Page 14 of Pregnant Behind the Veil (Brides for Greek Brothers #3)

Alessandra

Moonlight dances across the waves of the Atlantic several thousand feet below Michail’s plane as it climbs into the air.

Behind us, New York City glitters like someone dropped thousands of jewels across the night landscape.

Ahead of us, the sea blends into the night, a carpet of midnight dotted here and there with the occasional ship glowing on the water.

It’s easier to focus on what’s outside the plane versus what, or rather who, is inside.

Two pilots man the controls of the most luxurious plane I’ve ever been in.

A flight attendant brought me a cup of tea with honey just before takeoff.

Now she’s working with a chef—an actual Michelin-star-rated chef—to prepare dinner in the front galley, which is the same size as the kitchen I had in my first apartment back in college.

Seated toward the front in one of several plush white seats is a nurse practitioner from my doctor’s office.

And sitting at a desk with his laptop opened in front of him and his phone pressed to his ear is Michail.

My husband.

I breathe in deeply, then slowly release.

It’s been two days since we said our vows.

I spent most of those in my room or on the terrace with my laptop, making plans for the next year.

I decided to follow through on my plans of working for Regent Capital Planning through my delivery date.

I can’t spend the next four months lying around Michail’s penthouse.

It’s just not me. My new boss at Regent was surprisingly understanding when I told him I was now planning on taking a year to stay home with my son, and said we could see how the next few months go, then talk about the future after the baby arrived.

With that stress removed, I was able to finally start focusing on things like a crib and how I wanted to decorate the room next to mine that would become the nursery.

The baby moves, his fluttering stronger.

I glance over my shoulder at Michail. He’s seated with his back to the pilot’s cabin, his thick brows drawn together in a frown as he listens to whoever is on the other end of the line.

His dark hair is combed back in thick waves from his forehead.

He’s wearing a white suit shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top shirt unbuttoned.

Usually when I see him first thing in the morning, he has on a suit jacket.

But by midday, the jacket is gone and by afternoon, the sleeves come up and the button is undone.

Not that I mind. It gives me an opportunity to fantasize about undoing those buttons and revealing the broad, muscular chest underneath.

After that searing kiss he gave me on our wedding day, I need the fantasy.

Otherwise I might be tempted to take him up on his offer to enjoy the physical aspects of our union.

My thighs clench. I shift in my seat, trying to relieve the ache that hasn’t quit since he kissed my fingers. Michail glances my way. His eyes travel down my body and back up, as if he knows the source of my discomfort. Judging by the slow curve of his lips, he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Damn it.

I can’t figure the man out. Right before the ceremony, I was ready to call it quits over his suspicious attitude toward me inviting his mother in. When I walked down the aisle, he looked thunderous, fists clenched at his sides and his face tight.

But then he relaxed, kissed my hand in the most sensual way possible in front of the guests. He didn’t let go throughout the whole ceremony, gripping my fingers as if he expected me to bolt.

And then that kiss… God, that kiss. It rekindled every moment of our night together: the passion, the desire, those moments of intimacy that added a layer to our lovemaking I’d never experienced before. One that heightened every pleasure, enhanced every peak he brought me to.

I press my legs together as pressure builds. A pressure I have no way of relieving because the only thing that will truly satisfy it is the man I need to stay away from. A task that grows more difficult with each passing day.

I look back out the window. New York City glitters one last time. And then the plane ascends above the clouds.

It’s not just my deepening desire that presents a problem.

No, it’s spending more time with Michail, seeing more and more glimpses of the man I thought he was back in Santorini.

The past two mornings I’ve woken up to breakfast on a small tray next to my bed.

He accompanied me to my doctor’s appointment yesterday to make sure I was cleared to fly to Greece.

He brought me tea on the terrace and, when he saw that I was looking up things for the nursery, asked me questions and even made a couple suggestions.

Yet aside from helping me in and out of taxis, he hasn’t touched me. Not once. He’s treating me with respect, shooting me the occasional heated or appreciative glance, but otherwise honoring the rules we agreed on.

I don’t know what to do about it.

Although, I remind myself, there are still some things he’s overbearing on.

Like the nurse practitioner. He asked my doctor yesterday about the safety of flying at this stage in my pregnancy and with my recent fainting.

She was reassuring, but as soon as she said “There’s always some risk associated with travel,” he insisted on hiring a nurse to travel on the plane to and from Greece.

It didn’t matter what argument I came up with; he simply rejected it.

“I’m not risking you or the baby,” he’d said.

“Mrs. Sullivan?”

It takes a moment for the name to sink in. I look over my shoulder at the flight attendant.

“Sorry, I’m still not used to my married name.”

The flight attendant smiles. “Not a problem, ma’am. We’ll be serving dinner in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

I move to the front of the plane and sit down in the seat across from Michail.

The more time I spend with him, the more tempted I am to let down my guard.

It would be enjoyable while it lasted. But Michail isn’t a happily-ever-after kind of man.

Yes, he’s close to his mother. And he’s slowly developing relationships with Gavriil and Rafe.

But I still sense a distance there, a wall he keeps between himself and his half-brothers. Similar to the wall he maintains between us. A wall I recognize because I’ve lived behind a similar one for most of my life.

Michail hangs up and closes his laptop.

“That was the lawyer in Greece. He has to leave Monday to meet with a client in Japan.”

“What about the paintings?”

“Per the will, the lawyer has to meet you and me in person before agreeing to release the paintings to me. He’s attending a charity gala tomorrow night and has invited us to join him. Once he meets us, he’ll authorize the delivery of the paintings to my home in the Hamptons.”

“At least he’s getting us in before he leaves.” I frown. “Although I’ll need to stop by a store or boutique when we land. I didn’t bring anything appropriate for what I’m assuming is a black-tie event.”

Michail waves his hand in the air. “We’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll take care of it.” I hold up a hand when he starts to argue. “Michail, I’m making a lot of concessions. A lot. When I tell you I can shop for my own dress, I mean it. I’ve been dressing myself for over twenty-five years.”

Our conversation is interrupted by the flight attendant setting salads in front of us with plump grapes, walnuts, and feta on top of a bed of arugula. I try to focus on the salad and not my simmering irritation.

As I stab my fork at a grape, my phone buzzes. A text flashes across the screen. I glance at it, then do a double take when I see the message.

“Why is there four million dollars in my checking account?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I told you I wanted to set you up with spending money.”

“I could live off the interest generated by four million for the rest of my life. I don’t need that much for ‘spending money.’”

His brows draw together in a frown as his eyes narrow. “Then don’t spend it. Invest it. Keep it as an emergency fund.”

“I don’t want to, Michail. One percent of that would be more than enough for me to keep myself entertained and buy things for the nursery.”

“I already ordered the furniture for the nursery.”

My mouth drops open. “You what?”

“Once you showed what you wanted, I placed an order. It should be set up when we arrive.”

I can physically feel the last bits of my independence draining away. I lay my fork down and stand.

“Alessandra—”

“Don’t.” I’m all too aware of the flight attendant and the nurse trying to pretend like they don’t see the drama playing out in the cabin. “Just don’t.”

I stalk down the center of the plane toward the bedroom in the back.

I walk in and close the door, lean back against it as I bury my face in my hands.

The four million feels like a transaction, a stark reminder that this is a business arrangement, not a real marriage.

His buying the nursery furniture without talking to me is another sign that he has no interest in talking to me, really talking to me.

He’s going to make his decisions without me.

I pull my hands away and look down at my engagement ring and wedding band. Day three and I’m already struggling.

A knock sounds.

“Go away.”

“Let me explain.” His voice is muffled by the door and the hum of the plane’s engines.

I yank open the door. He fills the doorway, his face shadowed.

“Explain what? That you’re making decisions without consulting me? That you’re treating me like a child instead of a co-parent?”

“Yes.”

His simple answer momentarily stuns me into silence.

He glances over his shoulder. “We can either continue this discussion now in private, or we can talk once we land in Greece.”

Part of me wants to just shut the door in his face. But I also know once we land in Greece, things will move forward at breakneck speed.