Claiming My Bride Of Convenience. Кейт Хьюит

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       CHAPTER ONE

      TINKLING LAUGHTER FLOATED from the open doors of the ballroom, along with the expensive clink of the finest crystal. The party was in full, elegant swing, and it made my stomach cramp and my heart race. Could I really do this?

      Yes, I could. I had to, because the alternative was to scuttle back home to staid safety and more years—potentially many more years—of living in stasis, waiting and wondering.

      Admittedly in this moment I was sorely tempted to flee from this luxurious hotel in the most sophisticated square of Athens, back to the safety of Amanos. But, no. I’d come too far, was hoping for too much, to run away like a frightened child. I was a woman, after all—a married woman. And after three years of marriage I was finally confronting my husband—but first I had to find him.

      I straightened my shoulders, smoothing my hands down the sides of the gown I’d purchased that morning in one of Athens’s upscale boutiques. The sales assistants had exchanged laughing looks as I’d stammered through my request—I had plenty of money but little knowledge when it came to fashion or style, and they’d known, and had made sure I had known they’d known, as well.

      Now I caught sight of my reflection in a gilt mirror in the hotel lobby and wondered if the tight ruby-red strapless gown was outrageous or elegant. Did it even suit me, with my brown hair, brown eyes? Miss Unremarkable, my husband once called me… Not that I blamed him for it. He’d wanted an unremarkable wife, someone who would make no splash, no demands, present no inconvenience, and that’s exactly what he got…for three years. But now I wanted something else, something different, and I’d come here to get it.

      I took a shaky breath, willing my jelly-like legs to move forward. I could do this; I’d got this far, hadn’t I? I’d taken a ferry from the remote island paradise where I’d spent my entire married life, and then a taxi from Piraeus to Athens. I’d booked myself into this very hotel, fumbling with the credit card while the receptionist looked on witheringly, and I’d managed to buy myself a dress and shoes—sky-high stilettos that made me wobble when I walked, but still.

      I’d managed it all—even if it had taken what felt like all my strength, all my courage. Life on Amanos was so much simpler, and it had been a long time since I’d been in the city, with all its traffic and rudeness and noise. A long time since I’d faced my husband—a man I barely knew.

      Matteo Dias—one of the richest, most ruthless men in Europe, as well as one of its most notorious playboys. And I was his wife.

      It seemed incredible even now, despite the papers I’d signed, the vows I’d spoken. I’d woken up every morning for the last three years on an island paradise, far from the hopeless slog of my former life in New York City, and practically had to pinch myself. Is this real?

      Until it hadn’t felt like enough.

      A flicker of apprehension rippled through me at the thought. Was I being unreasonable, greedy? Stupid? I had a lovely home, more money than I knew what to do with, and a fulfilling life—all of it more than I’d ever had growing up in Kentucky or during my brief, unfortunate stint in New York City. Could I really ask for more? Demand it, even?

      Resolve hardened inside me and straightened my spine. Yes, I could. Because the alternative was to give up on the only real dream I’d ever had.

      Now, as I scanned the crowded ballroom from its double doors, I wondered if I would even recognise my husband in the flesh. Of course I’d seen his photo in plenty of tabloids, almost always accompanied by some curvy blonde or other, usually simpering on his arm and poured into a dress.

      I’d read all the speculation concerning his whispered-about marriage, with as many gossip columnists insisting no woman could have tamed him as those confirming the rumours were true, and Greece’s most eligible bachelor was in fact secretly wed.

      Of course they were both right. Matteo was married, but I hadn’t tamed him. I haven’t even spoken to him. All I knew about my husband of three years was what I’d read in the tabloids—that he was ruthless in ambition, amazing in bed, and highly desired by almost all women.

      I’d studied his dark, closely cropped hair, those cold steel-grey eyes, his impressive and dominating physique. I’d remembered how, for the brief moments we’d been together, it had felt as if he’d stolen the air from the room, how he’d just had to look at me and I’d forget to think.

      I told myself that couldn’t happen now, because I very much needed to have all my wits about me. But first I needed to find him.

      ‘Miss, are you coming in?’ A waiter, with a white cloth draped over one black-clad arm and holding a tray of glasses of champagne, raised his eyebrows at me enquiringly.

      I swallowed hard. ‘Yes,’ I said, pitching my voice to sound as firm and bright as I could. I was afraid I sounded a bit manic. ‘Yes, I am.’

      With my shoulders thrown back and my chin tilted high, I stepped into the ballroom full of the cream of Europe’s society. Barely anyone spared me a glance, and I was hardly surprised. I was a nobody, plucked from a dive of a diner in New York—a waitress with no pedigree, no breeding, no style or standing. Miss Unremarkable indeed.

      Even in a gown that had cost an eye-watering amount—Matteo has always been generous with his money, if nothing else—and shoes that had cost more than a month’s rent on my apartment once upon a time, I knew I looked the same. Dull-as-dishwater Daisy Campbell, born in the sticks of Kentucky, who hitched a ride to New York as a starry-eyed dreamer and soon wised up.

      I moved through the crowds, keeping my chin up and my shoulders back with effort. Three years on a remote island hadn’t accustomed me to this kind of scrutiny. Back on Amanos I had learned how to be confident. I was sure of my place there, because I’d made it myself. But here…everything felt different. I felt different—more like the nervous country-mouse-in-the-city I’d once been. I had to fight against the urge to ask someone if they needed a refill.

      I needed to find Matteo as soon as I could, before I melted into a puddle of nerves or broke an ankle in these wretched shoes.

      I wasn’t under any illusion that he’d be thrilled to see me, but I was hoping he wouldn’t be too put out. We’d had an agreement, and I was breaking