His Shock Marriage In Greece

He needed a proper wife, one who understood her place in his world, and wouldn’t make emotional demands. He didn’t do emotions. And he didn’t tolerate demands.

But now Elexis was gone and there was a very different Dukas at his side and it suddenly crossed Damen’s mind that perhaps this had been Kristopher’s plan from the beginning. Perhaps Elexis had never intended to marry him? Perhaps Kristopher had never planned on giving his beloved Elexis to Damen?

Perhaps Kristopher had always intended on dumping his youngest, the one he casually referred to as the Dukas Ugly Duckling, on him.

He should walk out now.

And just when he was about to drop the Ugly Duckling’s hand, she lifted her face, her dark gaze finding his through her veil, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

* * *

They signed the registry in the chapel’s antechamber. Damen gritted his teeth, angry beyond measure as it struck him that the worst part of this—no, not the worst but yet another negative among negatives—was that he didn’t even know his new wife’s name. “So who have I married, if not Elexis?” he ground out as the priest handed him a pen.

Her long lace veil had been folded back on the top of her head and she glanced at him but looked away, unable to hold his furious gaze. He felt a tightness in his chest as her ridiculously long black lashes dropped, concealing her eyes.

“Kassiani,” she said huskily.

He felt angrier by the moment. His fingers itched to smash something hard—like the narrow table, or the nearest stone wall. “That wasn’t the name in the ceremony.”

“No, the priest used my legal first name, Petra, but no one calls me Petra. I’m either Kass or Kassiani.”

He ground his teeth together, not just upset with her, but with himself for not having walked out of the service when he could. Why had he let her apology sway him? Why had her whispered words kept him from leaving her there at the altar?

He didn’t know the answers to any of those questions, and he wasn’t in the frame of mind to sort it out. “Do not think this is over,” he said curtly after signing his name and handing the pen to her.

She looked up at him as she accepted the pen, a faint line between her arched eyebrows, expression troubled. “I don’t.”

“Was this always the plan, to swap sisters on the unsuspecting groom?”

Color suffused her pale cheeks. “No.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t want you.”

The pink color swiftly faded from her face. Her full lips compressed as she drew a slow breath and then she managed an unsteady laugh. “Understood.”

“I’m not trying to be offensive.”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze then, her eyes locking with his. “No offense taken.”

In any other circumstances, he thought he would have liked her. She was direct and smart and articulate. But this wasn’t a casual conversation. He’d just been played and he wasn’t in the most charitable frame of mind. “I’m not one to forgive and forget.”

* * *

He saw a shadow pass across her face, and he almost felt sorry for her, but then the shadow disappeared, leaving her expression calm and composed. “And as you can see, I’m not one to pass up a slice of cake, or a bit of a chocolate.” Then she leaned over the registry and added her name, her long lace veil spilling across her shoulder in a waterfall of white. When she’d finished, she straightened and squared her shoulders and handed back the pen. “It seems we all have our crosses to bear.”

He didn’t know if it was her words, or her ridiculous bravado, but he felt a rush of intense emotion—emotion he didn’t welcome—and drew her hard against him, tilting her chin back with one hand before covering her mouth, capturing it with his. She was petite, barely reaching his shoulder, and impossibly warm and soft, which made his kiss harder, and fiercer. It wasn’t the kiss a man should give his young bride, but nothing about this wedding was right.

* * *

Upstairs in the luxurious villa bedroom Kassiani had dressed in earlier, she walked back and forth, chewing on a knuckle, trying to calm herself.

He didn’t want her, and he didn’t like her, and she had a feeling this could all still fall apart any moment.

The vows wouldn’t hold, not unless the marriage was consummated, and she couldn’t imagine him taking her to his bed right now. Quite frankly, she didn’t want to be in his bed, either, and she shuddered remembering his coldness as he’d told her he didn’t forgive and forget.

She didn’t doubt him.

Which was why she was here in the bedroom, hiding. She’d lost her nerve. Somehow she’d found the necessary courage this morning to take Elexis’s place for the ceremony, but that courage was gone.

Thank God the ceremony had been small and private. No one but the immediate family attended. However, the reception was large, with hundreds of guests flying in from all over the world to witness the marriage of Elexis Dukas and Damen Alexopoulos.

Kassiani stopped pacing to double over, wanting to throw up as she imagined appearing at the reception. The guests would laugh when they saw her. It was one thing to be Elexis in private, hidden beneath layers of thick lace. It was another to be Elexis in front of those who knew her sister best.

Kass couldn’t imagine joining Damen on the terrace for dinner, or dancing, or cutting of the cake. She’d convinced herself she could do this—but she’d thought only about the ceremony and vows. She hadn’t taken in the terror of appearing in public as his new wife.

His wife.

Kassiani’s legs buckled and she dropped onto the edge of the bed, her full skirts billowing up around her, her feet aching from her stupid shoes.

What had she done?

She was wiping away tears when her bedroom door suddenly opened and Damen entered her room.

He hadn’t even knocked. He’d simply barged in.

Her head jerked up, her lips parting in surprise, but she uttered no protest. His fierce expression silenced anything she might have said.

She waited for him to speak.

He didn’t.

He simply stared at her, and the silence was unbearable. A tremor coursed through her.

Time slowed to a crawl. The seconds felt like minutes. She tried to meet his gaze but his scathing look of contempt was more than she could endure in that moment. “Please say something,” she finally murmured.

“Our guests have been waiting.”

Again she pictured the stone terrace filled with linen-draped tables and gleaming candelabras. The reception was a sophisticated palette of cream, bisque and white and Kassiani did not belong there. It wasn’t her wedding. They weren’t her guests. This wasn’t her party. “I couldn’t go down.”

“Am I to bring the guests up to you?”

“No. Please don’t.”

“Do you want to be carried down?”

“No.” She couldn’t look at him. Her eyes burned. What had seemed so brave and necessary this morning now seemed like the worst idea imaginable.

“It’s a little late to turn coward.”