husband and that this was now her reality? A reality brought home by the stilted dinner they’d shared last evening, presided over by his stern-faced housekeeper, Zena—a meal which had kept being interrupted while Drakon had dealt with one international phone call after another. He’d been talking to someone in New York when eventually Lucy had excused herself and his absent wave of farewell as she’d headed off to her bedroom had spoken volumes. He hadn’t followed her and she hadn’t really expected him to, because instinct told her that a man like Drakon would never beg a woman for intimacy when she had told him it wasn’t going to happen. She’d lain there listening until eventually she’d heard him heading for bed, freezing with hope and expectation as his footsteps had paused outside her door, before moving on. As an introduction to life in the fast lane, it hadn’t exactly felt welcoming. Or maybe he had just been making a point…
She stood in the doorway watching as Sofia fed the baby and suddenly felt almost redundant. With a touch of anxiety she licked her lips and looked around, but the room was pristinely tidy. ‘Is there anything I can do? Some dusting, or tidying up?’
‘No, honestly, I’m fine. It’s all under control. Drakon employs an army of people to do the housework for him. He’s going down for a nap shortly but you could do the midday feed if you like. But only if you have time before you go out for lunch,’ Sofia amended hastily.
Lucy maintained her bright smile even though she was aware that her voice sounded brittle. ‘I wasn’t aware that I was going out for lunch.’
Sofia’s eyes crinkled in a smile. ‘Apparently. Zena told me. The car has been ordered for you. Lucky you,’ she added, in her perfect but heavily accented English. ‘It will inevitably be somewhere grand.’
Lucy hoped her expression didn’t give away her feelings as she returned to her bedroom and tugged off her dressing gown. Whether or not the restaurant was grand was completely beside the point. It was one thing to agree to a marriage of convenience, she thought furiously as she stood beneath the fierce blast of the shower. But quite another when she was being treated a convenience. Did Drakon think he could just move her around like a vacuum cleaner? How come the housekeeper and the nanny knew she was going out for lunch, when it was a mystery to her?
She dried her hair and, for the first time, tried on some of the new clothes which had been chosen by his business partner, Amy. Last night at dinner she’d stubbornly insisted on wearing one of her own dresses, still needled by the fact that Drakon had asked someone else to kit her out for her new role in his life. Yet hadn’t her defiance backfired on her, so that she’d been left having to endure the entire meal feeling somewhat less than? Her navy shirt-dress dress was her go-to favourite but there was no doubt that the fabric looked cheap against all the unrestrained luxury of Drakon’s home and Lucy was certain his housekeeper had been looking down her nose at her, as if wondering why someone like her was associating with the impeccably clad tycoon. Hadn’t the same question crossed her own mind more than once as the evening had progressed?
So just go with the flow, she told herself as she rifled through the colour-coordinated rows of garments before pulling out a long-sleeved dress in silk chiffon. The soft violet hue was the colour which sometimes tinged a late sunset and, admittedly, a shade she would never have thought of choosing for herself. The delicate fabric floated to just above the knee and made her waist look positively tiny, and she teamed it with a pair of shoes higher than anything she’d ever worn before. Did the added height make her assume a rather awkward gait? Was that why the middle-aged housekeeper did a double-take as Lucy cautiously picked her way into the dining room for breakfast?
‘Good morning, Dhespinis Phillips,’ said Zena.
‘Good morning, Zena.’ Lucy sat down at the table and gave the housekeeper a nervous smile. ‘Um…is Drakon…?’
‘The master went to the office at seven this morning, but he left you a note,’ said Zena, indicating an envelope which was propped up in front of a vase of flame-coloured roses. ‘I will bring you some breakfast.’
‘Thank you.’
Lucy thought about the housekeeper’s words as she picked up the envelope. The master. It was an oddly archaic term of address yet it seemed scarily suitable. Because Drakon was the master, wasn’t he? The master of all he surveyed. At least that was the impression he gave, with his cabal of loyal staff, his enormous wealth and his different homes dotted around the world. Was he expecting to become her master once they were wed—was she to obey him in all things, as the marriage ceremony used to demand but which most modern couples now rejected? And shouldn’t this be something they discussed before she allowed him to slide that gold ring on her finger?
Slitting open the envelope, she pulled out a single sheet of paper, realising that this was the first time she’d ever seen Drakon’s writing. It was exactly as she would have imagined it to be. Angular black lines slashed over the thick writing paper. Succinct, forceful and strong. A reluctant smile curved the edges of her lips. Just like him.
My car will pick you up at 12.25. We’ll eat lunch at the Granchester for reasons which will quickly become evident.
Mysterious as well as autocratic, she thought as she drank some inky Greek coffee and picked at a bowl of iced mango, before getting up to leave.
She spent the next hour exploring the sprawling apartment and studying some of the books she found in the library, before going to the nursery to give the baby his feed. But at least her interaction with Xander cheered her, and as he glugged greedily on the teat she buried her nose in his silky hair, remembering how much she loved tiny babies and how much she’d missed them. And this baby would soon be her son. The child she had always longed for and never thought she’d have.
But she couldn’t stem the dark doubts which began to crowd into her mind as she winded the infant and laid him in his crib. He was so cute, with his black eyes and matching hair—a miniature version of his father’s identical twin brother. What if she fell hopelessly in love with this little infant and her marriage failed, as so many marriages did, despite Drakon’s determination for that not to happen? Because he couldn’t control everything, could he, no matter how much he tried?
He’d told her he didn’t believe in love and that he’d never been in love—but who was to say that the thunderbolt wouldn’t one day hit him, as it had hit so many cynical disbelievers in the past? In that scenario, wouldn’t she become an also-ran in Xander’s life? The woman with no blood ties with no real claim on the child who could be dispensed of as carelessly as you would yesterday’s newspapers. Lucy sighed, knowing she mustn’t think like that because nobody was ever given any guarantees in this life—you just had to do the best you could in the circumstances.
She was nervous as she snuggled herself into the cashmere coat with the velvet collar and slid into the back of the waiting limousine, and even more nervous when the car drew up outside the landmark Granchester Hotel after a ridiculously short journey from the apartment. Outside the impressive building, she could see an enormous Christmas tree, topped with a huge golden star and smaller gold and silver stars which dangled from the abundant branches. The doorman hurried forward to open the door for her and Lucy gingerly made her way into the gilded foyer in her new shoes, her heart missing a beat when she spotted Drakon, with his back to her, standing beside another decorated fir tree—almost as big as the one at the front of the hotel.
Dark, broad-shouldered and powerful, he seemed oblivious to the stares he was attracting from the other guests and she wondered whether something must have alerted him to her approach. Why else did he suddenly turn around? He was mid-conversation on his phone but his eyes narrowed and his words seemed to die away as she approached and, abruptly, he cut the call. Something about the way
