Page 8 of Slightly Married
As head of the Director of Global Logistics, Simone fell under that rule, and Matt’s position as Daddy’s right-hand man made their secret affair even more precarious.
“Anyway,” I continued, running my fingers along the surface of my countertop, “Konstantin seems arrogant and rubs me the wrong way. There’s something... cold about him.”
“Says the woman who up and married a man whose face looked as though there was a permanent stench in the air,” Lauren quipped.
“Josh did not—” I began, then stopped. The familiar ache of betrayal pulsed briefly before subsiding. “You know what? There’s no reason to defend the jerk.”
I poured myself another glass of wine. “I need you both at the wedding,” I said, turning back to face them. “Konstantin and Daddy want it done at the Orthodox church. It’ll be a very small ceremony at sunset. After the ceremony, we’ll be leaving for Athens. I will remain in Greece until I give birth.”
“What?”
“Konstantin works from there,” I explained, absently twisting one of my braids around my finger. “And since I’m still figuring some things out, it was easier for me to make the move.”
Before anyone could respond, the security system’s buzz sliced through our conversation. We all instinctively turned toward my front door.
Simone straightened, setting her glass on the coaster. “Were you expecting someone?”
I retrieved my phone from the pocket of my lounge shorts, swiping to access the door camera. Konstantin stood there, his tall frame filling the screen. His expression was as somber as his attire, but when his eyes flicked up to meet the camera, an unexpected tremor ran through my body.
“It’s him,” I said quietly.
Both women immediately hurried to my side to peer at the small screen.
I crossed the room and pressed the intercom button. “What are you doing here?”
“Dropping off the contract.” His deep voice crackled through the speaker. “Let me up.”
Minutes later, a knock sounded through my apartment. I opened the door to find Konstantin filling the doorway, bringing with him the subtle scent of expensive cologne.
His gaze traveled from my bare feet up to the braids I’d piled atop my head. His eyes cataloged every inch of my light-yellow cashmere lounge set. The way his eyes tracked over me made my nerves spark to life.
“Couldn’t your assistant drop it off?” I asked, trying to sound casual despite my pounding heart.
“I wanted to handle this personally.”
“May I see it?” I held out my hand.
Even though I’d spoken Greek all my life, speaking to him in the language felt strangely intimate.
He held out a manila envelope. “You may peruse it at your leisure,” he said, then added, “but before the wedding.”
I pulled out the contents and began scanning the dense legal text.
Simone appeared at my side, thrusting out her hand. “Hello. I’m Simone Athanasiou.” Her voice carried its usual confident lilt. “Would you care to come in?”
“He’s not staying,” I responded at the exact moment Konstantin said, “Thank you,” and stepped past me into the foyer, bringing his scent and presence fully into my post-divorce sanctuary.
Lauren joined the impromptu gathering, and soon introductions floated around me while I focused on the documents. The legal language outlined an allowance during our marriage exceeding six figures monthly, convertible to alimony once our marriage ended, plus child support from conception until our yet-to-be-conceived child turned twenty-five.
Our yet-to-be-conceived baby would spend summers and every even-year Christmas in Greece. The visits would last at least a month. All travel arrangements would be handled by Konstantin’s team.
I could already feel the loneliness of Christmas mornings without my baby, years before they’d even begun. Would I be welcome on these trips, or would I be sending my baby off alone? The contract didn’t specify. Another note for my lawyer.
Konstantin would cover private security, private school, travel accommodations, and healthcare for both me and the baby. The cost of the nanny would be his responsibility as well.
I paused at the mention of a nanny. The assumption that we’d have household help stirred mixed feelings.
My parents had hired a night nanny for Simone and me, but the nanny wasn’t allowed to disturb them unless it was a genuine emergency. Mom had been adamant about handling the daytime hours herself, believing that despite my father’s wealth, no hired help could provide the love and guidance a mother could.
