The Greek's Pregnant Bride

She’d spent years breaking free and now, just as her life and freedom were hers and hers alone, she found she was pledging herself to a man with the same controlling instinct she had spent so long kicking back from.

Christian had over-protectiveness down to an art.

He hadn’t merely employed a bodyguard for her, he’d employed an elite squad of hardened ex-soldiers.

Unfortunately they didn’t come with personalities, all having been highly trained never to crack a smile or share banter. In the safety of her apartment building she could forget all about them, but the second she stepped outside they would materialise.

As much as she found their presence stifling, she was grateful. She’d never imagined the paparazzi could be any worse than when she’d been seventeen. She’d been wrong. Eight years ago it had been mostly the Italian press with a handful of Brits thrown in. This time their number included Greeks—lots of them—Americans, French... She swore she’d even heard a Japanese voice throw questions at her. She’d known her engagement to Christian would generate a frenzy but had not been prepared for such madness.

the man credited with dragging the House of Mondelli kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century, a man who’d recently married one of the most famous supermodels in

She consoled herself that at least she wasn’t being called a slut any more. She’d kept her dark sunglasses on and answered only one

forward to the wedding?’

with what

mobbed. As had Rocco, who ignored every single question. Rumours had started circulating in the past few days

leaned back in the leather seat and gazed out at Athens, the city that would play a

have recognised it. It had seeped into the walls, some pristine, some falling apart at the seams. With ugly apartment blocks and majestic buildings, it was a city

felt something akin to excitement bubble in

a huge opportunity. If she could ever get anywhere. At this rate, she would be lucky to make it to the hotel before the sun set.