled over her shoulders, her golden skin pale.
The last thing he wanted was to hurt her but within him lay a deep-rooted certainty that this was the right path for them. It was the only path.
‘I need to sleep on this,’ she said, her honey eyes brimming with emotion, her usually accent-less English inflected with her Italian heritage. ‘I can’t agree to marriage just because you’ve clicked your fingers. You might change your mind. I’ve sprung this on you. Everything will look different in the morning.’
There were a dozen threats he could make to ensure her agreement. He bit them all back. He felt bad enough as it was without adding more ill deeds to the slate against him. There was one more thing he could add, though...
‘I won’t change my mind but you can go ahead and sleep on it,’ he said. ‘While you’re lying in your bed thinking, consider the ramifications if you decide not to take me up on my proposal. If you marry me, scandal averted. If you don’t, the press will crucify you and drag your brother and the entire House of Mondelli through the mud with you. Do you really want to go through all that again? Do you want Rocco to go through all that again?’
She stilled, stormy eyes locked on his.
‘Do you want all the speculation over who the father is? The old scandal being raked up as the world wonders if you’ve been playing around with another married man?’
‘But I never...’
He hated to see the hurt and bewilderment that flashed across her features but he had no choice. For their child’s sake he would deploy every weapon in his arsenal to get her agreement. ‘You know that and I know that. The rest of the world will believe what it wants to believe and, as it’s doing so, the world’s eyes will be on you.’
‘You know how to play dirty,’ she said hoarsely, her chest heaving.
‘I could never have left Greece without learning how. If you refuse, you will have to deal with the press and the world’s attention on your own. I will make no acknowledgement until our baby is born.’
Her throat moved as she swallowed, her eyes blazing their loathing at him. ‘Do not think you can blackmail me, Markos.’
‘I don’t want to blackmail you,’ he said, wondering why the sound of his surname being spat from her delicious, plump lips landed like a barb in his chest. ‘But you leave me no choice.’
She backed to the door and gripped the handle. ‘I’m going to my room now. I’ll give you my answer in the morning.’
‘There is only one answer.’
‘You can still wait on it.’
HIS HEAD THUMPING, Christian entered the magnificent dining room where breakfast was being served. Alessandra was already there. So too were Stefan, Zayed and a handful of other guests who’d stayed the night rather than retire to their yachts or have their helicopters collect them.
It was little comfort that every person in the room looked exactly how he felt. Skata. Like crap.
He might not have been able to get himself as drunk as he’d wanted but his body was punishing him regardless for the quantity of alcohol he’d consumed.
Alessandra’s gaze darted to him. Anyone looking at her could be forgiven for thinking she had a hangover too. Only he knew the dark rings under her bloodshot eyes were caused by a different reason.
He doubted she’d had any more sleep than the snatches he’d managed.
Even so, she still had that certain charisma that she carried like a second skin; her hair, left loose to tumble halfway down her back, as glossy as ever.
He took the seat next to Zayed, who was clutching a black coffee as if his life depended on it, and poured himself a cup of his own. He shook his head as a member of staff asked what he’d like to eat.
All he wanted at that moment was hot, sweet caffeine. And a dozen painkillers.
No sooner had he taken his first sip than Alessandra rose, murmuring something to Stefan, who gave a pained laugh and immediately rubbed at his temples.
He waited long enough not to rouse any suspicion, making innocuous hangover talk with his buddies, before saying he was going for a lie down.
Alessandra’s room was in a different wing from where he and his uni friends always slept when they stayed at the villa. He hadn’t realised he knew exactly which room was hers until he knocked on the door. After a minute of no response, he nudged it open. It was empty.
Moving stealthily so as not to attract attention, he slipped out of the villa and into the gardens.
After much searching, he tracked her down. She was sitting on the stone steps that led into Lake Como. Only one yacht remained from the handful that had been moored overnight.
She didn’t acknowledge his presence.
Today she was dressed in ankle-length
