скачать книгу бесплатно
Whatever she was going to say was cut short when Zayed tapped her on the shoulder and threw Christian a conspiratorial wink. ‘I do believe it’s my turn to dance with the beautiful lady,’ he said in a voice loud enough for Rocco to hear.
The groom turned his head towards the raised voice, his eyes narrowing before he broke into a wide grin.
It clearly didn’t cross his mind that any of his friends would dream of doing anything with the sister he was so protective of.
Sickened with himself, Christian stepped back and forced a smile, mock-bowing. ‘She’s all yours.’
He waited for Alessandra to make a good-natured but cutting retort about not being anyone’s property, but her eyes were stark on his face, a fleeting look of panic flashing over her which she quickly covered. But not quickly enough.
The ballroom of Villa Mondelli had enough waiting staff not to let any guest go thirsty for longer than thirty seconds but Christian wanted to get away from the hubbub of the mingling guests and headed to the bar.
After a shot of bourbon, he turned his head to see her now dancing with Stefan. She looked happy to be dancing with him, he thought, taken aback at the strength of his bitterness.
It was only natural she’d been stiff and awkward in Christian’s arms. A one-night stand hadn’t been on either of their minds when they’d set out that evening.
He’d been her first lover.
That, more than anything, was the thing that refused to dislodge from his mind.
The woman who’d been vilified by the press for an affair with a married man when she’d been a teenager had been a virgin. He’d always suspected there had been more to the story than had been written but the truth had come as a cataclysmic shock.
Whatever the truth, it was none of his business. Alessandra was none of his business. She couldn’t be.
He took another shot to clear the bile crawling up his throat and watched Stefan place a hand to her waist. The bile almost choked him to see her laugh at something his friend said in her ear.
Zayed appeared at his side. ‘Hiding yourself away, buddy?’
‘Just taking a few moments.’
Stefan finished his dance and came over to join them. ‘What are we all drinking?’
‘Christian’s already on the hard stuff,’ Zayed said, indicating the empty shot glasses before them on the bar.
Christian hardly listened. Alessandra had left the dance floor. A quick scan of the ballroom found her sitting at a table with a group of people he didn’t recognise. She was staring at him.
Their gazes held before he pulled away and fixed a smile on his face for his friends’ benefit.
‘Who’s ready for a shot?’ Before either could answer, he waved at the barman to pour them a bourbon each.
The three friends, sitting in a row at the bar, raised their glasses and chanted, ‘Memento vivere!’ ‘Remember to live,’ the motto the four friends did live by, and downed their shots.
‘I never thought I’d see us at a wedding for one of our own,’ Zayed mused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I still can’t believe Rocco’s got married. I mean...married?’
‘Who would have thought he’d fall in love?’ Stefan said with the same incredulous tone.
Christian grunted and caught the barman’s attention for another round.
Call him cynical, but he couldn’t help wonder how long it would be before the love they felt for each other turned into something ugly. Because that was what marriage did—turned two people full of hope and love into bitter caricatures of themselves.
Much safer for everyone’s sake to avoid emotional entanglement. Christian conducted his own affairs by enjoying the moment and then moving on with the minimum of fuss. He had known before he was in double figures that marriage was not for him.
Zayed swivelled on his stool to cast his eyes over the ballroom. ‘There are some hot women here.’
Stefan grinned. ‘I noticed that lingerie model giving you the eye.’
‘I thought she was an actress?’
‘No, that was the other one.’
‘I tell you who knocks spots off all these women,’ Zayed said. ‘Alessandra.’
Christian snapped his head round to stare at him. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
Zayed raised his hands. ‘I’m just making an observation.’
‘Well, don’t.’
‘Man, you know I wouldn’t go there. I’d never do that to Rocco— Where are you going?’ he added when Christian got up from his stool and made to leave.
‘To get some air.’
‘You not feeling well?’ Stefan was looking at him closely.
‘It’s been a busy time. I’m probably jet-lagged. Get another round in—I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
Instead of going outside, Christian went to the restroom and splashed cold water on his face.
He’d been a paper thickness away from punching Zayed.
Theos, he needed to get a grip on himself.
This was his guilt and his problem. No one else’s.
Back in the ballroom his eyes automatically sought Alessandra out. As he found her, she turned her head in his direction, as if some sixth sense told her he was there. Quickly she turned away.
He thought he was doing a good job of hiding his guilt-ridden inner turmoil. After that one close call of almost punching one of his oldest and closest friends for an innocuous remark, he joined in with the celebration they were there for, drinking, laughing and horsing about, being the same old Christian he always was when with them.
Except, every time he looked, he found Alessandra’s gaze upon him. Their eyes would meet for a fraction of a second before jerking away. She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself, though, dancing with anyone who cared to ask, at one point stealing Olivia from Rocco and waltzing her around the floor to screams of delight.
Only when the bride and groom, their hands clenched tightly together, left to head off to their secret honeymoon destination did Christian determine his duty to have been done.
Exchanging bear hugs with Zayed and Stefan, who called him every laughably demeaning name under the sun for retiring to bed so early, he strode out of the ballroom, unable to resist one last glance at Alessandra. For once, she wasn’t looking at him.
He was about to climb the stairs to the sleeping quarters when he heard his name called.
Stefan approached him and pulled him into another embrace. ‘You are playing with fire, my friend,’ he said into his ear.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Sure you do.’ He pulled back a little and brought his hands up to Christian’s face, slapping both his cheeks lightly. ‘You have to end it. Now.’
Christian’s chest compressed. He couldn’t lie to his friend. ‘It was over before it started.’
‘Good. Keep it that way. For all our sakes.’
* * *
Alessandra took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The party was still going strong, a DJ having replaced the band, music pounding through the walls. There were revellers all over the villa but thankfully this wing was quiet and devoid of people.
She waited a few moments before knocking again, louder.
Unless Christian had left without telling anyone, he was in there. The dim light seeping under the door testified to this. She’d casually asked Stefan and Zayed where their fellow musketeer had escaped to. She could only hope she’d imagined the suspicious but pitying look in Stefan’s eyes when he’d told her Christian had gone to bed.
Please, God, let him be alone in there.
What were the chances?
She’d been nothing special, just another notch on a bedpost crammed with notches.
Christian Markos travelled with a trail of broken hearts attached to him ranging from Hong Kong to London. Some sold their stories to the tabloids, tales of short-lived lust before being discarded. Some spoke with bitterness. Most spoke with longing. Most wanted him to break their hearts all over again.
It took an age before the handle turned and the door opened.
Christian stood clad in a pair of jeans. And nothing else.
He blinked narrowing eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I need to talk to you. Can I come in?’
His bronzed throat rose. ‘That’s not a good idea.’
‘It’s important.’
His firm lips, usually quirked in an easy smile, clamped together. He shifted past her, looking both directions down the wide corridor before ushering her in and swiftly closing the door.
His room was tidy, his tuxedo hanging neatly on the door of the wardrobe. The bed was rumpled; a tablet was on the bedside table next to a half-full bottle of bourbon and an empty glass.
‘Are you drunk?’ she challenged. This was a conversation she needed to have when he was sober.
‘No.’ He strode to the window and closed the heavy curtains. ‘Believe me, I’ve been trying to reach that state.’
If only she were in a position to reach that state herself.
‘Today went well,’ she said, sitting gingerly on the corner chair. She could really do with a shot of that bourbon. It would make what was coming next easier to cope with, of that she was certain. ‘Rocco and Liv looked really happy.’
Their obvious happiness had had the dual effect of making her heart lighten for her brother’s sake and sink at the knowledge it was something she could never have for herself.
Christian propped himself against the wall by the window and crossed his arms over his broad chest. She hadn’t really had the opportunity to study his torso in her apartment, and now she could look at it properly she felt the heat she’d experienced that night bloom anew.
Years of rowing and track had honed his physique, his form strong and athletic, his shoulders broad. Fine hair dusted across his bronzed chest and she felt an almost unbearable compulsion to hurtle herself into his arms and take solace in his strength.
Making love to him had been an experience she would never forget. The single best experience of her life.
Try as she had to expel the memories from her head, they’d stayed with her, tantalising her, taunting her with the knowledge it was an experience that could never be repeated.
The simple remembrance of his smooth skin flush against her nakedness made her feel as if her insides were being liquidised.
‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ he asked, cutting the preamble and pulling her back to the present. While he wasn’t being unfriendly, there was none of the easy-going Christian she knew. She didn’t have to be psychic to know he wanted her gone from his room.
His regret and self-loathing were obvious.
Her heart hammered beneath her ribs, her stomach roiling with nerves that threatened to overwhelm her.
This was all her fault...
‘I’m pregnant.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_fa2841a6-2e06-5858-a16d-ad6dab4f26de)
THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED Alessandra’s stark statement was total.
Christian seemed to deflate before her eyes, as if he’d suffered a body blow.
Which no doubt her news was, she thought miserably.
How she’d kept herself together throughout the day she would never know, her only thought having been that she mustn’t ruin Rocco and Olivia’s special day. She mustn’t.
She’d spent pretty much her entire life trying to keep herself together in public, the hardest before tonight being two months ago when they’d buried her grandfather. The paparazzi had been out in force. She’d worn dark glasses until they’d entered the church, refusing to give them the money shot they so desired. Even when Sandro, her alcoholic father, had turned up drunk and made that dreadful scene, she’d kept her composure. Christian and Zayed had been the ones who’d calmly approached him and dragged him away.
Christian staggered over to the bed and sat heavily on it, clutching his head.
‘Please. Say something,’ she beseeched. The back of her retinas burned and she blinked furiously. No matter what happened in the next few minutes, she would not cry. She’d done enough of that.
He fixed his blue eyes on her. ‘How long have you known?’
‘A while, I guess, but I only took the test a couple of days ago.’ She laughed, a hollow sound even to her own ears. ‘I took three of them, hoping they were wrong.’ At the third positive reading, she’d climbed onto her bed and sobbed.
‘Have you seen a doctor?’
‘Not yet.’ She bit into her lip. It had taken her almost a fortnight to entertain the possibility that her late period might actually mean something, another fortnight before she’d unburied her head from the sand and crossed the threshold into the pharmacy.
She’d never believed she would be a mother. Motherhood went hand in hand with relationships and she certainly didn’t believe in them.
‘But you’re certain?’
‘Yes.’ Once the reality of her condition had sunk into her shell-shocked brain, the tears had stopped.
Inside her, right in the heart of her womanhood, a tiny life grew.
