frog!’ Emmie snapped back at him vitriolically.
Smouldering black-lashed golden eyes assailed her, a line of dark colour suddenly accentuating his high cheekbones. His beautiful mouth compressed with iron control. ‘I suggest we drop the subject.’
‘You mentioned it first,’ Emmie reminded him with spirit.
Bastian muttered something in Greek that sounded nasty.
‘I’m sorry but I really do hate you,’ Emmie confided shakily.
It was dawning on Bastian that the apology had not been worth its weight in gold or indeed in any currency, and he was genuinely quite shocked that he had not been able to charm Emmie into forgiving him. A fleet of limousines pulled up to take the bridal party and her relatives to the village church, and with difficulty Bastian suppressed his roaring sense of annoyance with the world in general to appreciate the pretty picture his kid sister made as she came down the stairs in her wedding dress.
Emmie sat silent in the limo driving them at a stately pace along the picturesque road, which was bounded by sandy beach on one side and olive groves and hills on the other. She wished she had not voiced that final outburst and longed even for better control over emotions that seemed to be operating on a terrifyingly high-powered level unfamiliar to her. But she had told Bastian the truth, the absolute truth: she hated him for even briefly thinking that she might be the kind of woman who sold her body for profit, but she hated herself for having succumbed to his dubious charms even more. Nor did she need a brain transplant to appreciate that Bastian Christou was not accustomed to being handed the frozen mitt—his expectation that his blue-blooded birth, power, influence and great wealth entitled him to more flattering treatment fairly shone from the tension in his bold bronzed profile.
The silence nibbled at her nerves and conscience reminded her that she had promised to deliver the companionship he had paid for. ‘Where did Nessa meet Leonides?’
‘She’s known him all her life. His father is the island doctor. Nessa and Leonides started school together, went to uni in tandem and have been a couple virtually ever since.’
‘That’s so romantic,’ Emmie commented. ‘They must know each other so well.’
‘But they’re very young to be getting married,’ Bastian remarked in a tone of disapproval. ‘Nessa’s already talking about starting a family.’
‘Sometimes people know what they want at an early age. What age is she?’
‘The same age as you. Have you similar dreams?’ Bastian enquired a shade drily.
‘Good grief, no!’ Emmie declared with a grimace at the idea. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do with a husband or children. I’m a career girl.’
The pretty little church by the harbour was packed with well-wishers. Bastian settled Emmie into a front pew and left her there because he was standing as Leonides’ best man. Emmie settled back to enjoy the unfamiliar Greek wedding ceremony, which seemed rather more colourful than the English version as the bearded priest swung his incense burner and chanted. Nessa looked ravishingly happy and, seeing the way bride and groom looked at each other, Emmie found that she was smiling until Lilah cast her a chilling glance over a bony shoulder that was pure malice. After posing for photos outside the church in the sunshine with Lilah moving closer to Bastian at every opportunity while giggling girlishly and clinging to his arm, Emmie could only think what bad taste in women Bastian had. Lilah was so horribly fake and gushy. Bastian might be extremely clever in business but he couldn’t be the sharpest tool in the box when he had decided to marry a woman as artificial as Lilah.
The reception back at the house followed, caterers moving around with trays of champagne while Emmie stuck masochistically to water and simmered when Bastian raised a fine ebony brow as though mocking her abstinence. That man, she would surely have killed
Smouldering black-lashed golden eyes assailed her, a line of dark colour suddenly accentuating his high cheekbones. His beautiful mouth compressed with iron control. ‘I suggest we drop the subject.’
‘You mentioned it first,’ Emmie reminded him with spirit.
Bastian muttered something in Greek that sounded nasty.
‘I’m sorry but I really do hate you,’ Emmie confided shakily.
It was dawning on Bastian that the apology had not been worth its weight in gold or indeed in any currency, and he was genuinely quite shocked that he had not been able to charm Emmie into forgiving him. A fleet of limousines pulled up to take the bridal party and her relatives to the village church, and with difficulty Bastian suppressed his roaring sense of annoyance with the world in general to appreciate the pretty picture his kid sister made as she came down the stairs in her wedding dress.
Emmie sat silent in the limo driving them at a stately pace along the picturesque road, which was bounded by sandy beach on one side and olive groves and hills on the other. She wished she had not voiced that final outburst and longed even for better control over emotions that seemed to be operating on a terrifyingly high-powered level unfamiliar to her. But she had told Bastian the truth, the absolute truth: she hated him for even briefly thinking that she might be the kind of woman who sold her body for profit, but she hated herself for having succumbed to his dubious charms even more. Nor did she need a brain transplant to appreciate that Bastian Christou was not accustomed to being handed the frozen mitt—his expectation that his blue-blooded birth, power, influence and great wealth entitled him to more flattering treatment fairly shone from the tension in his bold bronzed profile.
The silence nibbled at her nerves and conscience reminded her that she had promised to deliver the companionship he had paid for. ‘Where did Nessa meet Leonides?’
‘She’s known him all her life. His father is the island doctor. Nessa and Leonides started school together, went to uni in tandem and have been a couple virtually ever since.’
‘That’s so romantic,’ Emmie commented. ‘They must know each other so well.’
‘But they’re very young to be getting married,’ Bastian remarked in a tone of disapproval. ‘Nessa’s already talking about starting a family.’
‘Sometimes people know what they want at an early age. What age is she?’
‘The same age as you. Have you similar dreams?’ Bastian enquired a shade drily.
‘Good grief, no!’ Emmie declared with a grimace at the idea. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do with a husband or children. I’m a career girl.’
The pretty little church by the harbour was packed with well-wishers. Bastian settled Emmie into a front pew and left her there because he was standing as Leonides’ best man. Emmie settled back to enjoy the unfamiliar Greek wedding ceremony, which seemed rather more colourful than the English version as the bearded priest swung his incense burner and chanted. Nessa looked ravishingly happy and, seeing the way bride and groom looked at each other, Emmie found that she was smiling until Lilah cast her a chilling glance over a bony shoulder that was pure malice. After posing for photos outside the church in the sunshine with Lilah moving closer to Bastian at every opportunity while giggling girlishly and clinging to his arm, Emmie could only think what bad taste in women Bastian had. Lilah was so horribly fake and gushy. Bastian might be extremely clever in business but he couldn’t be the sharpest tool in the box when he had decided to marry a woman as artificial as Lilah.
The reception back at the house followed, caterers moving around with trays of champagne while Emmie stuck masochistically to water and simmered when Bastian raised a fine ebony brow as though mocking her abstinence. That man, she would surely have killed
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