Page 12 of Pregnant Behind the Veil (Brides for Greek Brothers #3)

The difference between how Michail’s mom is reacting to the news of her grandchild compared to how I once heard my own grandmother describe me as my mother’s “second-worst mistake” is a blessing I desperately needed today.

Even though thinking about my son never knowing my mother is a raw wound I’m not sure will ever completely heal, I’m comforted knowing my baby will have a loving grandparent in its life.

“I really appreciate that.” I give her a small smile. “Maybe we can spend more time together when Michail and I get back to the States.”

Michail’s phone rings again. He mutters under his breath as he answers. “Yes?” His brows draw together in a deep frown. “You’re four hours early.”

There’s a burst of talking from the other end, loud enough that I can hear it. My stomach drops as I recognize the voice.

Gavriil.

“Fine.” Michail hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket. “Gavriil and Rafe are here with their wives.”

Sarah’s shoulders climb up a fraction as her smile tightens.

I’ve seen the same reaction before, especially during will readings.

Feuding family members who haven’t seen each other in years, a man seeing his ex-wife with her new husband for the first time.

Sarah has probably never met Gavriil or Rafe, the other children of her ex-lover.

I inwardly wince. Rafe is almost an exact replica of his father.

I can’t imagine what kind of shock that will be for her.

Anger for Sarah, for Gavriil and Rafe’s mothers and I’m sure other women who suffered under the weight of Lucifer’s selfishness, spurs me to action.

“Why don’t you go greet them?” I place a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “I’m having trouble picking between a couple things for the ceremony. Do you mind?”

Michail’s frown deepens, but Sarah shoots me a grateful smile.

“That sounds lovely.”

I step back to let her in. Michail crosses his arms as he continues to stare.

My anger swells. I understand all too well struggling with trust. But I’m putting myself out there, placing an entire year of my life in this man’s hands.

Forgiving the cruel things he’s said over the past six weeks even though his explanation didn’t include an apology.

And he can’t stomach the thought of me being with his mother for five minutes?

It’s only through sheer will that I keep my voice low as I step out into the hall.

“If you can’t trust me to be alone with your mother in the amount of time it takes for you to walk down to the elevator and back, we can call this ceremony off right now.”

His eyes harden. His lips part, but before he can say anything, I turn and walk back into my room, closing the door with a soft click even as I imagine slamming it with enough force to rattle the paintings off the wall.

Bastard.

I push my anger aside and focus on Sarah. She’s standing by the window, arms folded protectively across her chest as she gazes down at the clouds.

“This view is incredible.”

I join her at the window. “It is. Your son’s been very generous.”

With some things , I silently add.

She smiles at me. “He is generous. Sometimes to a fault.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you. For noticing.”

“You’re welcome.” I pause, unsure of what to say, not wanting to hurt but also wanting to make her feel more comfortable. “Gavriil and Rafe are good men.”

“A miracle given they lived in the same house as Lucifer.” She shakes her head. “I’m grateful Michail is getting to know them. I imagine I will, too, if they’re comfortable with that.”

“Gavriil will be. Rafe is quieter. But from the little time I’ve spent with them, they both seem kind.”

Sarah continues to stare out the window, her gaze distant. She may be looking out over New York City. But I know she’s not seeing the clouds and spires. She’s seeing the man who nearly ruined her life.

“Rafael looks so much like him.” Her words are barely a whisper. “I’ve only seen pictures. I know he’s not Lucifer.”

“Knowing and feeling are two different things.”

Her smile is deeper, more genuine. “I appreciate the grace. Michail wouldn’t have invited him here if he was anything like Lucifer.”

I remember the tightly leashed fury in Michael’s voice when he had rejected Lucifer as his father. “No.”

With a quick shake of her shoulders, she turns from the window. “I’m ready.” She reaches out and lays a hand over mine. “Thank you, Alessandra. Unless you actually had something to show me and weren’t just creating a pretense for an old woman?”

My eyes dart to the closet. My first inclination is to tell her I’m fine, that I thought she could just use a helping hand.

But she’s looking at me with trust in her eyes, an affection based on one fleeting encounter and an elaborately concocted lie.

Guilt intertwines with a need to involve Sarah, to have her be a part of the wedding in some fashion.

I cross over to the closet. “I could actually use your advice, if you don’t mind?”

“No, not at all.”

The delight in her voice makes me smile even as my heart clenches. Sarah and my mom could have been very good friends.

My hand stills over the first garment bag. My mom kept herself locked up tight. She was friendly but didn’t make friends. She took lovers but didn’t allow herself to love. An existence I admired for years. There were no fights, no drama, no broken hearts.

But now, as I glance over my shoulder at Sarah, I realize there would have been no room for the kind of connection I just experienced. If I had met Sarah when my mother was still alive, I would have helped her, but I wouldn’t have asked her to stay.

How much have I missed out on living my life inside a bubble?

I swallow past the lump in my throat, pull the two bags down and move over to my massive bed.

“I purchased two dresses.” I lay them on top of the silk comforter and unzip the smaller bag. “I bought this first. Tea length, empire waist, cap sleeves.”

Elegant. Simple. Practical, almost indistinguishable from my daily work wardrobe aside from the ivory-colored material.

Sarah, I realize, would be a worthy adversary in a poker game. Her face displays zero emotion as I hold the dress up.

“What do you think?”

I blink at her unexpected question. “It’s lovely.”

“Mmm.” She nods her head toward the other bag. “And the second?”

I take extra care with removing the other dress from its bag. Filmy sleeves, a bodice crafted of delicate lace and a mermaid skirt of silk. I indulge myself in one fleeting touch of the lace, the soft ridges and swirls, before I hold it up.

Sarah stares at it for a fraction of a second before her eyes dart to mine. “You already know which one.”

I pause. “I know which one is the practical choice,”

Sarah smiles. “I don’t think practicality should take the place of desire on one’s wedding day.”

“It’s just…” Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Michail told you how we met.” At Sarah’s nod, I rush on. “It feels strange to wear something so sexy and revealing given the circumstances.”

“Oh, dear.” Sarah grabs my free hand and squeezes it. “How do you feel about the baby?”

Emotion stings my eyes. “I love him.”

Unshed tears brighten Sarah’s eyes. “And Michail?”

“He surprised me,” I answer honestly. “I didn’t expect him to want to be a father.” The memory of his shocked gaze when he’d heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time is burned into my brain. “But he wants to be involved.”

There are many uncertainties when it comes to my relationship with Michail. One of the few things I’m sure of, though, is his commitment to being there for the baby.

Tears slide down Sarah’s cheeks as she gives my hand one more squeeze. “Then I would say this is an occasion worth celebrating.” She releases my hand and wipes away her tears. “Now I’m going to meet my son’s half-brothers and hopefully not cry any more before the ceremony.”

“Sarah?” I slowly reach out, grasp her hand and squeeze it as she did mine in the hall. “Thank you.”

Her smile is so full of joy it nearly blinds me. “You’re welcome.”

I wait until the door closes behind her before I sit down with the mermaid gown across my lap.

Is it more curse or blessing that I like Michail’s mother?

I don’t doubt her kindness or her enthusiasm for her first grandchild.

But will she still offer the same warmth in a year when Michail and I divorce?

A problem for another day. Today I have her support and the presence of at least one person I know will genuinely be happy to watch me walk down the aisle.

My fingers sink into cool folds of silk. I’m almost giddy at the thought of wearing something so beautiful.

What will Michail think of it?

I bat the thought away. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. We’ve agreed to a marriage in name only. Convenience, not passion. Mutual benefits, not love.

Lace whispers over my skin as I slide my arms into the delicate sleeves.

The fabric cradles my stomach and leaves zero doubt about whether I’m pregnant.

Yet as I face myself in the mirror, I don’t feel embarrassed or apprehensive.

I feel…proud. Beautiful, sexy. When I walk down that aisle, I’m going to do so with a confidence I didn’t feel an hour ago.

I’m going to make the most of this chaos and craft a wonderful life for myself and my son in the process.

Michail’s face flashes in my mind, his expression shifting from cold suspicion to fiery intensity. Yes, he tempts me. My body craves him with a need that’s almost impossible to ignore.

Almost, I remind myself as I turn away from the mirror. But the desire to protect my own heart overrides simple lust. I’ll make the most of today, embrace the positives of having a father in my child’s life and keep my desire on a tight leash. I can resist Michail.

For my sake, and my son’s, I have to.