The Greek's Pregnant Bride

Whatever she was going to say was cut short when Zayed tapped her on the shoulder and threw Christian a conspiratorial wink. ‘I do believe it’s my turn to dance with the beautiful lady,’ he said in a voice loud enough for Rocco to hear.

The groom turned his head towards the raised voice, his eyes narrowing before he broke into a wide grin.

It clearly didn’t cross his mind that any of his friends would dream of doing anything with the sister he was so protective of.

Sickened with himself, Christian stepped back and forced a smile, mock-bowing. ‘She’s all yours.’

He waited for Alessandra to make a good-natured but cutting retort about not being anyone’s property, but her eyes were stark on his face, a fleeting look of panic flashing over her which she quickly covered. But not quickly enough.

The ballroom of Villa Mondelli had enough waiting staff not to let any guest go thirsty for longer than thirty seconds but Christian wanted to get away from the hubbub of the mingling guests and headed to the bar.

After a shot of bourbon, he turned his head to see her now dancing with Stefan. She looked happy to be dancing with him, he thought, taken aback at the strength of his bitterness.

It was only natural she’d been stiff and awkward in Christian’s arms. A one-night stand hadn’t been on either of their minds when they’d set out that evening.

He’d been her first lover.

That, more than anything, was the thing that refused to dislodge from his mind.

The woman who’d been vilified by the press for an affair with a married man when she’d been a teenager had been a virgin. He’d always suspected there had been more to the story than had been written but the truth had come as a cataclysmic shock.

Whatever the truth, it was none of his business. Alessandra was none of his business. She couldn’t be.

He took another shot to clear the bile crawling up his throat and watched Stefan place a hand to her waist. The bile almost choked him to see her laugh at something his friend said in her ear.

Zayed appeared at his side. ‘Hiding yourself away, buddy?’

‘Just taking a few moments.’

Stefan finished his dance and came over to join them. ‘What are we all drinking?’

‘Christian’s already on the hard stuff,’ Zayed said, indicating the empty shot glasses before them on the bar.

Christian hardly listened. Alessandra had left the dance floor. A quick scan of the ballroom found her sitting at a table with a group of people he didn’t recognise. She was staring at him.

Their gazes held before he pulled away and fixed a smile on his face for his friends’ benefit.

‘Who’s ready for a shot?’ Before either could answer, he waved at the barman to pour them a bourbon each.

The three friends, sitting in a row at the bar, raised their glasses and chanted, ‘Memento vivere!’ ‘Remember to live,’ the motto the four friends did live by, and downed their shots.

‘I never thought I’d see us at a wedding for one of our own,’ Zayed mused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I still can’t believe Rocco’s got married. I mean...married?’

‘Who would have thought he’d fall in love?’ Stefan said with the same incredulous tone.

Christian grunted and caught the barman’s attention for another round.

Call him cynical, but he couldn’t help wonder how long it would be before the love they felt for each other turned into something ugly. Because that was what marriage did—turned two people full of hope and love into bitter caricatures of themselves.

Much safer for everyone’s sake to avoid emotional entanglement. Christian conducted his own affairs by enjoying the moment and then moving on with the minimum of fuss. He had known before he was in double figures that marriage was not for him.

Zayed swivelled on his stool to cast his eyes over the ballroom. ‘There are some hot women here.’

Stefan grinned. ‘I noticed that lingerie model giving you the eye.’

‘I thought she was an actress?’

‘No, that was the other one.’

‘I tell you who knocks spots off all these women,’ Zayed said. ‘Alessandra.’

Christian snapped his head round to stare at him. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Zayed raised his hands. ‘I’m just making an observation.’

‘Well, don’t.’

‘Man, you know I wouldn’t go there. I’d never do that to Rocco— Where are you going?’ he added when Christian got up from his stool and made to leave.

‘To get some air.’

‘You not feeling well?’ Stefan was looking at him closely.

‘It’s been a busy time. I’m probably jet-lagged. Get another round in—I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

Instead of going outside, Christian went to the restroom and splashed cold water on his face.

He’d been a paper thickness away from punching Zayed.

Theos, he needed to get a grip on himself.

This was his guilt and his problem. No one else’s.

Back in the ballroom his eyes automatically sought Alessandra out. As he found her, she turned her head in his direction, as if some sixth sense told her he was there. Quickly she turned away.

He thought he was doing a good job of hiding his guilt-ridden inner turmoil. After that one close call of almost punching one of his oldest and closest friends for an innocuous remark, he joined in with the celebration they were there for, drinking, laughing and horsing about, being the same old Christian he always was when with them.

Except, every time he looked, he found Alessandra’s gaze upon him. Their eyes would meet for a fraction of a second before jerking away. She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself, though, dancing with anyone who cared to ask, at one point stealing Olivia from Rocco and waltzing her around the floor to screams of delight.

Only when the bride and groom, their hands clenched tightly together, left to head off to their secret honeymoon destination did Christian determine his duty to have been done.

Exchanging bear hugs with Zayed and Stefan, who called him every laughably demeaning name under the sun for retiring to bed so early, he strode out of the ballroom, unable to resist one last glance at Alessandra. For once, she wasn’t looking at him.

He was about to climb the stairs to the sleeping quarters when he heard his name called.

Stefan approached him and pulled him into another embrace. ‘You are playing with fire, my friend,’ he said into his ear.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’