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“Really?” The word came out garbled. She drew a snuffling breath, trying to regain even a shred of her composure. “When did you decide that?”

He sighed as he stroked her hair, the movement achingly tender—and yet not, because was he just manipulating her now? Had he been manipulating her all along? She knew she couldn’t trust him, even if she still longed to. “Honestly?” he said as he continued to stroke her hair. “Both as soon as I met you and just now.”

She let out a ragged laugh and forced herself to push away from him; this time he let her go. “Well, that’s pretty honest, I guess,” she said as she wiped her eyes.

“I will be completely honest with you,” he told her. When she looked at him, she saw how resolute he appeared, as well as how anguished. His eyes were dark, his lips set, his face drawn. She felt another flicker of sympathy, the same as when he’d told her about how he felt he’d failed his family. He was in an impossible situation, she acknowledged, but then, so was she.

“But for this conversation, can we please go somewhere private?” he asked in a low voice that throbbed with feeling. “My study is just through those doors.” He nodded toward a set of French windows that led out onto the balcony; one was ajar.

Rose hesitated and then nodded. “All right.”

She followed him through the doors to an entirely masculine room of mahogany and hunter-green leather, bookshelves lining the walls. Rose stood in the center of the room, trying to resist the urge to shiver despite the balmy air, while Christos carefully closed the doors and then turned to face her.

“When we first learned that Luca had a child…” He held up a hand to forestall any protest she might make although she hadn’t so much as stirred. “When we learned he had donated sperm,” he corrected himself, “we were…jubilant. For all the reasons I told you before. My mother became fixated on the notion that she had a grandchild, the only grandchild she would ever have. It was—is—everything to her. And it made sense, especially when we learned you were a young single woman, to approach the mother of this child, and to negotiate terms, terms that would be acceptable to her as well as to us. We told ourselves that because you were young, you would be able to have other children. That this baby couldn’t possibly mean as much to you as he or she did to us.”

He’d spoken matter-of-factly, yet with a thrum of emotion under his words like the hum of an engine, hinting at the strength of his feeling, and Rose understood it. She could see, even if she didn’t want to, how such desperate conclusions could be drawn while in the throes of grief, even if the idea of selling her own baby was an utter abomination.

“Rose, I think I always knew it was a bad idea,” Christos said quietly. “A wrong one. But my mother was so broken—as was I. I felt my own deficiency acutely, that I could never provide that heir my family has so desperately wanted and needed. It was such a huge disappointment to my father.” He swallowed, the words coming painfully. “He would never even speak to me about it, because he found it too difficult. As did I. I don’t think my father looked me in the eye once after we learned the news. He couldn’t.”

“Oh, Christos…” The words slipped out sadly as she imagined just how awful that must have been…and still was. As proud and devoted a son as Christos was, he clearly felt he could never be enough, and through no fault of his own.

“And so when we realized there was a child…” he continued, spreading his hands wide, his expression so unbearably bleak. “And then when I met you, when I got to know you, I realized our plan wouldn’t work. I didn’t even want to ask, or have you discover that it was something I would ask. But I couldn’t think of any other solutions, and my life, my whole life, has been in service to my family.” He fell silent, looking so self-recriminatory that Rose’s heart gave a strange little pulse of pain.

“Christos,” she said quietly, “I can understand all that, maybe more than you think, and I can see how hard it has been for you, and still is. I’m… I’m sorry for that. Truly. No one…no one wants to feel like they’re not enough.” The way she had felt with her aunt and uncle. No matter what she’d done, she’d never earned her keep, much less their love. “But…where does that leave us now?” she forced herself to ask. “How can I possibly stay here and consider sharing my life, my baby’s life, with you and your family, when that kind of proposal was on the table, even if only in theory?” She shook her head, the realization thudding through her. “Besides, as far as I could tell, your mother still thinks it’s a viable option. I can’t… I can’t live with that. Fight against it every day of my life. I won’t.”

It was, Rose realized, her nightmare scenario, because she was having this baby to belong, not to feel like even more of an outsider. And she knew that if she stayed, she’d always be fighting a woman she hadn’t even met yet, and over her child.

Christos stared at her for a long moment, his face set and pale, save for two slashes of color high on his cheekbones. He looked bleakly resigned, and Rose hated that she was hurting him, but she knew it was the only way. It had to be.

Then his lips firmed, and a look of steely resolve came over his face, hardening his features. Rose drew a back a little in wary trepidation. What was he thinking?

“Then let me suggest another proposal,” he said, and she stared at him uncertainly.

“What…what kind of proposal?”

He gave her a crooked smile that tugged at her heart, although the look in his eyes was utterly serious. “Marry me.”

Chapter Fourteen

It was, Christos realized, the most perfect and obvious solution. So perfect and obvious, in fact, that he was amazed he hadn’t thought of it before. Rose, however, clearly didn’t agree; she was looking at him as if he’d grown another head.

“Marry me, Rose,” he said more firmly. “It makes the most sense. Your position will be secure, and so will your child’s. Our child’s. I will do my best to be a good father to my brother’s son, and a good husband to you.”

“Marry you?” Rose squeaked, shaking her head, more tendrils tumbling out of her braid. “Christos, you can’t be serious?”

He frowned, impatience biting at him. Why couldn’t she see how this could work? Admittedly, he wouldn’t be able to give her other children, something that would always be a deep regret, but they would still have a family, and this answered everything. “I assure you,” he told her, “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“But…” She shook her head, her eyes wide with shock and dismay. “But you don’t want to marry me.”

“I think,” he said, “you’ll find I do.”

“And I don’t want to marry you,” she flung at him. Christos cocked his head, determined to remain unruffled even though her words needled him, drawing blood. Tiana had said much the same. “I’m sorry, Christos, but this changes everything. I don’t want to marry you. I can’t.”

“I appreciate it’s a novel idea to you,” he acknowledged, “but certainly not one without its merits.”

“Which are?” Rose demanded. Now, in addition to being incredulous, she looked angry.

“Do I really need to enumerate them?” he asked, deliberately keeping his voice mild, although it took effort. “Financial security for life. A stable family life for your baby, in addition to the many opportunities he or she will have. And we…get along, don’t we, Rose?” He gazed at her meaningfully, watched color come into her cheeks and felt an answering surge of desire in himself. Yes, they got along very well.