The Greek's Pregnant Bride

He knew what his response must be.

‘Yes,’ he said, nodding slowly for emphasis. ‘I will support you and our child. But in return I want you to marry me.’

* * *

The comb holding Alessandra’s hair in place had been digging into her scalp all day, a minor irritation that suddenly felt magnified enough for her to yank it out. She got to her feet, swiping fallen hair off her face.

For a moment she couldn’t speak, her brain struggling to find the English she’d spoken like a native since early childhood. ‘I know this is a shock for you. I know, okay? But marriage?’

‘Yes, marriage.’

She shook her head, trying her hardest not to let panic set in. ‘Please, don’t say anything you’ll regret in the morning when you look at the situation with fresh eyes.’

the situation.

won’t be

his rising voice. ‘Alessandra, think about it. This is the obvious solution. Marriage

isn’t the nineteenth century. There’s no stigma to children born outside of

an emotion she didn’t understand. ‘Children need and deserve two parents.

He’d abandoned her almost from her first breath. By the time of her first birthday,

last thing she’d expected Christian to suggest. The most she’d hoped for was public support for her and their child, and even that had felt like a pipe dream considering she was dealing with the commitment-phobic Christian Markos. He made Casanova look

even prepared her ‘please don’t introduce our child to a succession of aunties’ speech. In her

please, be

wants,’ he finished for her, meeting her gaze

together, the night their baby had been conceived. Fools had been just one of the many words they’d

neither of