The Greek's Pregnant Bride

‘I do?’ Evanthia asked, picking one of the suitcases up.

‘I can do it,’ Alessandra answered with a smile. ‘Thank you for the offer.’

Evanthia started talking, gesturing wildly.

Not having the faintest idea what the housekeeper was saying or what her gestures meant, Alessandra smiled and nodded politely. Eventually Evanthia bustled off after making gestures Alessandra thought might have indicated food.

As soon as she was alone in her room she set about unpacking, hanging her clothes in the empty dressing room.

A dressing room that would only ever contain feminine clothes.

Silly little Alessandra, she thought, folding into drawers the new underwear she’d brought expecting her husband to remove them.

She could wear bloomers and he would neither know nor care.

be like a small nursery garden that, with some care and attention, might—just might—bloom into something

Christian could be someone in whom she could trust,

taken all those little seedlings and ripped them up, a reminder that he’d never wanted the garden in the first place.

made love to her on their wedding night? Out of duty? To consummate it and

her because she was there and he could. She could

lack of sexual experience that had failed to recognise it

expect them to sleep together again or was that

that question. The humiliation of his answer would be too

much to know that an experience she’d found so special and fulfilling had been all one-sided. Christian

would want to share a bed with her more than once? She’d shared two nights with him; she should feel special. She’d had a

chided herself. Christian wasn’t doing anything they hadn’t previously agreed. She

green land surrounding the villa. Flat