Page 65 of Slightly Married
His palm spread possessively across my abdomen. “You and your mother will never want for anything. I will always put you first.”
I reached down to touch his face, tears blurring my vision as I saw something I’d never expected. Konstantinos Christakis looked at me with naked vulnerability and unmistakable love.
“We’re going to be parents,” I whispered.
“We’re going to be a family,” he corrected, climbing back up to cradle me against him. “A real one.”
“A real family.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “What do you mean?”
“I want more than what’s written in that contract.” He traced circles on my stomach, where our child was growing. “I want you to remain my wife. I want us to raise our child together. I want you to be with me. Always.”
Joy bubbled up inside me, along with a flutter of apprehension. “K, we’ve only known each other for four months. That’s not very long to decide on forever.”
“Maybe.” He acknowledged this with an incline of his head. “But I want to be your husband and not just your co-parent. I want you as my emergency contact. I want to share everything I have with you.”
I blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his directness. He somehow madeemergency contactsound like the most romantic phrase in the world.
“I’m scared,” I confessed. “What if this is just excitement for the baby and the fallout with the Pavlous?”
“It’s not,” he stated firmly. “It’s you. It’s us.”
“I want the same things, K. All of it.” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I want to build a life with you, too.”
His answering smile transformed his entire face before he moved up and captured my lips in a kiss.
The next morning found us walking hand-in-hand up the stone steps of the church Konstantin had started attending regularly after his brush with death.
“Thank you for always coming,” he murmured as we entered the sanctuary.
“It’s important to you,” I replied simply. “That makes it important to me.”
I watched him during the service, noting how his usually guarded expression softened in the flickering candlelight. When he lit candles for Theo, his father, and my mother, I wrapped my arms around him.
I couldn’t help but marvel at how completely my feelings for him had transformed. Four months ago, I’d agreed to marry this intimidating stranger solely to save my sister. I’d planned to tolerate him at best and develop a cordial friendship for our child.
Never had I imagined I’d find my heart swelling with affection as I watched him pray for our departed loved ones. The man I’d once found cold and unapproachable was now my safe place, and the life we were building together was exactly where I belonged.
The following day when I stepped into the cool interior of the estate after lunch with K at Olympus Motors, I was intercepted by Domna. “Kayla, there you are! Come with me, please.”
“Is everything all right?” I asked, following my mother-in-law up the grand staircase.
“Everything is perfect, agapi mou. I have something to show you.” She led me through the corridors to her private suite.
There, laid carefully across her antique settee, was a delicate gown of impossibly fine lace, its ivory fabric yellowed with age. Beside it lay a matching cap and tiny booties, all preserved with obvious care.
“This,” Domna said, “is what all Christakis babies have been christened in for generations. Konstantin wore it, as did his father before him, and his father’s father.”
I approached slowly, almost afraid to touch something so precious.
“I know it’s quite dated,” Domna continued, watching me carefully, “and you might have your own ideas or traditions. But I wanted you to have it as an option.”
My throat tightened as I traced the delicate embroidery, thinking of the secret growing inside me. Our eyes met, and I suspected she somehow sensed what K and I had yet to announce to the family.
Emboldened by this moment, I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question eating at me since day one. “Why are you so nice to me? I mean, I’m basically a stranger who showed up married to your son, plus I’m the daughter of the man who broke your sister-in-law’s heart.”
Domna’s expression grew thoughtful, her fingers smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her impeccable linen pants. “Life is rarely simple, is it?” She gave a dismissive little wave as if brushing away the very notion.
She reached forward and took both of my hands in hers. “My late husband, Periklis, lost years with his brother, Stavros, after he married an American woman Periklis disapproved of. That rift never healed.” Her voice carried the weight of decades-old regret. “The bad blood between our families continues, even now they’re both gone. I remain estranged from my American nephews, and my sons from their cousins. I deeply regret this.”
