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Her mother dabbed at her eyes with a perfectly white, lace trimmed handkerchief and simply shook her head in mute disapproval.
Knowing there would be nothing accomplished by sticking with the current subject, Alexandra asked, “What are you doing in New York, Mother?”
The paper with the damaging story had only come out that morning, not enough time for her mother to have made the trip from New Orleans unless she had already planned it.
Her mother sniffed and turned appealing eyes to Dimitri. “I’d come north to try and talk some sense into Alexandra, to mend fences before Christmas. A family should spend the holidays together, don’t you think? But she’s been so stubborn about her unfortunate circumstance, refusing to do anything practical to diminish the scandal. And here she is again, refusing to marry you. Is it any wonder I’m almost ill with my worries?”
“I do not consider the conception of my child an unfortunate circumstance,” Dimitri replied in freezing tones. “I also fail to see why the fact your daughter modeled under the name of Xandra Fortune is such a tragedy for you. From what she has said, her work supported both you and your younger daughter for several years.”
My, my. When Dimitri decided to defend someone, he came out with both guns blazing.
“But she didn’t just model did she? She was your mistress, a tycoon’s plaything,” Cecelia said, quoting the article. “Now she is pregnant with your child. The Duprees have never had so much scandal attached to their name. What the nuns would think, I have no idea. Why, I’m terrified to send my monthly letter to Mother Superior for fear of letting something slip.”
“Nuns?” Dimitri asked.
“The convent, remember?” Alexandra whispered.
“Ahh…those nuns.”
Cecelia said, “Mother Superior didn’t approve of the Xandra Fortune debacle any more than I did.”
The unfairness of her mother’s constant disapproval cracked something open in Alexandra. “My life as a model was hardly a debacle. Dimitri’s right. It kept you in designer dresses and Madeleine in school. If I hadn’t created Xandra Fortune, how would we all have lived? I can’t see you getting a job.”
Her mother gasped.
Someone knocked on the door. It turned out to be room service and Dimitri insisted Alexandra eat before the conversation was resumed. Her mother drank her tea with an expression of martyred stoicism.
When they were done and Dimitri had called to have the dishes removed, he resumed his seat beside Alexandra. Putting an arm around her waist, he met her mother’s gaze. “Let me make a couple of things clear. One, I intend to marry your daughter. And two, it will not be some hole in the corner affair not befitting the bride of a Petronides.”
He ignored both her and her mother’s outraged gasps and stood.
“I’m glad you took the time to come by and see us,” he said, taking her mother’s arm and gently lifting her from the chair before he guided her to the door, “but as I’m sure you are aware, Alexandra and I have a great deal to do before the wedding. Perhaps we can get together this evening or tomorrow to discuss plans.”
He continued talking as if he had both her and her mother’s complete cooperation as he led Cecelia from the suite.
Dimitri called for his car and waited in the hotel lobby with Cecelia until it came. He shook his head watching Cecelia walk regally from the hotel. Running interference for Alexandra with her mother was going to take vigilance. Cecelia had tried to convince him again to consider a modest wedding by saying it would be cruel to Alexandra to make a media event of it when she had so obviously anticipated her wedding vows.
The car had not arrived one moment too soon.
Dimitri stepped into an empty elevator and pressed the button for his floor.
Would Alexandra be ashamed to marry him while she was so visibly pregnant? He thought back to what he had learned of her past. She’d been educated by nuns. Hell, maybe she would be embarrassed by a big wedding.
She had certainly been upset about the news clipping. He didn’t want her upset and the part he had played in the breaking of the news story troubled him. He’d seen one of the paparazzi that often followed him outside the restaurant where they had eaten lunch. He hadn’t said anything, had not sent his security man after the film—though as he’d learned in the past, that move was not always successful. His actions could be considered ruthless, but he thought of them as the acts of a desperate man.
She had to marry him.
For her own sake because she needed him.
For the baby’s sake because he was a Petronides.
For Dimitri’s sake because he needed her.
And for the sake of a promise he had made to his grandfather, a second promise when the first had been nullified.
He’d thought it would be easy once he found her. She’d obviously wanted marriage before she left Paris, but now she acted like the thought of it was worse than spending the rest of her life in Purgatory. No matter what she said to the contrary, it was obvious she now hated him. He mourned the warmth that used to shine from her eyes when she looked at him. The smile that had been just for him. Intimate. Special. He’d taken her for granted when he had her. He had ignored the underlying emotional commitment in their relationship.
He’d believed they had no hope of a future.
She’d been a career fashion model. It was lowering to admit, but he’d believed she had every intention of moving on when her career took off. He hadn’t known about her family, hadn’t realized she had no desire to be a supermodel. That ignorance had cost him three months of mental anguish wondering where she was and how she was faring with her pregnancy.
He’d never once considered she might terminate it…even when he’d gone to the apartment in Paris a week after she left and found her message for him on the floor of the living room.
She’d rejected everything he’d ever given her down to the sexy nightwear he’d bought her. His fists clenched at his sides when he thought of that neatly folded stack of silk and lace garments. He’d taken one look at the pregnancy test sitting on top and driven his fist through the wall. One look. That was all it had taken for him to realize she’d been telling him the truth. He hadn’t understood how it could be true, but he had known it was.
He’d called the detective agency that very night, but it had still been too late. He’d lost her.
He’d spent three months tormenting himself with if-only scenarios. If only he had been thinking more clearly when his grandfather delivered his ultimatum, but Dimitri had been badly shaken and had gone into damage control mode. He would do anything to save his grandfather and he had done, hurting both himself and Alexandra in the process.
If only he had believed her about the baby from the beginning and told his grandfather then.
If only he had come back to the apartment sooner, but he hadn’t been able to face its emptiness, the reality of what he had done to his woman. He hadn’t been able to stay in Athens either, not after the announcement of his marriage to Phoebe had been made.
Everything had felt wrong about it. He’d seen the looks his brother gave Phoebe when he thought no one noticed. Dimitri could not miss the way Phoebe stood in fearful awe of him, but laughed in his brother’s company. But most importantly—the look on Alexandra’s face when he’d denied her haunted him.
He deserved her hatred, but he couldn’t live with it. He had to convince her to marry him. He could not consider the alternative. She and the baby needed him even if she refused to admit it. Theos knew he needed her. Would she ever look at him with the warmth of affection in her beautiful eyes again?
Alexandra had picked up the paper her mother left behind and was re-reading the article about her and Dimitri when he returned.
She looked up. “I can’t believe they said all this. It’s horrible. Conjecture about our relationship, your reasons for denying paternity. Where did all this come from?”
Dimitri shrugged. “The story ran for weeks in France and Greece, even some London papers picked it up. The press release your agency sent out saying you had retired from modeling and wanted to live a more anonymous life was all the more scintillating when news of your possible pregnancy got out. I’m surprised you didn’t see any of the stories.”
She’d avoided the European scandal rags after the announcement of his marriage to Phoebe. Alexandra hadn’t wanted to see any pictures of the couple together. And of course, the stories hadn’t made it to the States. They were about a French fashion model and a Greek tycoon, nothing of interest for American readers. At least not until the connection to her real identity was made.
“How did they make the connection?” she wondered aloud.
“I am, unfortunately, followed by a certain amount of paparazzi wherever I go. Once we were seen together, it was only a matter of time before one of them recognized you.”
“But no one else had,” she said helplessly.
