Page 7 of Slightly Married (Irresistible #2)

T he car door opened, and I stepped out first, offering my hand to Kayla. She hesitated briefly before accepting it.

A curious sensation traveled from our point of contact up my arm, settling somewhere beneath my ribcage. I found myself suddenly aware of a thin silver ring on her right index finger and the geometric pattern of her short nails painted in a deep burgundy.

I escorted her up the marble steps and towards the receiving room . My hand hovered near the small of her back without quite touching her.

The receiving room’s high ceilings and antique furnishings created a dramatic backdrop for the family members waiting inside. I had texted them ahead of our arrival.

“Welcome home, Kostas,” my mother said, stepping forward first. Her silver-streaked dark hair was styled impeccably, as always.

“Mother,” I replied, “may I present Kayla Athanasiou.”

Mother’s hands outstretched to grasp Kayla’s. “Welcome,” she said warmly in Greek. “You are beautiful.”

She pulled Kayla into an embrace, catching my new wife off guard.

“Thank you for your welcome,” Kayla replied in perfect Greek, earning a pleased smile from my mother.

“I am Domna,” she continued, still holding Kayla’s hands. “And these are my sons, Aristides, and Dimitrios.”

Aristides stepped forward, offering a brief, correct bow of his head. “Welcome to our family,” he said. “I trust your journey was comfortable.”

“As comfortable as sharing a flight with my husband’s fiancée could be,” Kayla replied evenly.

My eldest brother’s eyebrow lifted as his gaze shifted to me. “I see.”

Dimitrios broke the tension with a warm laugh, stepping forward to kiss Kayla’s cheeks. “I like her already,” he announced. “Finally, someone who might keep you on your toes, Kostas.” He winked at Kayla.

Kayla smiled, her posture relaxing. The transformation was remarkable. Her smile revealed a dimple in her left cheek I hadn’t noticed before.

Something in me wanted to see that smile again, directed at me rather than my brother. The thought was irritating.

Finally, my father’s sister approached, her posture rigid. Her eyes assessed Kayla with unmistakable coolness.

“Michail’s daughter,” she said. “How interesting that after all these years, our families should be joined.”

Kayla met her gaze directly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The sound of voices in the marble foyer interrupted the introductions. Moments later, Santo burst through the doorway, shopping bags hanging from his arms, with a dark-skinned, curvy young woman following more hesitantly behind him.

“Wife?” Santo blurted after I introduced Kayla. He strode forward while the woman lingered near the doorway. “Since when? What happened to Stella?”

I shifted my gaze to the girl at Santo’s side. “And who might this be?” I asked.

“This is Tia Massey,” Santo answered with unusual warmth. “She saved me.”

Recognition clicked into place. This was the young woman who’d pulled him from his car after an accident a few days ago. The one who’d likely prevented his funeral.

“Ah! The American!” I stepped forward, taking her hand between both of mine in genuine gratitude. “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, Miss Massey.”

“Likewise,” she murmured, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

I turned back to the matter at hand, gesturing to Kayla, who stood with remarkable composure beside me. “And this is Kayla Athanasiou. My wife.”

The word felt foreign on my tongue. We’d been married for less than twenty-four hours, yet the reality of our arrangement was only now becoming tangible as I introduced her to my family.

“Hello,” Kayla said, extending her hand to Tia.

Santo pressed on with his interrogation. “When did this happen? Is she Michail’s daughter?” His rapid-fire questions cut through the superficial calm. “Does Matthaios know?”

The mention of Matthaios caused my stomach to knot. My cousin’s plans for revenge against Michail complicated an already delicate situation. I exchanged a glance with Aristides.

“Perhaps Tia should bring her purchases to her room,” Aristides suggested, his authoritative tone providing the perfect exit strategy. “While a maid shows Kayla to her suite.”

“An excellent suggestion,” my mother agreed quickly, her eyes communicating volumes about the family discussion that would follow.

I watched Kayla follow the maid toward my rooms, noting how she took in her surroundings with keen interest. I wondered what she was thinking, what assessments she was making behind those expressive eyes.

The moment the women disappeared, Aristides began. “Before anything is said, we should all thank Kostas for getting Thalassía back into the hands of the Christakis family again. Well done, brother.”

This room had witnessed countless family discussions over generations, but few as consequential as this one.

“Our current ownership is only conditional,” I replied, feeling the weight of the antique signet ring on my finger. “There’s another element of our agreement that first needs to be satisfied.”

My brother gave me a quizzical look, the lines around his eyes deepening as he waited. The crystal decanter clinked against a glass as Santo poured himself a drink.

“The deed will only be in our possession when Kayla and I produce Michail’s grandchild.”

What followed my announcement was stillness, a moment so quiet that even the air seemed to harden around us.

Aunt Irida was the first one to break, slumping and letting her face fall into her hands as she began sobbing. Her body trembled with emotion. My mother reached for her, guiding her sister-in-law into a chair next to her, whispering something private and soothing.

Dimitrios moved to stand between them, one hand on each woman’s shoulder. “You should have walked away,” he said harshly. “Given the circumstances.” He glanced down at Irida, who looked broken. “This won’t end well.”

“I am doing this for Baba. For us.”

“This is madness, Konstantinos! Absolute madness!” Her voice echoed off the high ceilings. “You have no idea what you’ve done by agreeing to this.”

“Theia, please—” I began, but she cut me off with a slashing motion of her hand.

“Don’t ‘Theia’ me! Not when you’ve invited the daughter of that lying, manipulative, worthless excuse for a man into our home!” Her chest heaved with emotion. “Michail Athanasiou is a heartless, dishonorable snake who uses people like tissues and discards them just as easily!”

Dimitrios patted her shoulder. “Theia, this isn’t helping—”

“Helping?” She laughed. “Was it helping when that bastard promised me the world and then disappeared? Was it helping when he seduced me with his fancy words and promises of forever?” She pointed toward the door Kayla had exited.

“And now his daughter will roam our halls and sleep under our roof while I’m expected to smile and pretend this isn’t hurting me! ”

Santo stood frozen by the drink cart, eyes wide as he witnessed his great-aunt’s meltdown. Aristides moved to close the double doors and windows, ensuring the staff wouldn’t overhear.

“Michail Athanasiou is lower than dirt,” Irida continued, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “A spineless coward who couldn’t even reject me to my face. A man who—” Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her mouth.

My mother guided her back to the chair. “Enough, Irida. Think of your health.”

For a moment, the only sounds were Irida’s ragged breathing. I remained where I stood, stunned by the force of her outburst. While we had all known what had happened decades ago, I’d never seen my composed, dignified aunt lose control like this.

“You know he abandoned me,” she finally said, looking directly at me, her breathing still uneven. “But you don’t know everything.”

“What don’t we know, Theia?” I asked quietly, moving to sit across from her.

She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief Aristides had provided.

“It was arranged by our parents,” she began, her voice steadier now.

“Michail and I had known each other for years because he was friends with your father and Stavros. I was pleased with the match. He was handsome, ambitious... I thought myself fortunate.”

My mother squeezed her hand encouragingly.

“We were to be married in the spring. A month before the wedding, he began expressing doubts.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “He suggested we... be together... to ensure our compatibility. He swore it would help convince him we could make a marriage work.”

I shifted uncomfortably, not accustomed to hearing such personal details from my aunt.

“I loved him,” she continued. “So I agreed. Then he left for America on business two weeks before our wedding.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “A week before our wedding, he called to say he had fallen in love with someone else and married her.”

Irida’s hands trembled as she smoothed her skirt. “I learned I was pregnant the same day he called.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I was carrying his child while he was promising forever to someone else.”

The room fell utterly silent. Santo had moved closer, his earlier flippancy gone.

“I flew to New York,” Irida continued. “I thought surely if he knew about the baby, he would reconsider. But when I found him...” Her voice broke. “He told me he loved his new wife and wanted nothing to do with our marriage. He apologized, as if sorry could mend what he’d broken and taken from me.”

“And you never told him about Matthaios,” I said. We had all known this part of the story, that Michail remained ignorant of Matthaios’ existence.

She looked up at me. “After such humiliation? Never. My pride wouldn’t allow it.”

“Theia—” Aristides began, but she continued.

“He said he’d met his true love, and wouldn’t ever marry me.” Her voice hardened. “He threatened me when I called his wife a stripper. He wouldn’t allow me to tell him about Matthaios and turned his back on me.”

“I’m sorry, Theia,” I said finally. “I didn’t know how deeply he hurt you.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she replied, her composure returning. “You were children, and your father protected me from the worst of it. He insisted we cut off dealings with Michail for Matthaios’ sake.”

The image of my cousin in New York, working for the father who didn’t know he existed, took on new dimensions. His bitterness now seemed more justified.

“This arrangement is temporary,” I assured her. “Once the child is born and Thalassía is legally ours, Kayla will return to America.”

“And the child?” My mother asked softly. “Your child, Kostas. What then?”

Until now, the child had been a concept. But hearing my mother say it aloud made it real. This wouldn’t be a contract to dissolve. This would be a life.

I had no answer.

The practical details of our agreement suddenly felt insufficient. This wouldn’t be just any child, but a Christakis. My child. Born of an arrangement designed to heal one family wound while reopening another.

“I need to think,” I said, rising.

As I left the room, the competing obligations to my father’s memory, my aunt’s pain, and my unconceived child brewed a storm of conflict I had no idea how to navigate.