Michelle Smart - The Greek's Pregnant Bride

She raised a shoulder and exhaled a shuddering breath that sounded almost like a moan. It was a long moment before she next spoke, breaking the charged silence that had sprung up between them. ‘I will not have sex with you just because it’s expected.’

He pulled away, creating a little distance so he could look at her. ‘My only expectation is that, when we’re in public, we both put on a display of being in love.’

She held his gaze for a fraction longer before blowing out a puff of air and fixing her gaze back on the lake. ‘Bene.’

‘So we are in agreement?’

‘Yes. We are in agreement. I will marry you.’

It was Christian’s turn to exhale. Who would have thought he would feel relief to hear a woman agree to marriage?

‘It would be best to marry as soon as we can—before you start showing.’

‘I don’t want to arrange anything until I’ve spoken to Rocco.’

The mention of her brother’s name hit him like a blow: the metaphorical elephant in the room spoken aloud.

‘We will speak to him together.’

‘It will be best if I speak to him alone. He’s my brother.’

‘And he’s one of my closest friends. He’s not going to be happy about this.’

‘I would prefer it if he gave us his blessing but if he refuses...’ She sighed, a troubled expression crossing her features.

‘We will wait until he returns from his honeymoon,’ Christian decided, although his guts made that familiar clenching motion they did whenever he thought of what his friend’s reaction would be.

Rocco would never forgive him.

He didn’t blame him.

Whatever was thrown his way, he would take. It would be no less than he deserved.

He remembered the first time he’d met Rocco, Stefan and Zayed during his first week at Columbia. He’d never left Athens before that, never mind Greece. New York had been a whole new world. He’d felt out of his depth on every level, especially when comparing himself to his new friends’ wealth and good breeding. He’d had neither and hadn’t been able to understand why they’d accepted him as one of their own.

Even now, a decade on when his own wealth rivalled the best in the world, he still struggled to understand what they’d seen in him.

He was Christian Markos, born a gutter rat without a penny to his name. She was Alessandra Mondelli, born into one of Italy’s premiere families. She had class and breeding. She could be a princess.

In a perfect world she would marry someone from a similar background. Someone worthy of her.

All the same, they might be from disparate backgrounds but on marriage they had common ground: relationships were not for either of them. In that one respect they were perfect for each other. She would never need him or require more than he could give.

And he would never need her.

Messy, complicated emotions would never infect their marriage.

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