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  She swallowed hard. She didn't underestimate him. Not for a moment. She was just thrown by his unexpected an­nouncement. 'Are you telling me that our grandparents were in business together?'

  His eyes narrowed. 'Are you telling me that you weren't aware of that fact? '

  She shook her head. 'My grandfather refuses to dis­cuss business with a woman.' At least that wasn't a lie, she thought ruefully. Her grandfather despised women. Especially English women. It was the reason he'd disowned her mother and herself. He'd wanted nothing to do with either of them. I've heard rumours, of course, but nothing concrete.

  Are you saying that he took the business from your grand­father? '

  'It is how the feud began.' Sebastien looked at her, his dark gaze suddenly speculative. 'He lied and cheated until my grandfather was forced to sign the company over to him,' he bit out, his expression grim. ‘ So you see, Alesia, I want to marry you because I intend to reclaim what is rightfully mine. And the feud ends here.'

  Alesia stared at him, for once totally mute.

  What would he say when he discovered the truth? That the feud hadn't ended at all.

  That her grandfather was about to strike a master blow.

  And she was the tool of his revenge.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Pale-faced and utterly miserable, Alesia sat shivering in her white silk wedding dress, feeling nothing like a bride.

  Despite the gold band on her finger, part of her still couldn't believe that she'd actually gone through with the wedding.

  Oblivious to the elaborate celebrations taking place around her, she stared blankly at her plate and tried to focus her mind.

  She'd actually married Sebastien Fiorukis.

  It seemed hard to believe that only two weeks had passed since their meeting on his private island. Since then every­thing had been a blur of frantic activity. Lawyers had worked overtime, papers had been signed and wedding planners had burned the midnight oil to put together the wedding of the decade.

  To Alesia the ceremony had been a nightmare.

  Why hadn't she anticipated the attention that such a high-profile wedding would attract? For the press, who were eter­nally fascinated by Sebastien Fiorukis, the fact that he'd fi­nally chosen to marry the granddaughter of his greatest enemy had sent an explosion of excitement and speculation through the gossip-hungry media. Knowing that personal de­tails of the handsome Greek billionaire sold newspapers, the press had been everywhere, flashes going off in her face and people yelling at her to smile and glance in their direction.

  And of course the wedding attracted even more attention because of the presence of her notorious grandfather. Dimitrios Philipos so rarely appeared in public that his pres­ence alone was enough to draw a crowd of fascinated on-lookers. Everyone wanted to witness a public meeting be­tween Fiorukis and Philipos. Everyone was anticipating fireworks.

  Sebastien had handled the attention and simmering spec­ulation with an air of almost bored disdain, ignoring report­ers, greeting guests with just the right amount of attention and interest, as comfortable and confident as he'd been dur­ing that first awful meeting.

  In contrast, Alesia had taken one horrified look at the jos­tling, over-excited paparazzi and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground in an attempt to blot out what was happening.

  She didn't want people to be interested in her.

  She knew that journalists had a way of digging up secrets.

  What if they dug up hers?

  What if something happened to stop the wedding? To pre­vent her mother from having the operation she so badly needed?

  Terrified that someone would say something to halt the ceremony, she'd stood at the front of the church like a fright­ened rabbit hardly daring to breathe in case she drew atten­tion to herself, in case someone recognized her for the im­postor that she was.

  She'd worn the long white wedding dress that her grand­father had presented her with, pulled the veil over her face and hoped that none of the guests would notice her wan face or the fact that she was seriously out of her depth. Playing the role of rich heiress was totally new to her.

  When she realized that they were safely married the relief had been so great that she'd almost passed out.

  Once or twice it had crossed her mind that this wasn't the way weddings were supposed to be, that this was supposed to be a happy day. But then she reminded herself firmly that she'd never been one to dream and fantasize about weddings, so it wasn't possible for her to be disappointed that hers hadn't lived up to expectation. She didn't have any expec­tation.

  'You could try and look a little more like an excited bride and less like someone being led to torture. Sebastien sug­gested silkily, snapping his fingers at the waiter and indicat­ing that he should top up their glasses. 'This is, after all, what you wanted. You've landed yourself a billionaire. Smile.'

  Alesia grabbed the glass gratefully and drank deeply, her loathing for Sebastien Fiorukis increasing by the minute. He was cold, unfeeling and just horrid. At least she was thor­oughly uncomfortable with the situation but he just didn't seem to care that they didn't even like each other.

  All right, so she was marrying him for the money, she conceded, but that was completely different because she was desperate. Unlike him. He was already a billionaire. He al­ready had one company. Only someone who was impossibly greedy could want two’

  Alesia shivered as she contemplated the man she'd mar­ried.

  He was just like her grandfather. Rich, successful, restless and never satisfied.

  Maybe champagne would help. She didn't normally drink but wasn't alcohol supposed to numb the senses? She sin­cerely hoped so. The way she was feeling, she needed her senses rendered unconscious. Returning the empty glass to the table, she sucked several breaths into her lungs and tried hard to forget that everyone was watching her. Speculating. Why hadn't someone warned her that Sebastien had such a large family? And so many friends—

  ‘ I wasn't expecting all this—'

  'It's called a wedding,' Sebastien said helpfully, smiling briefly at a stunning woman who cast a longing glance to­wards him as she slid past on the arm of a male guest, 'and it's what you signed up for when you agreed to marry mefor my money. Enjoy it. It's costing enough. Look on it as retail therapy.'

  Money.

  Grateful for the reminder, Alesia took another slug of champagne and forced herself to focus. All she had to do was remember the money. The reason she was doing this. It didn't matter that everyone was staring at her. It didn't matter that everyone was wondering why Sebastien Fiorukis had chosen to marry her. It didn't matter that she felt lonelier than she had in her whole life. All that mattered was that at last— -finally —her beloved mother would get the treatment she needed so badly.

  She glanced sideways at the man sitting next to her. The man she'd married. He lounged beside her, totally relaxed and well within his comfort zone, as if marrying a total stranger was something he did every day of his life. Outwardly he was the type of man women the world round drooled over. Sophisticated, spoiled and so ridiculously wealthy that he could never have understood in a million years how it felt to be poor. How it felt to be so desperate for money that you'd do anything —even marry a man you'd been raised to hate.

  His suit was dark and accentuated every inch of masculine perfection. His shoulders were wide, his frame powerful and athletic and he wore his looks with the ease and assurance of a man who'd been born with the entire silver cutlery set in his mouth.

  He'd never known poverty and he'd never known hard­ship.

  How could he ever understand what had driven her to this moment? A flash of panic suddenly assailed her. What if he backed out of their agreement? The man was every bit as ruthless and money-mad as her grandfather. She'd been naive and stupid to trust him. She should have checked. She should have rung the bank—

  She turned to him, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest as she contemplated the various scenarios, all of th
em awful.

  'Has the money been transferred to my account?' The question flew from her lips unbidden and she immediately clamped her mouth shut and wished it unsaid as spectacular dark eyes fixed on hers with unconcealed disdain.

  'Even as we speak,' he drawled softly, his firm mouth tightening into a grim line. Tm surprised you're not begging to miss the reception so that you can go and spend, spend , spend.'

  Feeling relief wash over her she relaxed slightly, telling herself that his opinion of her really didn't matter. All that mattered was her mother. And anyway, Sebastien Fiorukis was hardly in a position to criticize her for wanting money. She glanced down at the gold watch that nestled in the dark hairs of his wrist. The watch alone was probably worth more than she spent in a year.

  'And my grandfather's company?'

  'Now belongs to me’ he said dryly, reaching for his glass, 'along with a substantial quantity of debts and enough la­bour-relation problems to ensure that my time is fully occu­pied for the foreseeable future. I'm afraid it's going to delay our honeymoon, pethi mou?

  Honeymoon?

  Her eyes flew to his, startled. She hadn't thought any fur­ther than the wedding day. She certainly hadn't contemplated the fact that he might be planning a honeymoon.

  Panic knot­ted deep in her stomach. ‘I—I didn't think we'd be having a honeymoon—'

  'Honeymoons are for lovers,' he slotted in with a grim smile, 'which is what we are supposed to be. But at the mo­ment I haven't got time for a wife. So there's no honey­moon.'

  Alesia closed her eyes briefly and breathed a sigh of relief.

  A honeymoon would have been unbearable. As it was, hope­fully he'd be too busy to spend any time with her. They could lead separate lives.

  Alesia sucked in a breath and forced herself to relax. It would be fine, she assured herself. They barely needed to see each other. This was her life now. She really had to try and adapt.

  Her eyes scanned the enormous garden that was the setting for the reception, taking in the glitz and the glamour. Guests had flown in from all over the globe to witness the wedding of Sebastien Fiorukis and everywhere she looked there were elegant women and rich, confident men.

  Alesia bit her lip and dug her short, unmanicured nails into her palms.

  Could they see through her? Did they realize that, despite being the 'Philipos heiress', she didn't move in these circles and never had? What would they say if they knew that nor­mally she dressed in jeans and waited on tables to earn extra money? What would they say if they knew she didn't have a penny to her name?

  Except that now, she reminded herself as she lifted her glass to her lips, she did have a penny to her name. Thanks to her new husband, she was now an extremely wealthy woman. On paper. In reality the money was already spent. She'd set up an agreement with the bank so that the money was automatically transferred into her mother's medical fund.

  'What are you planning, I wonder,' Sebastien purred, sur­veying her with a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘ You look alarmingly like a woman who is plotting.'

  Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘ I—I'm not plotting—'

  ‘ No? Then you'll be the first member of your sex who isn't.'

  Before she could think of a suitable reply, he lifted a hand to her head and removed the elaborate clip with a decisive movement.

  She gave a gasp of surprise and protest as her blonde hair unwound itself, slid down and settled over her shoulders. 'What are you doing?'

  'I paid for you’ he said succinctly, his eyes fastened to her hair with undisguised masculine interest, ‘ and you were very expensive, agape mou. I therefore have the right to use you in any way I see fit'

  Alesia almost choked with outrage. ‘ You don't own me—‘

  'Oh, yes, I do.' He leaned towards her. ' I do own you, Alesia. Every single delectable part of you. I own your long silky hair and those amazing eyes that can almost convince me you're innocent even though I know you're a conniving, greedy little gold-digger. I own that fabulous body which you've doubtless used on countless occasions to persuade men to part with their money. I own the lot, Alesia. The deal we both signed was nothing short of a purchase on my part.'

  She closed her eyes. 'You make me feel like a—like a—'

  'Whore? Prostitute?' he supplied helpfully. ‘ I can see that the distinction might be difficult to make but you're obvi­ously perfectly satisfied with your career choice and who can blame you? There are far worse ways of earning a substantial sum of money.'

  She gave a gasp of outrage and her eyes flew open. 'What­ever you may think of me, I'm not promiscuous!'

  'At the price that you charge, that is hardly surprising,' he drawled a sardonic gleam in his dark eyes as they swept over her flushed cheeks. 'Clearly you know how to keep yourself exclusive. Only the richest can afford you.'

  Deeply offended, her eyes flashed her distaste. 'I hate you,' she said passionately and he smiled.

  'Maybe. But you need my money, pethi mou, which says a lot about your character, don't you agree?'

  Overwhelmed by a sudden impulse to tell him exactly why she needed the money, Alesia stared helplessly into his ar­rogant, handsome face and fought the impulse to slap it.

  She couldn't tell him.

  She'd come this far—

  And she didn't need to defend herself to a man she didn't like or respect.

  She rose to her feet, determined to put distance between them, but lean brown fingers closed around her slender wrist.

  'If you're about to make an exhibition of yourself then think again’ he advised silkily, the expression in his eyes like a building thunderstorm. 'You're now my wife and I expect you to behave as such. This is not the time or the place for female tantrums. Everyone is looking at you. Sit down.'

  Alesia tried to jerk her hand away but his grip tightened mercilessly and she sank back into her chair wondering how on earth she was going to get through the next hour with this man, let alone a lifetime.

  Awash with hatred for him, she glanced up and saw a sultry-looking brunette staring at her with a stricken expres­sion on her lovely face.

  Alesia frowned, 'Now I see what you meant about people staring. She looks pretty upset,' she muttered, glancing side­ways at Sebastien who was lounging in the chair next to her. 'Am I to assume she wanted to be sitting where I am?'

  Part of her found it hard to believe that anyone would choose to marry Sebastien Fiorukis but there was no missing the misery in the other woman's gaze.

  Sebastien fastened night-black eyes on the girl in question and gave the ghost of a smile. 'Quite a few women wanted to be sitting where you are, pethi mou* he drawled, ‘ so you should just count yourself lucky.'

  Lucky?

  'Don't you even care that she's upset?' Alesia made a sound of disgust. ‘ You are totally unfeeling. Perhaps she was in love with you. She might be heartbroken.'

  'Heartbroken.' He studied her, his gaze speculative. 'Funny—I never would have thought you were a romantic. After all, you're the woman who just married for yet more money. Are you telling me you believe in love?'

  Alesia bit her lip. 'She's obviously upset—'

  He gave a cynical smile. ‘So would you be if you saw your glamorous lifestyle threatened. Relax. Her affection is no more than wallet-deep. Her wounds will be healed by the next rich man foolish enough to glance in her direction.'

  Alesia stared at him in appalled disbelief. 'Who have you spent your life mixing with? Where did you get such a low opinion of women?'

  'From people like you, perhaps?' His tone was lethally smooth and she flushed deeply, knowing that she was in no position to contradict him.

  How could she? She did want his money, even though it wasn't for her benefit.

  'Let's not pretend that either of us believes in fairy tales or love.' His eyes fastened on hers. 'You certainly don't or you wouldn't be sitting here now.'

  Love.

  Glancing at the girl one more time, Alesia saw raw jeal­ousy in her eyes
and almost laughed at the irony of the sit­uation.

  Whatever the emotion driving her, the girl clearly wanted to be sitting where she was sitting. She was probably the envy of at least half the women in the world.

  And she'd never felt more miserable in her life.

  Alesia returned her gaze to her plate and almost jumped as she felt Sebastien cover her hand with his own.

  Startled by his unexpected touch, she lifted her gaze to his and was instantly mesmerized by the look in his seductive dark eyes. It was a look that teased and tantalized, a promise of things to come, and for a moment she just stared, held captive by the sheer sexuality of his presence.

  He had something that she'd never encountered before—

  A magnetism . A—

  He leaned towards her and she stopped breathing, waiting for him to speak. Waiting to hear what he suddenly wanted to say to her—