His Pregnancy Ultimatum. Helen Bianchin

he’s your toy boy?’

      ‘No.’ She’d formed friendships with several fellow students and enjoyed their company. Yet she wasn’t a girlie girl who lived to follow the latest fashion trends, and she veered away from the thinly veiled sexual overtones prevalent in many of the male students.

      Cris didn’t cause her to put up barriers on any level.

      ‘I’ve been invited to dinner on Thursday evening.’

      ‘I think you should go,’ Alice opined as Matt finished up with his coach and came off the court. ‘How difficult can it be?’

      Maybe Alice was right. And besides, if she declined on some fabricated excuse the invitation would inevitably be extended to another evening.

      SMS made for easy, quick communication, and within minutes it was set, with Cris alerting he’d collect her at six.

      ‘It’ll be fun,’ Alice assured as they walked to the car.

      Mia wasn’t so sure. Twice the next day she considered cancelling. Wednesday she made the call, only to cut the connection.

      Thursday was way too late, for only an emergency would do…and her patron saint refused to oblige her with one.

      Consequently Mia dressed with sophistication in mind. Stiletto heels, the classic black dress, minimum jewellery with the exception of stunning drop ear studs. In the need to complete the image, she swept her hair into a smooth knot and secured it, then teased a few tendrils free to curl below each temple.

      ‘Don’t go,’ a tiny voice warned as she collected her evening purse and exited the guest room. Fool, she admonished. No one would eat her. Besides, she was capable of taking care of herself.

      ‘Looking good.’

      Mia offered her nine-year-old nephew an affectionate smile. ‘You think?’

      ‘Wow, definitely,’ Matt declared with a male appreciation beyond his years.

      ‘Your ride has just pulled into the driveway,’ Alice forewarned a few seconds ahead of the sound of a car door closing.

      Mia rolled her eyes expressively. ‘I wish this didn’t seem like such a big deal.’

      Somehow ‘the family would like to meet you’ had seemed a light-hearted invitation at the time, but, now it was imminent, she wasn’t so sure.

      ‘Cris is a fellow student, a friend. I’m sure his family are very nice.’

      The name Karedes numbered high among the city’s social echelon, and nice was debatable, given Cris’ version of his family.

      Elder brother, Nikolos, who ruled the Karedes Corporation with a fist of steel; their widowed mother Sofia, whose influence was superseded only by Angelena the family matriarch, Nikolos and Cris’ widowed paternal grandmother.

      The doorbell pealed, and Mia drew in a deep breath as she crossed into the hallway.

      ‘Hi.’ Her greeting held genuine warmth for the young man standing in the aperture.

      He was attractive, with dark soul-searching eyes, a warm smile and generous heart; his tall frame and lean features held promise of the man he would become.

      Introductions were made with ease, and minutes later Mia slid into the passenger seat of a Porsche.

      ‘Yours?’ she teased as he sent the car purring down the street.

      ‘It belongs to my brother.’

      ‘And he lets you borrow it?’

      ‘When I’m home.’ Cris effected a negligible shrug. ‘He has others.’

      ‘As in plural?’

      ‘Uh-huh.’

      A shiver slid down her spine, for which she had no logical explanation. ‘Perhaps you should fill me in on the evening’s game plan.’

      The Porsche growled to a halt at a traffic intersection, and he spared her a penetrating look. ‘You’re a friend I happen to regard with affection.’

      ‘Platonic friend,’ she conceded, and earned his swift smile.

      ‘That’s the description I’ve offered.’

      ‘Good.’

      ‘They’ll adore you. What’s not to like?’

      Mia offered a slightly rueful smile. There was a part of her that wanted to tell him to turn the car round and take her home.

      Get a grip. It was only one evening. A few hours. She’d exchange social pleasantries, decline the obligatory glass of wine and eat fine food.

      Rose Bay held an eclectic mix of well-established homes, many with panoramic views of the harbour, and stately came to mind as Cris eased the Porsche to a halt outside a magnificent set of ornate wrought-iron gates guarding entrance to a sweeping driveway that led to a double-level plantation-style home in cream-plastered brick.

      Wide bi-fold doors, timbered shutters, pillars and an elegant porte-cochère, set in beautiful landscaped grounds, the home…mansion, Mia amended…gave hint to serious family wealth. Very serious wealth.

      Something Cris had neglected to mention.

      As if to compound it, a Maybach sat parked beneath the porte-cochère. Its opulent lines were easily identifiable as the ultimate in the Mercedes group.

      ‘You’re impressed.’

      It was a statement, uttered without emotion, and she allowed her gaze to settle on his features. ‘Am I meant to be?’

      His expression became unreadable as he drew the Porsche to a halt in a designated parking bay. ‘It’s only stuff,’ he said quietly. ‘Material possessions gathered and passed from one generation to another as a visual attestation to entrepreneurial success.’

      ‘Which you hate?’

      ‘No. I merely prefer not to hang onto the familial coat-tails.’ He reached for his seat belt as Mia undid her own. ‘Okay, let’s go do this.’

      ‘Face the fray?’ she teased lightly, and was rewarded with a teasing smile.

      ‘You got it in one.’

      Seconds later they gained the spacious bi-level marble-tiled external entrance, and two large panelled doors swung open to reveal an impeccably attired butler.

      ‘Good evening.’

      A butler? Why should she be surprised?

      Cris executed an introduction. ‘Costas has been with the family for years.’

      ‘The family are assembled in the lounge.’

      When it came to strict formality, she’d take warm spontaneity any time. Didn’t families of Greek origin fall into the latter category?

      Perhaps not.

      Mia crossed the wide expanse of marble-tiled floor at Cris’ side, a few steps behind the butler, who paused on reaching what she presumed to be the lounge.

      ‘Ma’am, your son and his guest are here.’

      It was a large, exquisitely furnished room in which two women were seated and a man stood in side profile beside a wall of French doors.

      A man whose height and stance struck a familiar chord. One Mia instantly dismissed, despite the swift curl of apprehension twisting her stomach.

      The younger of the two women rose to her feet and moved forward.

      ‘Mia. How nice to meet you at last.’

      ‘My mother, Sofia Karedes,’ Cris alluded with a smile. ‘Mia Fredrickson.’

      ‘Allow me to introduce my mother-in-law.’ Sofia indicated the older woman remaining seated. ‘Angelena Karedes.’

      The