Claiming My Hidden Son / Bride Behind The Billion-Dollar Veil. Clare ConnellyЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER TWO

      MONEY MAKES THE world spin.

      I swallowed my champagne, careful not to choke on it as I dispassionately observed the guests indulging in the revelry of my sham of a wedding.

      Money had made this happen, and in the exact time frame I’d requested it.

      Money had put that smug smile on Yiannis Petras’s face.

      Money had made the family, decimated by my grandfather’s fall from grace, rally together for the sake of enjoying the rejuvenated fruits of my labour.

      I’d seen first-hand how the lack of it could cause backbiting and untold strain. Ostensibly solid marriages crumbled under the threat of diminished wealth and influence. I’d seen it in my parents’ marriage. It was why I’d never have freely chosen this route for myself.

      My gaze shifted to my brand-new wife.

      Had money influenced her agreement to this fiasco?

      Was she getting a cut of the hundred million euros?

      Of course she was. Had she not proclaimed herself a true Petras?

      For those seconds as she’d hesitated at the altar I’d entertained the notion that she shared my reluctance, had imagined the merest hint of resistance in her eyes.

      Her words had put me straight.

      A cursory investigation had revealed that while she’d graduated from Skypos University with a major in Arts, she’d done nothing with her degree for the last two years. Her father’s daughter through and through, sitting back and taking the easy route to riches.

      So what if outwardly she wasn’t what I expected?

      I snorted under my breath at this colossal understatement. Calypso Petras…ochi, make that Calypso Xenakis…was beyond a surprise. She was a punch to my solar plexus, one it was taking an irritatingly long time to wrestle under control.

      Even now my senses still reeled from what I’d uncovered beneath her veil. She was far from the drab little mouse I’d assumed.

      ‘I believe there’s a rule somewhere that states you shouldn’t scowl on your wedding day.’

      I resisted the urge to grind my teeth and faced my brother. ‘You think this is funny?’

      ‘This whole circus? No. I believe that ring on your finger and the look on your face makes it all too real.’ Neo affected a mocking shudder intended to rile me further.

      It worked.

      ‘I’m talking about your implication that my… Calypso.’ Thee mou, why did her name sound so…erotic?

      Neo’s eyes widened before glinting with keen speculation. ‘If I recall, I didn’t give you any specifics.’

      There was a reason Neo was president of marketing at Xenakis Aeronautics. He could sell hay to a farmer.

      My fingers tightened around my glass. ‘You deliberately let me to think she was…unremarkable.’

      She was quite the opposite. Hers was the confounding kind of beauty one couldn’t place a finger on. The kind that made you stare for much longer than was polite.

      Neo shrugged. ‘No, I didn’t. And don’t blame me for the dire state of your mind, brother,’ he answered.

      The low heat burning through my blood intensified. And while I wanted to attribute it to this conversation, I knew I couldn’t. Ever since I’d pulled that hideous veil off her face and uncovered the woman I’d agreed to marry a different irritation had lodged itself deep inside me. One I wasn’t quite ready to examine.

      But that wasn’t to say I was ready to let Neo off the hook for…

      For what?

      Making obfuscating observations about Calypso Petras that had made me dismiss her from my mind, only to be knocked off-kilter by her appearance?

      Granted, she still wasn’t my type. Her eyes were too large…much too distracting. They were the type of turquoise-blue that made you question their authenticity. Framed with long eyelashes that begged the same question. And then there were her lips. Full and sensual, with a natural bruised rose hue, and deeply alluring despite the absence of gloss.

      The dichotomy of fully made-up eyes and bare lips had absorbed my attention for much too long at that altar. And it had irritated me even further that since our arrival at the reception those lips had been buried beneath a hideous layer of frosty peach.

      But it hadn’t stopped me puzzling over why the two aspects of her initial appearance had been so at odds with each other. Or why she’d seemed…startled by our very brief kiss on the altar.

      False innocence wrapped around her true character? A character that contained more than a little fire.

      My mind flicked to other hints I’d glimpsed over the last few hours. While I was yet to discover what lay beneath the layers of the wedding gown, there were more than enough hints to authenticate her voluptuousness.

       Yet to discover…

      The peculiar buzz that had been ignited during that fleeting kiss notched up a fraction, the fact that the brief contact still lingered on my lips drawing another frown.

      ‘Your new wife is looking a little…unhappy. Perhaps you should see about fixing that?’

      About to state that I had nothing to fix, that her happiness was none of my concern, I found my gaze flicked to the table. Despite the picture of poise she was trying to project she looked pale, her eyes flitting nervously. A quick scrutiny of our guests showed she was the object of several stares and blatant whispers.

       A helpless prey in a jungle of predators.

      My feet moved almost of their own accord, the niggling urge to reverse that look on her face irritating me even as I moved towards her, effectively silencing the whispers with quelling stares.

      Regardless of how this union had come about, rumours couldn’t be allowed to run rife. This was how undermining started.

      As I neared, silence fell. Her gaze shifted, met mine. Her chin lifted, a wisp of bewilderment and skittishness evaporating and her eyes flashing with defiance.

      For some absurd reason it sparked something to life inside me. Something I fully intended to ignore.

      Defiance or bewilderment, the deed was done. She and her family had capitalised on an agreement made under duress and bagged themselves a windfall. She should be celebrating.

      Instead I caught another trace of apprehension as I stopped beside her chair. Eyes growing wide, she looked up at me. The graceful line of her neck—another alluring feature that seemed to demand attention—rippled as she swallowed.

      Thee mou, if this was an act then she was a good actress!

      Aware of our audience, and a burning need to find out, I held out my hand to her. ‘The traditional first dance is coming up, I believe.’ The earlier we could get this spectacle out of the way, the quicker I could resume my life.

      Her gaze darted to the dance floor, her reluctance clear. ‘Is that…really necessary?’

      Something about her reluctance and her whole demeanour grated.