Page 16 of Pregnant Behind the Veil (Brides for Greek Brothers #3)

Michail

The pavestones of Voukourestiou Street gleam in the early-morning sunlight. Most of the shops won’t open for at least another hour. Tourists are still sleeping off transatlantic flights or hangovers from indulging in Greece’s famous ouzo.

But as Alessandra and I walk down one of Athens’s most prominent streets lined with signs advertising brands like Prada and Gucci, I don’t even glance at the window displays. We only have one stop this morning before continuing to Santorini.

I glance at my wife out of the corner of my eye.

I didn’t see her after our kiss until about an hour ago as the plane was descending into Greece.

She emerged with her hair caught up in a bun at the crown of her head, a loose white shirt hiding most of her belly and black pants that clung to the curves of her legs.

I let her set the tone for the morning, taking a cue from her blank face and monotone voice.

But inside, I seethe. Burn.

Her accusations last night were not misplaced.

No, they were all too accurate. My mother has told me on more than one occasion she can take care of herself, that I don’t need to be hovering over her shoulder like I’m the parent.

Occasionally, she’ll reference her week in the hospital, promise me that will never happen again.

Except it wasn’t just a week. Yes, she was hospitalized for seven days. But it took months for her to recover, to lose the shadows beneath her eyes and the strain in her smile when she asked me how my day at school was. For me not to panic every time she looked even mildly worried.

Once I got control of my anger at my then-unknown father, and by extension the world that looked down on my mother and me, our lives got better.

The more I controlled, from my behavior to my grades to taking on a part-time job in high school so that my mother could focus on finally finishing her college degree and getting certified as an art teacher, the better our lives became.

I know Alessandra isn’t in the same position my mother was.

But damn it, what good is my money if I can’t use it to give the mother of my child a chance to be there for our son?

To be present in a way my mother was never able to be there for me?

Knowing Alessandra had to give up a job she loved is a knife to the chest.

But she’s not giving up. Instead, she took on another role while five months pregnant so she could prepare for her ultimate goal of owning her own business. I admire her initiative, her tenacity. She’s balancing her professional dreams with providing the best life possible for our son.

Her accusations last night cut deep. But in the light of day, I can’t help but wonder if I’m insisting on helping her because it’s the right thing. Or is it to make myself feel better?

“Kyrios Sullivan!”

A short, portly man with an impressive salt-and-pepper mustache leans out the doorway of one of the shops and hails us with his boisterous greeting. Alessandra’s steps slow.

“You know him?”

“I do. Chances are you’ve heard of him, too.”

She arches a brow. “Oh?”

“Kallos Boutique.”

Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Kallos Boutique has nine shops around the globe, including one on New York’s famous Fifth Avenue and one prominently featured on the Champs-élysées in Paris.

“Greetings, my friend.” Lucas steps forward to clasp my hand in his. “It’s an honor to have you visit my original establishment.”

“Thank you.” I turn to Alessandra and gently grab her by the elbow, tugging her forward. “This is my wife, Alessandra.”

Lucas’s eyes widen. “But I had no idea. Congratulations.”

“We’re keeping things quiet for now.”

Lucas places a finger to his lips. “I am the soul of discretion.”

“Thank you. My wife needs a gown for the International Children’s Charity gala in Santorini tonight.”

Lucas turns to Alessandra and beams. “Madam, I have numerous gowns that you would do justice to.”

Her smile is surprisingly shy. The longer I know her, the more I’m realizing that while my wife may exhibit a strong front, she has an introverted side. A vulnerability she rarely lets anyone see.

“Thank you.”

“No, no, thank you for giving me the opportunity to dress you for tonight’s gala.” He gestures to the open door of his boutique. “Shall we?”

The interior of Kallos Boutique is a fashion designer’s dream. Mannequins are artfully arranged about the floor, raised up on daises and draped in the latest couture gowns. Dresses are crafted of chiffon, silk, lace, many of them adorned with actual diamonds and rubies.

“Michail?”

Alessandra is standing in the middle of the boutique, her eyes round and her lips slightly parted as she takes in the splendor around her. I move closer, all too conscious of the rounded curves of her breasts, the flare of her hips barely visible beneath the fluid material of her shirt.

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I said shopping,” she murmurs under her breath.

“The International Children’s Charity is one of the world’s most renowned funds. The guest list looks more like a who’s who of Milan’s Fashion Week.”

“I understand that, but surely a simple black dress will do.”

“My dear,” Lucas interrupts with a grand flick of his wrist, “a simple black dress will not do justice for a lady such as yourself.”

Her blush deepens. “I only meant to say that—”

“Will you give us a moment, Lucas?”

Lucas winks at me. “But of course.”

He disappears into a sea of jewel-toned fabrics. Instrumental music plays overhead as chandeliers glimmer above. In an hour, his shop will be filled with curious tourists and some of the world’s top politicians, movie stars and otherwise wealthy elite.

Alessandra glances around, her gaze both trepidatious and longing. “This isn’t the kind of place that I usually shop.”

“Lucas is a friend of my mother’s.”

Now I’ve caught her attention. Alessandra’s eyes narrow as she cocks her head to one side.

“Your mom?”

“Believe it or not, Lucas used to be a teacher back in New York.”

Her startled laugh warms me. “A teacher?”

“Yes. Family and consumer science with a focus on fashion.”

Realization flares in her eyes. “You helped him start his boutiques.”

“He was a good friend to my mother when she got her first teaching job. Loyal, supportive. He had a dream. He deserved to see it come to fruition.”

Alessandra stares at me for a long moment before tearing her gaze from mine. “I see.”

She moves toward a mannequin draped in topaz silk.

She glances at the price tag. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve spent more time in her company or if I just know her that well, but I can tell by the subtlest move in her throat and the slight tightening of her lips that these are not the prices she was anticipating when she said she needed a dress for the gala.

I had intended to purchase a gown for her. But this is the first time in recent memory where I have to be cautious on how I phrase what I’m about to say next. Never have I met a woman who would not readily agree to my purchasing her a designer gown.

But Alessandra will. How did I ever think her capable of manipulating our meeting in Santorini for financial gain? While her fierce independence will be an obstacle to my convincing her to forgo a divorce, it’s also something I’m coming to admire about her.

“I’d like to offer you a gift.”

She looks at me, her face carefully blank. “Oh?”

“A dress of your choosing. But,” I add before she can say anything, “I want to offer it as a gift, not a requirement. Not an order. If you decline, and nothing here meets with your approval, there are several boutiques in Santorini we can visit this afternoon before the gala.”

It’s a concession, one I don’t like making. I take care of the people in my life. Her refusal to accept the money wasn’t just obstinance. It felt like a rejection of me and what I have to offer, another setback in our relationship.

But as the plane flew through the night sky, my anger abated enough for me to revisit her words.

To accept that she had, in fact, conceded a great deal.

It had only been two weeks since I found out I was going to be a father.

The same two weeks in which Alessandra left behind a job she was passionate about, moved out of her apartment and accepted a proposal from a man she had initially thought would shirk his responsibility as a parent.

I don’t like that she’s still fighting me at every turn. But I have to remind myself I will not win by pushing her too hard and too fast. If I want her to treat me as an equal when it comes to parenting, I need to offer her the same when it comes to everyday life.

“Why?”

No one I’ve dated before has ever asked that. They’ve just taken what I’ve offered. And what I’ve offered has always been material goods, things that couldn’t tie me down to one person. But as I think over her question, I’m surprised by my own answer.

“Because I want to. I know that while you were very successful in your career, you live frugally.”

I think back to our wedding day, the way she would run her hand over the lace of her wedding dress when she thought no one was looking.

Watching her fingers stroke over the material, imagining peeling the gown away before I laid her down on my bed, made my cock so hard I had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

“You enjoy the finer things in life. You either haven’t had the opportunity, or haven’t given yourself the opportunity, to experience them. I’d like to give you this.”

She stares at me for what feels like an eternity. Her eyes are probing, assessing.

Then, slowly, she dips her head. “I’ll consider it.” Her gaze narrows when the corner of my mouth tilts up into a smirk. “I didn’t say yes.”

“But you didn’t say no.”

Before she can argue, Lucas comes back. “My apologies, but if we only have an hour, I would like to get Mrs. Sullivan into the dressing room as quickly as possible.”

When Alessandra nods, a knot loosens in my chest.