Page 21 of Slightly Married
“Doctor’s appointment,” I responded, trying not to think of what could be happening inside my body right now. “Where’s Santo?” I pivoted, adjusting my braids.
Since I moved into this house, I’d never seen Tia without him hovering nearby.
Domna made a small, regretful moue. “He’s off to another one of his races again. That boy is always flirting with danger. Always chasing another dose of adrenaline.” She shook her head regretfully. “I love my grandson, but I hate the dangerous profession he has chosen.”
I understood. I wasn’t big on sports, but I couldn’t avoid seeing images and video clips in the press or on social media about the dashing, daring Greek F1 racer who seemed hell-bent on risking his neck on the track for a win.
Domna wasn’t finished. “Between Santo’s profession and Kostas’ shooting nine months ago, it seems my heart is always in my throat these days.”
I paused with my cup halfway to my lips. “Shooting?”
Domna gave me a strange look. “It was all over the Greek media. He was shot and left for dead on his yacht. His best friendTheo died during the attack. If Stella hadn’t found him... I would have one less son.”
A lump formed in my throat as an image of Konstantin bleeding out while his friend lay lifeless nearby played in my mind. Goosebumps rose on my skin, even though the cup in my hands was warm.
Stella wasn’t just his fiancée; she’d been his savior. Their bond wasn’t merely romantic but forged in survival. I thought about how differently I might feel toward someone who had literally saved my life.
I wanted to ask who did it? Were they caught? How many other scars, visible and invisible, did he carry? Was he still in danger?
But the tightness in Domna’s expression stopped me.
“I’m glad he survived,” I responded, absently tracing the rim of my teacup. The words felt woefully inadequate, but what else could I say?
The conversation turned to less serious matters, and the atmosphere became lighter, more feminine and relaxed. But even as we chatted, I zoned out briefly, allowing my hand to rest on my tummy.
My thoughts drifted to the child Konstantin and I were contracted to conceive. What would they look like? Would it be a girl, a boy, or both?
Beyond appearances, I wondered what kind of mother I would become. I’d always imagined raising my children surrounded by love, with a partner who shared my values and dreams. Now I faced the prospect of co-parenting with a stranger across continents.
Yet despite the circumstances, a fierce protectiveness swelled in my heart. This child—if one was indeed beginning to form—would be loved fiercely.
8
Iwalked through the lounge of the private airport terminal, my security chief Alexei moving three paces behind me while Andreas walked alongside, efficiently reciting updates from the morning’s final meetings. The Olympus Motors jet waited on the tarmac, ready to take me from London back to Athens.
“The contracts have been couriered to legal,” Andreas informed me, tablet in hand. “And the investigator called. He wants to meet at your earliest convenience. Says he has new information about the shooting.”
I nodded, my interest momentarily piqued by the mention of potential developments in Theo’s case. But my attention quickly shifted to my phone, which vibrated against my thigh. Kayla’s name appeared on the screen.
Two weeks had passed since the procedure. According to my research, both blood, and urine tests could detect pregnancy by now.
Negative
One word. No punctuation, no emotion.
I paused, causing Alexei to move to stand before me.
“Everything alright, sir?” he asked, his hand on his concealed weapon as he scanned for potential threats.
“Fine,” I responded curtly, drawing a breath to compose myself.
I shouldn’t feel disappointed. Medical literature indicated conception often required multiple cycles. We would simply try again when her body was ready.
Yet a quiet emptiness expanded in my chest. There was nothing to grieve, I reminded myself. Nothing had been lost. Just a possibility that hadn’t materialized.
Andreas glanced at me with curiosity, but knew better than to inquire about personal matters.
“Inform the pilot we’re ready to depart,” I instructed him, resuming my walk toward the jet.
