The Greek's Pregnant Bride

Having no work to occupy her here, she’d spent a day sightseeing, undetected by any paparazzi. Far from being able to enthuse about all the ancient relics at the Acropolis, she’d felt lonely surrounded by couples and groups of people all chattering happily together.

Christian’s home was so remote and her grasp of the Greek language so weak that the chances of making any friendships were almost impossible. At least his apartment in Hong Kong was central, allowing her plenty of freedom to explore and occupy herself.

Being in Athens reminded her too strongly of being back at Villa Mondelli, when her grandfather had always been too busy working to take any notice of her. Rocco had been of the same mould. She’d learned as a child that moping about didn’t change anything. Keeping busy was the solution to curbing isolation. As a child she would bury her head in books, draw pictures and practise her gymnastics. She’d needed something, a project here in Athens, to keep the isolation at bay and it had been while going through the photos she’d taken on their wedding day, trying hard to look at them objectively and not through maudlin eyes, that inspiration had struck.

‘May I look?’

‘It isn’t finished yet—I’m about two-thirds done, but help yourself.’ She pushed her chair back to give him access to her laptop. She didn’t push back far enough, catching that gorgeous oaky scent that made her mouth water.

She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to curb the longing sweeping through her at his proximity.

In three weeks he hadn’t once attempted to seduce her, not even with his eyes, as he had done so many times before they’d made their vows.

One night had been enough for him to bore of her sexually. Okay; two nights. But they’d been months apart.

she could get her body to believe it was bored of him

interest would creep through her like a pollutant and she would be able to stop tossing and turning throughout the night, wishing he would

attention she accepted

done nothing

through the pages she’d created. ‘The glossy magazines

sure they would,’ she

congratulated herself on another coherent conversation

have been easy to slip into

not do that. She would not

shaping up to be exactly how they’d devised

how heartsick

chair farther back, she got to her feet. ‘Are we still going out tonight?’ She refused to make assumptions. He might have only popped home for a fleeting visit

in the spare room of her apartment, which he’d