The Greek's Pregnant Bride

‘Our lives have been very different,’ he said, choosing his words with care. ‘It’s pointless comparing them. You have lived yours and I have lived mine.’

‘How has it been different?’ she pressed, leaning forward.

‘It just was.’

‘But how?’ A troubled look flitted over her face. ‘Christian, we are marrying in five days. I don’t want to marry a stranger.’

He reached for his wine and took a swallow. ‘You, agapi mou, come from a world of glamour and money. You have no comprehension what it was like for us. We were so poor that for a whole year I went without shoelaces—trivial in the scheme of things but imagine it for a minute. I arrived at university with only one change of clothes. I was the child people like you pretended not to see.’

Alessandra was like one of those mythical creatures he had watched swish past this very taverna’s front while he’d swept the floor. Unobtainable. Better than him. Better than he could ever be no matter how much money was held in his bank account.

The outrage that had sparked in her eyes softened. ‘Maybe you’re right that I can’t understand what your childhood was like.

her into a bitter woman who, even if presented with a glass three-quarters full would still regard it

had soured

want that for Alessandra. Never

protection from it before it infected

good response from all the wedding invitations,’ he said, deliberately and overtly changing

Rocco and Olivia’s as Wedding of the Century. One of the

pound signs ringing in their eyes and so knew there was absolutely no danger they could ever develop anything like a healthy—or unhealthy, depending on your

into her seat, gazing at him with a