Claiming My Hidden Son / Bride Behind The Billion-Dollar Veil. Clare Connelly
I had no choice. None whatsoever.
But maybe this man I was marrying would be a little more malleable than my father. Maybe—
He turned. And the feeble little hope died a horrible death.
Eyes the colour of polished gunmetal bored into me as if they were with fierce, merciless hooks. They probed beneath the veil with such force that for a moment I imagined I was naked—that he could see my every weakness and flaw, see to the heart of my deepest desire for freedom.
His lips were pressed into a formidable line, his whole demeanour austere. Axios Xenakis could have been in a boardroom, preparing to strike a deal to make himself another billion euros, not poised before an altar, about to commit himself to a wife he’d never met.
I catalogued his breathtaking features. Wondered if that rugged boxer’s jaw ever relaxed—whether the cut-glass sharpness of his cheekbones ever softened in a smile. Did he maintain constant control of those sleek eyebrows so they were permanently brooding? Did his nose ever wrinkle in laughter?
Why was I interested?
I was nothing but part of a transaction to him—one he didn’t seem entirely thrilled about, judging by his icy regard. So it didn’t matter that the olive vibrancy of his skin drew from me more than a fleeting look, or that he was without a doubt the most strikingly handsome man I’d ever seen.
He was a world removed from the boys I’d sneakily dated at university, before my father had found out and ruthlessly thwarted my chances with them before anything resembling a relationship could form.
Axios Xenakis belonged in a stratosphere of his own. One I was apprehensive about inhabiting.
My footsteps stalled and I heard my father’s sharp intake of breath. It was swiftly followed by the tight grip of his hand in warning.
Don’t disgrace the family.
Defiance sparked again.
But then I saw my mother’s head turn. The ubiquitous misery filmed her eyes, but alongside it was a look so fierce it might have been a reflection from my grandmother’s eyes.
It was a look that infused me with courage.
It’s up to you, it said. Do this…or don’t.
My heart thundered. The need to turn around and simply walk away was a wild cyclone churning through me.
At the altar, Axios’s eyes never shifted from me, his stance unchanging in the face of my clear reluctance. It was as if he knew what I’d decide and was simply waiting me out.
And, since I was playing in a game whose rules no one had bothered to apprise me of, there was only one move I could make.
I would play this round, then fight my corner later.
With that firm promise echoing inside me, I stepped up to the altar.
I saw a fleeting disappointment in his eyes before he masked his features. He was disappointed? Did that mean he didn’t want this?
Wild hope flared within me even as bewilderment mounted. If he didn’t want this then there might be room to negotiate. Room to get what I wanted out of this.
Realising I was staring, and that my father had been dispatched and I was now the sole focus of Axios Xenakis’ eyes, I hurriedly averted my gaze. But not before acknowledging that up close he was even more electrifying. Perhaps it was the severity of his grey suit. Or the fact that the hand he held out to me screamed a silent command.
The last strains of the hymn trailed away, leaving behind a charged silence. With each second it weighed heavier, pressing down on me.
His hand extended another inch, and heavy expectation thickened the air.
With a deep breath, inevitably I slipped my hand into his—and joined the stranger who was to be my husband.
Almost immediately he released me. But the sensation of his touch lingered, and a sizzling chain reaction I was unprepared for travelled up my arm, flaring wide.
It was enough momentarily to drown out the intonation of the priest’s voice as he began the ceremony.
I rallied long enough to murmur the words I’d reluctantly memorised and, when the time came, to pick up the larger of the two platinum wedding bands.
With fingers that still trembled I faced Axios. The impact of his eyes, his towering frame, the much too handsome face momentarily erased the words from my brain.
In silence he held out his left hand, his laser eyes boring into me as he simply…waited.
‘I take thee…’
‘For better or worse…’
‘With my body…’
‘Love, honour, cherish…’
‘Till death…’
With each spoken vow my heart squeezed tighter, the mechanical delivery I’d expected to give morphing into a whispered outpouring wrapped in consternation.
The second I was done he reached for the other ring without taking his eyes off me, again holding out his hand for mine.
And then Axios Xenakis spoke for the first time.
‘I, Axios Xenakis, take thee, Calypso Athena Petras…’
The rest of his words were lost to me as the deep, hypnotic cadence of his voice struck like Zeus’s thunderbolt into a place I didn’t even know existed until that moment.
His voice was…sexy. Alluring. Magnetic.
It seemed impossible that a voice could be all those things, and yet I felt every one.
The cold brush of platinum on my skin brought me back to myself just in time to hear the priest announce us as man and wife. To say that my new husband could now kiss me.
I started to turn away. Because this was a far cry from a normal wedding ceremony. And we were far removed from two people in love.
Large, firm hands cupped my shoulders, shocking me into stillness. Unable to stop a cascade of light shivers, I held my breath as he lifted the heavy veil and draped it behind me with unhurried movements. I watched his gaze take in my bound hair, the small headband made of tiny diamonds and pearls that had belonged to Yiayia Helena and the similar necklace adorning my throat.
Had he been anyone else I might have entertained the notion that Axios Xenakis was reluctant to look into the face of the woman he’d just committed himself to. Because when his piercing grey eyes finally settled on me, I caught a momentary confusion, then his eyes widened and his jaw slackened for a split second before he reasserted supreme control.
Any fleeting pleasure I’d felt at gaining some unknown upper hand fled as heat suffused my face at his intense, almost shocked scrutiny.
Admitting that I should have left the make-up artist’s work alone didn’t help my urge to squirm under his candid regard. But I forced myself to hold his gaze, ignore the consternation in his eyes and the humiliating thud of my heartbeat.
Just when I thought he intended to drag the torture out for ever he slid one finger beneath my chin to nudge my head upward. Caught in the mysterious hypnosis of his gaze, I watched his head descend, so close that heat from his skin singed mine.
I braced myself, my stomach churning with emotions I couldn’t name.
I’d been kissed before. Those university colleagues I’d toyed with before my father’s bitter reach had scared them away. None of them had elicited this level of shivery anticipation.
His kiss arrived, subtle as a butterfly’s wing and powerful as a sledgehammer. Sensation rocked through me like an earthquake, dizzying and terrifying, leaving me with nothing to do