Page 28 of Slightly Married (Irresistible #2)

T he door to our bedroom flew open with such force it rebounded against the wall. Kayla stormed in with the intensity of a Mediterranean cyclone.

“Matt Christopher? He’s your cousin Matthaios and your aunt’s son with my father.”

Not a question. A statement.

“Yes.” I straightened to my full height. Evasion would serve neither of us now. The truth deserved acknowledgment.

“And did you ever plan to tell me?”

“I intended to tell you before you rushed out to find Tia.”

“Convenient.” She spat the word, advancing until mere inches separated us. The ferocity of her anger was almost tangible between us.

“Did you know about his plans to destroy my father’s company and use my sister in the process?” Her eyes narrowed, searching my face.

I considered my response carefully, as I always did when confronted with difficult truths in business. This wasn’t business, though. This was my marriage, my family, my life.

“Yes.”

“You lied to me.”

“I was protecting my aunt.” The moment the words left my mouth, I knew they were the wrong ones.

Kayla’s legs buckled suddenly, her body crumpling toward the carpeted floor. I moved instinctively, reaching out to catch her before she fell completely, but she recoiled from my approach.

“Don’t touch me!” The words lashed out with unexpected venom as she braced herself against the floor. “I don’t need your help!”

Every muscle in my body tensed with the effort to remain where I stood. My instinct to protect her warred with my respect for her boundaries.

I watched as she settled herself on the wall, still looking dangerously pale. Her hand pressed against her abdomen. The protective gesture toward our child provided me with a measure of relief despite everything else unraveling between us.

“I knew that my cousin had plans regarding your father’s company,” I admitted. “Though I had no specifics about his methods.”

“I’ll tell you how he’s gone about it. He’s been slowly buying up shares, all the while pretending to help my father identify who was behind it.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “That two-faced bastard. And now he’s forced Daddy out of his own company.”

The anguish in her expression cut through me more effectively than any bullet. I’d seen Kayla angry, joyful, passionate, but this suffering was entirely new.

Her eyes found mine again, burning with accusation. “All your talk about protecting me and our child was a lie. You used me, too. To get what you wanted.”

“I never wanted your family to be harmed—”

“Bullshit!” The word exploded from her. “You picked sides. And it wasn’t me and our baby!”

I exhaled heavily. “That’s not true. What Matthaios did or didn’t do has nothing to do with us or how I feel about you.”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, really? Simone called me from the hospital, where our father had been admitted. Are you saying his health has no bearing on me and how it might affect my behavior in this marriage?”

“Your father is in the hospital? How serious is it?”

“Why do you care?” she challenged. “It’s not like he’s part of your family.”

I took a breath, fighting to maintain my stance when every cell longed to go to her and make this right. “You have every right to be angry with me. I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t, and there’s nothing I can do now to change the past except work to move past this.”

“Move past?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “How the fuck do I move past being lied to by the family I was beginning to trust and by the man I loved?”

I stepped closer, careful not to crowd her.

“Kayla, I...” I paused. The simple apology seemed inadequate.

“Our arrangement was not meant to become this. When it did. When you became an important part of my life, I failed to disclose what I should have. The risk of losing you outweighed my obligation to honesty. That was... unacceptable of me.”

“That’s a shame.” She rose unsteadily to her feet. I remained rooted in place, though every fiber of my being wanted to reach out to ensure she didn’t fall again. “Because we’re done!”

“Michaela, don’t do this.” Five simple words conveying nothing of what I actually felt and what she meant to me.

Kayla’s laugh held no trace of the teasing quality I’d grown to crave. “Who’s going to stop me?”

The smaller Christakis jet cut through the clouds at thirty-five thousand feet, and the steady hum of engines failed to drown out my thoughts.

I adjusted the papers before me, more from habit than necessity.

The documents demanded my attention, but my mind kept returning to the closed bedroom door at the rear of the cabin.

True to her word, Kayla had spent the entire flight sequestered in there without uttering a single word to me. I video-conferenced with Andreas while ignoring the pain settling beneath my ribs.

Finalizing the deal with the Americans couldn’t wait, regardless of my personal crisis. I instructed him to finalize the presentation with my pre-approved amendments and to represent me if necessary.

Olympus Motors relied on my consistency, even when my personal life was shattering. I had failed Kayla, but I wouldn’t compound that by failing my other responsibilities as well.

I checked my watch. Still four hours until landing. Four hours to find the right words to fix what I’d broken.

The prospect of this conversation with my wife left me uncharacteristically uncertain. How to explain that family loyalty had seemed paramount until she became my family too?

When the pilot announced our descent into New York, I glanced toward the bedroom where Kayla stayed throughout the flight. The door remained firmly closed.

The moment we cleared customs, Kayla bolted. I spotted her friend Lauren waiting as we made our way past security. Their silhouettes merged in a tight hug before they walked away together.

By the time I arrived at the family’s Upper East Side penthouse, the loss of my wife’s presence had turned into a hard, cold anger. The door opened at my approach, a solitary staff member nodding deferentially as I strode past without acknowledgment.

My family’s voices drifted from the main living area, discussing strategy and damage control. I had no desire to join their discussion, instead moving deeper into the residence where the lights were dimmer and the air quieter.

I came upon Aristides and Santo in the hallway outside the library, connected by a length of steel chain barely longer than the span of two hands. The incongruity of the scene cut through my preoccupation.

“What is this, Aris?” I asked.

My brother glanced up. “Desperate times require unconventional measures.”

Santo, normally quick with a retort, remained uncharacteristically silent, his expression thunderous as he stood rigidly beside his father. The tension in his jaw reminded me of myself at his age.

“I’m sure whatever he did doesn’t warrant being handcuffed like a prisoner,” I observed, setting down my briefcase against the wall. Despite my nephew’s often irritating behavior, I’d never approved of Aristides’s heavy-handed approach to parenting.

“Tia ended things and asked to be left alone,” Aristides explained. “This hothead would be on her doorstep wherever she is if I hadn’t had the foresight to ask the guards to cuff us together.”

“How long do you plan to keep this up?” I asked, noting the redness around Santo’s wrist where the metal had already begun to chafe.

Aris shrugged, the subtle movement causing the chain between them to clink softly. “Until I see fit to unleash him upon the world once more. Hopefully as a better man.”

Santo scoffed and muttered a curse, but my brother remained unmoved. I met my nephew’s gaze, recognizing the same stubborn pride I’d often seen in my own reflection.

For once, I couldn’t extract him from his predicament as I had so many times before. Some lessons, it seemed, had to be learned through personal suffering. A truth I was now experiencing firsthand.

“I tried,” I told him before continuing toward the guest suite that would now be mine alone.

Turning the corner into the east corridor, I collided directly with Matthaios. The decision was instantaneous. My fist connected with his jaw before conscious thought could intervene.

He stumbled backward into an antique sideboard; crystal decanters clinked as his weight shifted against the mahogany. Shock registered in his eyes for only a moment before narrowing with Christakis fury.

“What the—” was all he said before launching himself forward, driving me back against the walnut-paneled wall with enough force to expel the air from my lungs. The family portrait beside my head tilted askew.

As boys, we’d wrestled countless times on Thalassía’s beaches and in the villa’s gardens, but this was different. The playfulness of youth had been replaced by anger.

An antique Venetian vase—a wedding gift to my parents decades ago—crashed to the marble floor, shattering in a constellation of blue and gold fragments as my shoulder caught the pedestal.

The distinctive scent of the dried lavender it had contained joined the heavier notes of exertion and aggression filling the air.

“Ti diáolo káneis!” My mother’s voice cut through our grunts and curses, filling the corridor. “Stop this at once!” Her slippers crushed ceramic shards as she approached with Irida close behind her.

We were on the floor now, locked in a contest of strength and will. The rug beneath us offered little cushioning against the hard floor beneath. The taste of blood filled my mouth where my lip had split against my teeth.

A large hand insinuated itself between us, and Alexei physically separated us. Dimitrios secured Matthaios, pinning his arms while maintaining a firm grip to prevent further aggression.

Though physically restrained, we continued to glare at each other across the now-disordered hallway. Matthaios’s breath came in sharp bursts, a thin trickle of blood from his nose staining the collar of his shirt.