Page 14 of Slightly Married (Irresistible #2)

I sat at the hotel bar’s corner table, nursing my second whiskey as Dimitrios attempted to reason with our cousin. Matthaios’s eyes burned with the same vengeful fire they’d held two months ago in New York.

“Destroying Michail won’t change the past,” Dimitrios said.

“You don’t understand,” Matthaios hissed. At one point nine meters, he’d always been the tallest Christakis, towering even over me. “He took advantage of my mother, then left us for another woman. And you think he should walk away unscathed?”

“We don’t, and he won’t,” I reminded him, maintaining my composure despite the increasingly heated exchange. “Because your existence and his absence from your life alone would destroy him. When I spoke to him, he seemed desperate for a son.”

“I am not his son,” Matthaios said.

“Fine,” I replied evenly. “All I’m saying is you’ve built a profitable company. Why risk everything on revenge?”

“Think about your mother,” Dimitrios added urgently. “She wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what she would want,” Matthaios slammed his fist on the table, rattling our glasses. “That bastard deserves—”

Dimitrios subtly nudged my arm, eyes darting toward the entrance. “Santo’s here,” he murmured, effectively ending our discussion.

We all turned with smiles as my nephew approached. Matthaios rose to his feet and pulled Santo into a bear hug.

“Santo!” he exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder.

Santo’s gaze shifted between us. “Did I interrupt something?” he asked.

“Nothing important,” Dimitrios replied smoothly, signaling for a waiter. “How was practice? Nikos said you were breaking records today.”

I relaxed as Santo settled into the conversation, describing the technical adjustments to his race car with enthusiasm. The boy had always possessed a natural talent for racing, reminiscent of Aristides at a younger age, though with none of my brother’s discipline.

“You’ll dominate at Spa,” I said. “Remember when you took Eau Rouge flat out last year? Even your father was impressed.”

“Though he’d never admit it,” Dimitrios added with a wink.

The earlier confrontation with Matthaios faded into the background as we discussed Santo’s upcoming race. When the waiter arrived with fresh drinks, Dimitrios raised his glass in a toast. “To Belgium, and to Santo, who makes us all look good by association.”

Matthaios and I joined. Whatever our disagreements, family remained paramount. Besides, Santo’s racing prowess was one of the few topics that could unite even the most disparate branches of our family tree.

“New girlfriend?” Matthaios teased when Santo smiled at whatever he saw on his phone.

“Our nephew here is enamored with our American architect,” Dimitrios announced.

“Architect?” Matthaios inquired, reaching for a bread roll.

Dimitrios proceeded to outline the entire situation with Tia. From her saving Santo’s life to her now being the lead architect for Thalassía.

“I still don’t understand why you’d agree to work for Olympus in exchange for her getting the contract,” I said to Santo, narrowing my eyes. “Who is this girl really?”

“Maybe if you spent time at the villa with your new wife, you’d already know,” Santo replied.

Dimitrios laughed uproariously, but I felt my face harden at the unexpected barb. “Maybe you should stay out of grown folks’ business, youngster.”

Santo raised his glass in apparent surrender, but the glint in his eye told me he wasn’t finished. “Sure, I’ll stay out of it. I won’t even comment on the fact that Kayla has been keeping herself entertained by going out frequently with Yiorgos. They go off for hours—”

“Shut up, Santo.” Dimitrios’s voice dropped low.

“What are you implying?” I demanded, setting my glass down. Jealousy spread through my chest at the mention of Kayla and Yiorgos.

Santo shrugged, taking another slow sip. “While you’ve been off gallivanting with your fiancée, your wife decided she needed to create the baby you two should create with someone else. And Yiorgos has been filling that hole... I mean role.”

I told myself it was just Santo being a brat, but each word pierced me, and I fought to maintain my outward composure even as rage gathered within. The image of Kayla with Yiorgos invaded my mind, and my jaw clenched as I struggled to curtail these unexpected emotions.

Memories of Elana’s smile and the way she’d looked at me before ultimately choosing Yiorgos flooded me. I’d buried those feelings years ago, convinced myself that losing her to him had been for the best.

But now, history seemed determined to repeat itself in the cruelest way possible. First Elana, now Kayla. Both gravitated toward Yiorgos instead of me.

The arrangement with Kayla was business, and I had no right to jealousy when I was engaged to Stella. Yet something wounded roared to life inside me.

“You’re a disrespectful little shit. We spoiled you. But you should have been spanked.”

“It’s our own fault,” Matthaios added with an infuriating smile.

“I should beat your ass now,” I threatened.

“You can try.”

I rose from my seat, eyes fixed on Santo, fury boiling inside me. The rational part of my mind knew he was baiting me. But the thought of Kayla with Yiorgos of all people overrode my usual self-control.

Without another word, I turned and stalked out of the restaurant, needing distance before I did something I would regret.

Matthaios hurried after me, calling out my name. I ignored him, desperate to leave Italy and return to Greece.

My cousin grasped my arm, stopping my trek. “What are you planning to do?”

“Teach my wife a lesson.” I shrugged him off and walked away.

I stabbed the elevator button repeatedly, as if the additional force might speed its arrival. Santo’s words echoed in my mind, each repetition stoking my anger further. The elevator doors finally opened, and I stepped inside, jabbing at the button for the penthouse suite.

The ride felt interminable. I loosened my tie, suddenly feeling constricted.

Kayla and Yiorgos? The very thought made me want to punch something. He was a former friend, and she was my wife.

When the elevator doors opened, I strode purposefully toward our suite. Inside, I found Stella face-down on a massage table in the center of the living room, a white-uniformed therapist working on her shoulders.

“Kostas!” she exclaimed, lifting her head. “You’re back early. I thought you’d be with your family for hours.”

“I’m returning to Greece,” I announced, already moving toward my bedroom. “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” She shifted to look at me. “But we have reservations at Valentino’s. My massage will be done in an hour—”

“I don’t have an hour,” I interrupted, pulling my suitcase from the closet. “I need to leave immediately.”

Stella dismissed the masseuse with a flick of her wrist and wrapped herself in the sheet, following me to the bedroom. “Surely whatever business this is can wait until morning?”

Stella had saved my life, stayed by my side through months of recovery. Her loyalty had never wavered. And here I was, abandoning her because of an unconfirmed suspicion about a woman I had repeatedly assured Stella was a business arrangement.

But the image of Kayla with Yiorgos burned through my conscience, overriding rational thought. I couldn’t explain this to Stella when I barely understood it myself.

“It can’t.” I packed my belongings, checking my watch. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. When you’re ready to return to Greece, contact Andreas. He’ll arrange your flight.”

“You can’t just leave—”

But I was already walking out the door, her protests fading behind me. One call to my pilot confirmed the jet would be ready within fifteen minutes.

By early evening, the plane touched down at Athens International. I instructed my driver to proceed directly to the estate, watching impatiently as the familiar landscape passed by my window.

When I arrived, the butler informed me Kayla was in the garden. I made my way through the villa’s corridors, my footsteps echoing against the marble.

The scene that greeted me in the garden only intensified my earlier irritation.

Kayla sat with an array of hair products spread on a table next to her while her fingers worked through Tia’s hair. Yiorgos lounged across from them, his boisterous laughter suggesting a comfort with my wife.

“Konstantin!” Tia’s voice brightened with surprise.

I acknowledged her with a curt nod while my attention fixed on Kayla.

Without preamble, I approached Kayla, who had yet to acknowledge my presence. “May I speak to you privately, please?”

“I’m busy,” she replied coolly, still not meeting my gaze as she continued working on Tia’s hair.

“I flew back from Italy specifically to speak with you.”

“And I specifically said I’m busy.” Her tone carried a defiant edge.

“It’s okay, Kayla. We can finish my hair later,” Tia offered.

“Absolutely not. I promised you we’d finish this tonight.” She picked up the comb after she was done with the braid and parted a small section of Tia’s hair.

Yiorgos rose from his seat. “Perhaps I should go,” he suggested, glancing between us with a hint of a smile.

“Don’t be silly,” Kayla said, reaching out to touch his arm. “You promised to tell us about your trip to Mykonos.”

Something inside me snapped at the dismissal. The casual way she touched him, the syrupy tone when addressing Yiorgos, and her blatant refusal to acknowledge my request were too much.

I needed her anger, her fire, anything but her indifference. I needed her to feel as much as I did.

I studied her for a moment, weighing options. Then, having reached a conclusion, I lifted Kayla by the waist and threw her over my shoulder.

She shrieked, her surprise quickly transforming into outrage as she pounded against my back. “Put me down right now, Konstantin! This isn’t funny!”

“This isn’t intended to be humorous,” I replied, adjusting my grip to better secure her.

Before continuing, I turned back toward Yiorgos. “I expect you’ll never step foot on this property again,” I said. “And in the future, I suggest you find someone else’s wife to entertain you.”

With the final warning delivered, I resumed my stride through the villa. Kayla’s colorful language echoed through the corridors as staff members paused their activities to stare. The villa’s gossip mill would be working overtime, but that was a secondary concern to the matter at hand.

“Konstantinos!” My mother’s shocked voice cut through Kayla’s protests. “What on earth are you doing? Put her down at once!”

I met her gaze without breaking stride. “Weren’t you recently advising me to spend more time with my wife? I’m following your counsel.”

I carried my furious wife to the waiting car, carefully depositing her onto the back seat before sliding in beside her. Her braids had partially escaped their styling.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Kayla demanded, eyes flashing with indignation. “Let me out!” She lunged across my lap toward the door, struggling with the handle.

“No.” The single word carried a note of finality.

“You can’t just haul me around whenever you feel like it.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly with anger.

“I have, and will do it again if you keep testing me.” I leaned closer, dropping my voice to a dangerous register. “Are you fucking Yiorgos?”

“If I am,” she answered breathlessly, chin tilted in defiance, “it’s none of your goddamn business.”

“You are my wife. Not his.”

She let out a laugh. “Oh, that’s rich coming from the man with a fiancée. Let me make something clear to you. I can fuck and suck whomever I please.”

The thought of her with another man tore through my control. I seized her wrist, pulling her closer until our breaths mingled. “Not while you bear my name,” I growled, not recognizing my own voice.

Kayla leaned closer, challenging me with her proximity. “It’s temporary. Just like this marriage.”

I dragged her onto my lap. “There’s nothing temporary about what I feel when I touch you.”

The confession surprised me as much as it seemed to surprise her. Her eyes widened, and before I could say any more, she captured my lips within hers. I tasted the sweetness of the berry lip balm she favored.

The kiss was hot and heavy, a battle for dominance that neither of us was willing to lose. Her hands gripped my shirt; whether to push me away or pull me closer, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care.

My hands glided over her curves, drawing a gasp from her lips as I cupped her breast through the delicate fabric of her dress. I growled in frustration, needing more, needing her.

The kiss turned feral—too much want, not enough control. Her moan was a promise. Her hands didn’t push me away. They pulled.

And that was my undoing.

With a sudden, violent motion, I tore her dress, the sound of ripping fabric filling the car.