The Greek Millionaire's Marriage Read Free Page A

witness Dimitri’s tenderness as he shepherded his mistress towards his car.
    His hugely pregnant mistress. For a moment she hadn’t been able to breathe, so great was the shock. The woman was obviously in labour. That—and Dimitri’s loving care—hurt more than anything. She felt that she would have preferred to find them both naked and in the act of love. Seeing his devotion to a woman who carried his child had been infinitely worse.
    â€˜Believe me now?’ Marina had enquired.
    And when Marina had driven them away Olivia had known that she’d never be able to forget Dimitri’s betrayal.
    She had been devastated. Arriving back at the villa, a gloating Marina had reminded her that Dimitri must now be on his way to Tokyo.
    â€˜Go home,’ Marina had urged. ‘To the people who love you.’
    â€˜Yes,’ she’d whispered, aching for loving arms around her. ‘I need my friends.’
    Her note to Dimitri had been brief but heartfelt. When there is no love in a marriage, it is a mistake to continue it. Yet a little part of her had hoped that their marriage could be saved. Maybe he’d find her in England, to apologise, and beg her forgiveness and they would begin again.
    But he had made no contact. It was as though someone had turned off a light inside her. Men seemed pale shadows compared with Dimitri. England was greyer than she remembered and life was less exuberant. Greek life, and one Greek male in particular, had suited her temperament, but she had to move on. And divorce was the first step.
    â€˜How are you feeling?’ Paul Hughes, her lawyer and friend, solicitously took her hand in his.
    She withdrew it on the pretext of tucking a strand of hair back into her tight chignon. ‘Ready for battle,’ she replied grimly.
    â€˜Next month, you could be one of the richest and most powerful women in Europe!’ Paul crowed.
    Money and power. Was that all men cared about? Why didn’t they put love first, like women? She settled back in her seat, crossly smoothing imaginary creases from the figure-hugging skirt of her white linen suit.
    Her hand was shaking and she stared at the back of the chauffeur’s head, pumping up her courage with cold, clinical anger by thinking of the terrible moment when her love for Dimitri had shattered into bits.
    Â 
    On his yacht, moored near Piraeus Harbour, Dimitri dealt with his e-mails, despatching instructions to his property agents scattered about the globe. Business wasdoing well—though it should be, since he’d devoted eighteen hours a day to it for the past three years.
    Unravelling his six-feet of toned muscle from the confining chair, he escaped from his desk, unable to concentrate, incapable of sitting like a trapped lion for a moment longer. He’d glanced at his watch impatiently. Ten minutes and she’d be here.
    She’d been in his mind ever since the call. The scent of her body. The wicked look in her eyes as she wound herself around him, capturing him in her silken web.
    â€˜I want a divorce,’ she’d said coldly, two days earlier.
    â€˜Come and get it, then,’ he’d replied, and severed the connection.
    He’d sat motionless for an hour, steaming. So many questions had been on his lips. Where have you been? Why run away like a coward? And why the hell did you marry me—for sex and money, as everyone told me over and over again till I doubted even those early months of married bliss? Then had come the most chilling question of all. Did you ever care?
    He scowled at the glittering sea and wondered why she had waited till now for a divorce. Perhaps she was afraid of his anger. With good reason. Though his mother had said it was because she’d run out of money and that fact had conquered her fear of what he might do to her. It was odd, though. The allowance he paid every month into their old bank account was more than generous.
    Sometimes when he lay awake