The Greek's Pregnant Bride

Nothing was said until they were back in the car and moving, both pressed against their respective doors.

‘What did you think of my mother?’ Christian asked, amusement and bitterness both vying for control in his voice.

Alessandra was unable to do anything but raise her shoulders and blow air out of her mouth.

That had to be the most surreal experience of her life, like stepping into some parallel universe where poison ivy grew instead of roses.

‘Do you understand now why I don’t want her at our wedding?’

‘I think so.’ She shook her head some more. She could still taste the acrid atmosphere, overwhelming even the cloying bleach. ‘What did she say to you?’

‘The usual. That I’m a useless son for leaving it so long between visits; that her house isn’t good enough for her; that the house is too big for her, that it’s too small, that her car is getting old. The usual.’

the

a large allowance. It’s never enough. I could give her my entire fortune and it wouldn’t be enough. If she came

the woman she must have once been. Christian understood it, could see how she had become like that. Stratos Markos hadn’t just walked away from her, he had walked away from the child they had created together—that was how little she had

this?’ she asked, her husky voice

she was saying to you when we left, that you’re a fool to be marrying me and

palpable. ‘She said that about her own

me to rip your heart out now—you forget, agapi mou, that I am my father’s son, something she never lets me forget. In my mother’s world, all men are liars and

of sympathy. ‘You’re not to blame for

know that.’ But right then he didn’t want to hear any platitudes. A coldness had settled in his

his mother. Regardless of the heat outside, inside all he felt was compressing

label all men as bastards

do you not believe that yourself?’ he said roughly.