Page 20 of Pregnant Behind the Veil (Brides for Greek Brothers #3)

“Once my parents split, we moved back to my mother’s hometown.

I don’t know the details, but I know my grandparents provided some financial support.

” She sighs. “It came with conditions like her agreeing to have dinner with one of my grandmother’s best friend’s sons that she thought more appropriate as a potential husband than my father.

They paid for her degree as long as she was pursuing a degree they approved.

Nursing was not on that list. Not prestigious enough.

” Her half laugh is sharp, biting. “She made my mom feel more like a commodity than a daughter. A bargaining chip to get her into a better lifestyle. My grandmother also never let her forget the mistakes she had made, first in getting together with my father and then becoming pregnant and then getting married.”

“But she broke free.”

Alessandra nods, but the pain on her face cuts through me. How did I ever think her impervious? Cold?

“The night Mom cut her parents out of her life, we were over for dinner. I was six. Sitting on the couch. My mom and grandmother were arguing, but it wasn’t anything that struck me as abnormal.

They often argued.” She shakes her head.

“But that night was different. My mom was refusing to go out with the son of one of my grandmother’s friends.

She was furious. She told my mom that having a permanent reminder of the worst mistake my mom had ever made humiliated her.

That…” Her throat works as she swallows, her eyes drifting from mine and focusing on some distant point over my shoulder. “That I looked just like my father.”

Red fills my vision. I have to consciously keep my grasp gentle at her waist, my grip on her hand loose as we continue about the dance floor.

“Your grandmother is a bitch.”

Alessandra’s laugh is relieved, as if she can breathe now that she’s shared the ugliest parts of her childhood.

“That’s one way to put it. I heard a crack.

My mom slapped her across the face. She told my grandmother that the evidence of her worst mistake was the best thing that had ever happened to her. ”

I’ve known for my investigation that Alessandra’s mother was a woman to be admired. But now, after hearing that, I want to nominate the woman for a damn sainthood. There’s regret, too, that our son won’t know her.

“She sounds like an incredible person.”

“She was. We left my grandparents’ four-bedroom, three-bathroom town house and went home.

A six-floor walkup with a shower that worked half the time and an oven we used to heat the apartment in the winter because the furnace barely worked.

” She shakes her head. “Not that I wanted to live with my grandparents. But they knew how hard my mom was working, and they still set standards designed to hurt rather than help.”

I know all too well what it’s like to go to a place that should be home but is just a reminder of everything you don’t have.

It’s not the lack of material possessions that make it hell.

It’s the lack of support coupled with the judgment of people who tell you all the things you could do to be better even as they hold the very resources you need with clenched fists.

“When we got back to our apartment, my mom locked the door behind us. She sat me down and told me that it was just her and me against the world. That we couldn’t trust anyone besides ourselves.

” Her voice grows thick as I whirl her around the floor, beneath the dazzling lights among a sea of tuxedos and gowns.

“She told me that night the only person we could trust was each other.”

More pieces of the puzzle click into place.

Alessandra’s fierce independence, her unwillingness to entertain the possibility of a relationship.

Her only experience with fathers has been an absent one, similar to my own, and what I’m guessing was a judgmental grandfather.

She hasn’t mentioned him. But the fact that he didn’t intervene, didn’t stop his wife’s cruelty, says enough about his character.

The very people she should have been able to trust, to rely on, had deemed her as nothing more than an unfortunate circumstance.

“I fought tooth and nail to get where I am today.” She raises her eyes to meet mine. “Alone. I could always depend on myself.”

The music draws to a close. We come to a stop. But before I can say anything, a voice cuts through.

“Mr. Sullivan.”

Lykios, I think irritably, has impeccable timing.

“Apologies for my sudden departure.”

“No apology necessary.” Alessandra smiles at Lykios even as she shoots me a warning glance.

“Thank you for your understanding. Now, as per the will, I needed to not only review the official documentation certifying your marriage but actually lay eyes on you as a couple.” He smiles, amusement in his eyes.

“After that dance, I can safely say that I acknowledge your marriage and fully authorize you to collect the paintings of your mother.”

I mask my relief as I give him a simple nod. “Thank you.”

“The paintings were moved into storage at Lucifer’s penthouse on the main island.” Lykios hands me a card with an address written on the back. “You’ll have to make your own arrangements for sending the paintings wherever you want them to go.”

“Thank you.”

Lykios glances at Alessandra. She tenses, as do I. If the man even attempts to suggest anything seedy, I’ll escort him over to the railing and toss him into the sea.

“I admired your handling of the O’Roarke case in New York.”

Her lips part. “Oh. Well, thank you.”

“Masterfully handled.” He shakes his head. “I lost quite a handsome bet on it not going to trial.”

Alessandra’s smile is amused. “I would apologize, but given that I kept the family out of court and resolved it to everyone’s satisfaction, I’ll simply say better luck next time.”

Lykios chuckles and offers his hand. “I’m sorry for the extra step in this whole process. Best wishes to you both.”

Alessandra sighs with relief as he walks away. “Well, at least that’s over.”

“Yes.” I glance down at the card, my heart thudding against my ribs. It’s only a few minutes past eight o’clock. If I remember correctly, the penthouse is less than five minutes from here. There are five paintings total. The limo can easily accommodate them.

“I’ll have the driver take you back to the villa.”

Alessandra tenses. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll have him take you back to the villa and then have him meet me at the penthouse. I want the paintings taken to the airport tonight and flown out as soon as possible. I’ll feel better when they’re back on American soil.”

Silence stretches between us. Then, finally, Alessandra speaks. “I thought I was coming with you.”

My walls shoot up. Yes, Alessandra and I have gotten to know each other much better in the last few days. But the thought of her being there when I finally take possession of my mother’s paintings, of having her be so intimately involved, is a line I’m not ready to cross.

“I think it would be better if you go back to the villa and rest.”

The severing of the connection between us is a cold, vicious cut. I know as soon as I’ve spoken that any progress she and I have made has been eradicated in one fell swoop.

“Alessandra—”

“No.” She steps back, a mere foot, but it might as well be a canyon for all the distance it puts between us. “You’re right. This is a matter for family. I’ll see you back at the villa.”

She turns in a swirl of violet fabric and moves through the crowd with her head held high.

I follow at a steady pace, my eyes trained on her back as I follow her through the terrace doors, down a hallway and into a room.

A library, I note, as I close the doors behind me and lock them.

We don’t need an audience for this discussion.

Alessandra is standing by a window, one hand clenched onto a red brocade curtain as if it’s the only thing keeping her from floating away. She’s staring out the window at the sea, shoulders tense, neck rigid.

“Go away.”

“No.”

She shakes her head. “Of course you didn’t want me to come with you to get the paintings, so you tell me to go back to the villa. Then, when I do leave, you suddenly change your mind and just like that—” she snaps her fingers “—everyone must follow Michail Sullivan’s orders.”

I slip my hands into my pockets, count to ten. “The paintings are a private matter.”

Her laugh is sharp and tinged with bitterness. “Yes. So private the mother of your child with whom you just had sex with two hours ago can’t be there.”

“So I’m to allow you all the independence you crave, yet you’re allowed to invade my privacy whenever you choose?”

She whirls around. “I will respect your privacy. But I thought I was a part of this.” She holds up her left hand. The emerald in her engagement ring winks in the dim light. “Wasn’t that one of the primary reasons for us getting married?”

“Yes, and I appreciate that you helped make this acquisition possible.”

Her cheeks pale. “Appreciate it,” she repeats dully. “God, I’m such an idiot. I unburden myself to you, tell you some of the hardest parts of my life, and then five minutes later, you shut me out.”

I waver. Think about what it would be like to have her by my side when I see the paintings for the first time. A steady, calming presence.

I know exactly how she’d act. But the unknown factor, the reason why I can’t say yes, is me. I can’t have her there when I’m not sure of how I’m going to respond.

“You won’t ever let me in, will you?”

The soft words cut through me like a dagger, the pain in her voice a far more powerful punishment than I ever imagined.

“Alessandra, it’s not that I won’t, I—”

“Can’t.” A mask drops over her face. The same mask she wore when I walked into her office for the first time. “There’s a difference.”

My spine stiffens as I advance forward. “I’ve told you why.”

“Bits and pieces. I’ve been repeatedly placing my trust in you, sharing my most vulnerable moments with you, my body…” Her voice breaks and she spins away, facing the window once more. “This must be how our mothers felt.”

I freeze. Blinding fury surges up, but I squelch it, summon the cold control that will see me through this.

“Our mothers?”

Slowly, she turns to face me. “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, I think you did.” I step closer. “Like father, like son?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s not—”

“It is.” I lean down. “I may not be as willing to disclose as you, but I’ve done my own share of opening up and placing my trust in you.

If you can’t see that, if you’re demanding more than I’m prepared to give even as you compare me to the man who destroyed my ability to trust, then perhaps it’s your turn to look in the mirror and see who you resemble. ”

I turn my back on the mother of my child and stalk out of the room.