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Sidonie felt absolutely sure that there would be no divorce either, but it wasn’t a bad thing to keep an alpha male like Alexio on his toes.
Alexio was bristling. He stalked over and put his hands down on the desk to glare at Sidonie. The intensity of that glare was diminished somewhat by the way he looked at her mouth so hungrily.
‘There will not be a divorce while there is breath in my body.’
Sidonie stretched up and pressed a kiss to Alexio’s cheek, causing his expression to turn positively nuclear. ‘Well, we have to get married first, of course. Don’t get all excited.’
She turned and smiled again at the very flushed-looking solicitor. ‘So, in the event of a divorce any children will be provided for, and custody arrangements have been outlined, but I will get nothing—is that right?’
The solicitor ran a pudgy finger underneath his collar, his gaze flicking uneasily to the man who all but towered over his pregnant fiancée. Having had a lot of experience with pregnant women, thanks to his own healthy brood of seven children, he figured the lesser of two evils right now was Alexio Christakos, even if he was paying his bill and practically had steam coming out of his ears.
‘Yes, that’s exactly it, Miss Fitzgerald.’
‘And ninety per cent of the money that Mr Christakos is insisting on giving me as an allowance has been designated to the various charities I mentioned?’
The solicitor quickly scanned the pages again and said, ‘Yes, I believe so.’
‘Great!’
Sidonie reached over and took the pen and signed her name with a flourish. Then she smiled sweetly at Alexio and handed the pen to him. He signed on the line with much unintelligible muttering under his breath.
* * *
Two weeks later a radiant and glowing Sidonie walked down the aisle of the biggest mairie in Paris on the arm of her matron of honour—her aunt, who grinned from ear to ear and was resplendent in a lavender suit. It had been bought by Alexio, who had grumbled that at least he could lavish gifts on someone.
Alexio hadn’t had to turn and see Sidonie arrive. He’d already been waiting impatiently for her to appear.
He was still unprepared, though, when she did. His breath caught and he couldn’t stop the tears clogging his throat and making his eyes shine. He’d been holding his emotions back all his life and now they overflowed. And he loved it. He’d even been oblivious to his brother Rafaele’s smug welcome to the club look.
Sidonie’s hair was half up, half down, held in place with a plain diamond art deco clip. She wore no other jewellery apart from her engagement ring. Her dress was strapless and had an empire line under her bust to accommodate her growing bump. The off-white material fell in loose, unstructured folds to the floor. Her skin glowed, and as she came closer, her eyes fixed on his, his heart almost stopped at the sheer strength of his love all over again.
He held out his hand to her and she put hers in his and smiled at him. At that moment Alexio felt all the pieces of his life slide into place, and he drew the love of his life forward by his side and hoped that they could get to the kiss as fast as possible.
* * *
Outside the office of the mairie afterwards, Cesar da Silva thrust his hands into his pockets. It had been a mistake to come. He didn’t know what had got into him, but that morning he’d seen the invitation to Alexio’s wedding on his desk and something had compelled him to make the journey to Paris from Spain.
He’d arrived late and stood at the back of the civil office. Alexio and his wife had had their backs to him as the ceremony was conducted, but he’d seen his other half-brother, Rafaele, near the front, holding a small boy high in his arms, with a dark-haired woman beside him, her arm around his waist. His wife.
He’d been invited to their wedding too, just months before, but the rage within him had still been too fierce for him even to contemplate it. The rage he’d felt at finally coming face to face with his half-brothers at his mother’s funeral. The rage he’d felt at the evidence that she’d loved them above him. That she hadn’t abandoned them.
But he knew it wasn’t their fault. Whatever the stain had been on Cesar’s personality that had led their mother to leave him behind had nothing to do with them. Maybe, he surmised cynically, they were just more lovable.
God knew, he’d felt dark for so long he was constantly surprised that people didn’t run in terror when they looked into his eyes and saw nothing light. But they didn’t run. And especially not women. It seemed the darker he felt, the stronger the draw to his lovers. More than one had been under the erroneous impression that they could heal Cesar of the darkness in his soul.
He wasn’t surprised at women’s eagerness to put up with his less than sunny nature; after all he was one of the richest men in the world. His mother had taught him that lesson very early on. After cutting Cesar from her life like a useless appendage she’d gone on to feather her nest in fine style—first with an Italian count and then, after he’d lost everything, a Greek tycoon.
He could see Rafaele putting his son down now—an adorable-looking little boy. His nephew. Cesar felt it like a punch to his gut. He’d been about the same age when his mother had left him with his grandparents and everything had gone dark and cold. To see that small boy now, swinging between his parents’ hands, was almost too much to bear.
And then his youngest half-brother Alexio emerged from the mairie’s office with his new wife. His pregnant wife. More new life unfolding.
The pain in Cesar’s chest increased. They were beaming. Eyes only on each other. Besotted. Cesar could feel his blackness spreading out...infecting the people around him like a virus. He caught one or two double-takes. People were wary around him. Women were fascinated, lustful. Covetous.
It gave him no measure of satisfaction to be as blessed as his brothers in his physical appearance. It compounded his cynicism. His looks merely sweetened the prospect for avaricious lovers, and they had proved to him from an early age that women were shallow. If he had nothing they’d still want him, but they wouldn’t have to put on the elaborate pretence of not being interested in his fortune. Sometimes he almost felt sorry for them, watching them contort themselves into what they thought he wanted them to be.
Alexio was lifting his new wife into his arms now. Hearing her squeal of happiness, and seeing her throw her bouquet high in the air behind her so the women could catch it, made something break apart inside Cesar. He had to get away. He shouldn’t have come. He would taint this happiness with his presence.
But just as he turned someone caught his arm, and he looked back to see Rafaele, with his son in his arms. The small boy was looking at Cesar curiously and he could see that he’d inherited his grandmother’s eyes. His eyes. He felt weak.
