‘CONGRATULATIONS, CHRISTO.’ DAMEN grinned and gripped his friend’s arm in a hard clasp. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.’
‘You didn’t think I’d invite you to my wedding?’ Christo smiled. Who else would he ask to stand up as his best man but Damen, his friend since childhood?
‘You know what I mean. I never expected to see you married till you’d played the field for another decade and decided it was time to breed some heirs.’
The look that passed between them revealed their shared understanding of what it meant to be the sole male heir to a family dynasty—Damen’s in shipping and Christo’s in property. There were expectations and responsibilities, always, even if they came with the cushion of wealth and privilege.
At the thought of his newest responsibility, Christo rolled his shoulders. The stiffness pinching the back of his neck was familiar. But now he could relax. With the wedding over, his plans fell into place. He’d had a problem and he’d fixed it, simple as that. Life could resume its even course. The glow of satisfaction he’d felt as he’d slid the ring onto Emma’s small hand burned brighter.
Everything had worked out perfectly.
‘I’m glad you could get here at short notice.’ Despite Christo’s lack of sentimentality, it felt good to have his old friend with him.
Besides, it would have looked strange if there’d been no one from the groom’s side, even at such a small wedding. Damen had arrived in Melbourne just in time for the private ceremony. Now, in the gardens of the bride’s home, this was their first opportunity to talk.
‘She’s not what I expected, your little bride.’
Christo raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘She’s besotted with you for a start. What she sees in you...’ Damen shook his head in mock puzzlement, as if women didn’t swarm around Christo like bees around blossom. It was another thing they had in common.
‘Of course Emma’s besotted. She’s marrying me.’
Christo had no false modesty about his appeal to the opposite sex. Besides, he’d wooed old Katsoyiannis’s granddaughter carefully, taking his time in a way that wasn’t usually necessary to win a woman. Having his proposal rejected hadn’t figured in Christo’s plans.
He’d done an excellent job. A spark of heat ignited at the memory of Emma’s wide-eyed gaze and the eager way she’d returned his perfunctory end-of-ceremony kiss, tempting him to prolong it into something more passionate. Christo’s hands had tightened on her slender waist and he’d found himself looking forward to tonight when he’d take her to his bed for the first time.
Damen huffed out a laugh. ‘There speaks the mighty Christo Karides, ego as big as the Mediterranean.’ He frowned and glanced back at the house, as if confirming they were alone. Everyone was at the wedding breakfast on the far side of the building. ‘But, seriously, I was surprised. Emma’s lovely. Very sweet.’ Another pause. ‘But not your usual type.’ His look turned piercing. ‘I’d have thought her cousin more your speed. The vivacious redhead.’
Christo nodded, picturing Maia’s pin-up-perfect curves in the tight clothes she favoured. Her confidence, her sexy banter as she’d tried to hook his attention. She would have succeeded, too, if things had been different.
A twinge of pain seared from Christo’s skull to his shoulders and he rubbed a hand around his neck.
‘You’re right, she’s gorgeous. In other circumstances we’d have had fun together.’ He shook his head. His situation was immutable. Regrets were useless. ‘But this is marriage we’re talking about, not pleasure.’
A muffled sound made Christo turn to scrutinise the back of the large house. But there was no movement at the windows, no one on the flagstone patio or sweeping lawn. No sound except the distant strains of music.
He’d have to return to the celebration soon before his bride wondered what was taking him so long.
A beat of satisfaction quickened Christo’s pulse. ‘Emma’s not sexy and sophisticated like her cousin, or as beautiful, but her grandfather left her the Athens property I came to buy. Marriage was the price of acquiring it.’
Damen’s smile faded. ‘You married for that? I knew the deal was important but surely you didn’t need to—?’
‘You’re right. Normally I wouldn’t consider it, but circumstances changed.’ Christo shrugged and adopted a nonchalant expression to camouflage the tension he still felt at the profound changes in his life. ‘I find myself in the bizarre situation of inheriting responsibility for a child.’ Saying it aloud didn’t make it sound any more palatable, or lessen his lingering shock. ‘Can you imagine me as a father?’
He nodded as his friend’s eyes bulged. ‘You see why marriage suddenly became necessary, if not appealing. It isn’t a sexy siren I need. Instead I’ve acquired a gentle, sensible homebody who wants only to please me. She’ll make the perfect caring mother.’
* * *
Emma’s hands gripped the edge of the basin so tight, she couldn’t feel her fingers. That was one small mercy because the rest of her felt like one huge, raw wound throbbing in acute agony.
She blinked and stared at the mirror in the downstairs rear bathroom. The one to which she and her bridesmaid had retired for a quick make-up fix as the bathroom at the front of the house was engaged. The one with an open window, obscured by ivy, that gave onto the sprawling back garden.
In the mirror, dazed hazel eyes stared back at her. Her mouth in that new lipstick she’d thought so sophisticated was a crumpled line of colour too bright for parchment-pale cheeks.
Around her white face she still wore the antique lace of her grandmother’s veil.
Emma shuddered and shut her eyes, suddenly hating the weight of the lace against her cheeks and the long wedding dress around her shaky legs. The fitted gown, so perfect before, now clasped her too tightly, making her skin clammy, nipping at her waist and breasts and squeezing her lungs till she thought they might burst.
‘Did you know?’
Emma’s eyes popped open to meet Steph’s in the mirror. Instead of turning into a wax doll like Emma, shock made Steph look vibrant. Her eyes sparked and a flush climbed her cheeks.
‘Stupid question. Of course you didn’t know.’ Her friend’s generous mouth twisted into a snarl. ‘I’ll kill him with my bare hands. No, killing’s too good. Slow torture. That’s what he deserves.’ She scowled ferociously. ‘How could he treat you that way? He must know how you feel about him.’
The pain in Emma’s chest intensified from terrible to excruciating. It felt as though she was being torn apart. Which