Page 7 of Pregnant Behind the Veil (Brides for Greek Brothers #3)

Alessandra

I thought my view of New York from my corner office was unparalleled. But as I sit on the terrace of Michail’s penthouse ninety-one floors above Fifth Avenue, I’m forced to admit it doesn’t hold a candle to this.

The entire city is spread out beneath me.

As night rolls across the sky, lanterns flick on in Central Park beneath me, dots of gold glimmering behind leafy trees.

The lake is a wandering, dark shape toward the north end of the park, a natural oasis amid steel and stone.

Skyscrapers, towers and the thousands of other buildings that make up Manhattan glitter with millions of lights.

It’s beautiful. Stunning. The kind of view most people will never see in a lifetime.

But instead of relaxing and enjoying myself, I’m tense, waiting for Michail to make an appearance.

We’ve seen each other a few times today.

But almost all our interactions have been less than five minutes and consisted of Michail asking if I was okay, if I was eating, and then disappearing upstairs to his office.

Leaving me torn between relief and irritation.

A chilly breeze stirs my hair and makes me shiver.

The doctor finally cleared me to leave this morning.

A nurse wheeled me out a private entrance where Michail was waiting with his car, a sleek Rolls-Royce with tiny lights embedded in the ceiling and black leather seats that felt like I was sinking into a cloud.

He thankfully turned on the radio for our thirty-minute drive to my apartment in Queens.

He insisted on walking me up. I countered with ordering him to stay in the hallway.

When I go back, I need that space to still be mine.

To not carry any memories associated with Michail.

I packed a few essentials, then dosed for the ride back to Manhattan.

I woke up when Michail pulled into the private parking garage beneath Central Park Tower.

The three-minute ride from beneath New York to one of the tallest floors in the world felt like an eternity.

He stayed on the other side of the elevator, his handsome face dark and brooding, his gaze fixed on the control panel.

Once we reached his penthouse, he gave me a quick tour of the four-bedroom, five-bathroom space, including my own bedroom with more jaw-dropping views and a marble soaking tub.

It took every ounce of control I had not to let my relief show on my face when he had to go into the office for one last meeting before working from home the rest of the week.

It gave me an hour to explore my new surroundings and, yes, snoop.

The penthouse is inherently masculine, black-trimmed furniture with hunter green cushions, offset by pale-colored walls and the massive windows that made me feel like I was on the same level as the sun.

The rooms practically glowed in the midday light.

But my exploration was jarring, too. Glimpses of the man behind the seductive lover I knew in Santorini and the cold, calculating scion of his own security empire.

A spy thriller left on an end table with a bookmark stuck between the pages.

A surprising number of watercolors, mostly landscapes, on the walls.

I hadn’t gone past the threshold of his room; that would have been creepy.

But I did stand in the doorway and glance around, noting the massive bed with a black headboard and a divan in that same shade of dark green arranged in front of another epic window.

I could easily imagine lying there on a day when the clouds hung low over the city and feeling like I was living in the sky.

And then turning as Michail entered the room, stretching out my hand as I invited him to join me—

I’d slammed the brakes on my runaway imagination and turned to leave when I’d spied the framed photograph on his bedside table.

Michail and an older woman with silver hair falling over her shoulder in a long braid.

He had one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, a huge smile on both their faces.

His mother.

His smile had slammed against the walls I’d constructed around my heart. So too had the protective, loving way he held his mother against him as they stood on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

I’d wanted to learn more about the father of my child. And I did, including that he likes to read and enjoys brandy, judging by the very expensive bottles I spied in his pantry. And chocolate. The man has enough bags of M&Ms in his kitchen pantry to last through an apocalypse.

But the experience was also intimate, little insights into a man I crave and detest in equal measure.

I’d gone back downstairs and grabbed a fantasy book off the shelf in his living room before settling into the deep cushions.

No more snooping. No more insight into a man who continues to tempt me to break every promise I ever made to my mother to keep myself safe.

To not make the same mistake she did and fall for a handsome face hiding an ugly soul.

I tuck a bookmark between the pages of the novel and close it. I can’t remember the last time I read for pleasure. For a few hours, there were no controlling billionaires, fainting episodes or worrying about the future. Just a young woman learning to navigate a world of dragons and treachery.

A quiet whoosh sounds behind me. A door sliding open. The hairs on my arms rise up as my heartbeat quickens.

Another problem I didn’t anticipate: my wild hormones making me very, very aware of Michail.

Aside from that forty-five-minute break, he’s been here the whole day.

Us being in separate rooms for almost all of it didn’t make a difference to my body.

Every time I heard the deep murmur of his voice as he made a phone call or the creak of him going up the stairs to the second floor, my pulse ricocheted as the muscles between my thighs tightened.

“Are you cold?”

I grit my teeth. His husky voice sweeps over me even as the question itself kindles my irritation.

Part of the problem is me. I’m used to doing things on my own.

The only person who ever took care of me, who I felt like I could trust, was my mom.

Having someone who doesn’t even like me that much sliding into that role with such confidence is uncomfortable.

Slowly, I make myself relax. It’s not a weakness to ask for help. I’d always encouraged my clients to reach out to relatives and loved ones. To be aware of when they need support.

But to be the one to acknowledge that I need help, that I can’t handle something on my own, feels like failure.

“It is breezy.”

Something warm and soft wraps around me. I stiffen against the melting sensation inside my chest as Michail drapes a blanket over my shoulders. His woodsy scent drifts up from the fleece. I barely resist the urge to bury my face in the cozy fabric and inhale.

“Thank you.”

He walks around my chair. My breath catches in my chest. His hair is rumpled, thick locks falling over his forehead as if he’s run his fingers through it repeatedly.

The top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone.

I glimpse tanned skin in the dimming light.

His black pants hug his thighs and emphasize his sheer size as he walks across the terrace to a chair right next to the wall.

With New York City at his back and the encroaching night, he looks like a dark, mythical god.

I glare down at the book. No more fantasy for me.

“How was your day?”

His tone is conversational, as if we were any other ordinary couple catching up at the end of a long day. The pang of longing is thankfully short-lived. We’re not a couple. We never will be. He can’t stand me, and despite my physical attraction, I’m not a fan of his, either.

“Fine. Yours?”

“I took another look at Lucifer’s will.”

Not at all what I was expecting him to say. But a safer topic than the baby or what we’ll do after he’s born.

“Is anything wrong?”

His lips quirk into a sexy almost smile that makes my heart do a small flip in my chest.

“Aside from his manipulative stipulations, no.”

I glance out over Central Park again. Lucifer had first mentioned the marriage clause when I’d visited him in Santorini.

The first and thankfully only time I ever met with him in person.

Never in my career had I had a client demand something that devious and controlling.

His threat to have me fired hadn’t fazed me.

But his oath to wreck Kingston and ruin the careers of everyone in the firm had.

A shudder passes through me. That was the day I got a glimpse of the devil people had whispered about.

The man may have been dying, but his impending demise hadn’t dampened his ability to hurl vases against walls or fling cruel insults designed to cut so deeply you couldn’t help but wonder if he saw something no one else did.

“I didn’t agree with it.”

“Yet you wrote it in?”

My back straightens, but unlike the previous times we’ve argued, there’s no malice in his tone, no anger on his handsome face. Just curiosity.

“No. The original will evenly divided his assets between Rafael and Gavriil with no stipulations. He told me he wanted it included, but when I raised doubts, he ordered me out of the house. I was surprised when he didn’t reach out, but I thought maybe he saw reason.

” I sigh. “The updated will included both the marriage clause and you. Although if he had decided to ask me to make the change, I would have been obligated to abide by his wishes.”

A fact my boss, Lauri, had reminded me of when I’d traveled back to New York and requested an emergency meeting.

But she hadn’t taken his threats lightly, either.

She’d stopped by my office later that day to tell me she had had a personal phone call with Lucifer and issued her own ultimatums if he ever threatened one of her people again.