tingling with a hateful kind of hunger as he slid a jar of marmalade across the table towards her. She remembered what he’d said about faking affection for the wedding photos. No. She definitely wasn’t going to have a problem with that.
On the third weekend, she was as edgy as an exam candidate and glad to get out of the apartment for Alek’s suggested trip to the Victoria and Albert. It was a museum she’d longed to visit again, even though this time the statues were wasted on her. She kept looking at the carved and stony features of various kings and dignitaries and comparing them unfavourably with the beautiful features of the man by her side. Afterwards, they walked to an open-air restaurant for a late lunch and she had to fight to quash her stupid desire to have him touch her again. She thought about their wedding and their wedding night, and wondered how she was going to cope with that.
This time next month I’ll be his wife, she thought. Even though both of us seem determined not to talk about it.
The sun was dipping lower in the sky as they walked back across the park, but when she got back to the apartment she found herself unable to get comfortable. Her feet were aching and she was wriggling around restlessly on the sofa.
She didn’t know what she was expecting when Alek walked across the room and sat down next to her, lifting her bare feet into his lap and beginning to massage each one in turn. It was the first time he’d touched her in a long time and, despite her thoughts of earlier, her instinctive reaction was to freeze, even though her heart had started hammering. Could he hear its wild beat or maybe even see it, beneath her thin T-shirt? Was that why he gave that slow half-smile?
But her initial tension dissolved the instant the warm pad of his thumb started caressing her insole and once she realised that this wasn’t a seduction but simply a foot massage, she just lay back and enjoyed it. It felt like bliss and she found herself thinking how ironic it was that all his money couldn’t buy something as good as this. Did he realise how much she loved the thoughtful gesture, even though she’d done her best to conceal her squirming pleasure from him? Was he aware that small kindnesses like these were the dangerous blocks which made her start building impossible dreams?
The following Monday, she was drinking ginger tea at the kitchen table when he glanced up from his newspaper and narrowed his eyes.
‘About these new clothes you’re supposed to be buying,’ he said.
‘Maternity clothes?’
‘Not quite yet. I meant pretty clothes,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what we agreed? Something to make you look the part of a Sarantos bride. Not long to go now.’
‘I know that.’
‘You haven’t shown very much interest in your wedding so far.’
‘It’s difficult to get enthusiastic about a ceremony which feels fake.’
He didn’t rise to the taunt. ‘I thought you’d be itching to get your hands on my chequebook.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ she said in a hollow voice, thinking about the foot massage. Didn’t he realise that something that simple and intimate was worth far more to her than his money? Of course he didn’t. It suited him much more to imagine her salivating over his credit card.
He put his newspaper down. ‘Well, there’s no point in putting it off any longer. I can arrange for Alannah to take you shopping and you can choose your wedding dress at the same time, if you like. You’ll find she has a superb eye.’
‘You mean I don’t?’
He frowned. ‘That wasn’t what I said.’
‘But that’s what you implied, isn’t it? Poor little Ellie—snatched up from rural Hampshire with no idea how to shop for clothes which might make her believable as the wife of the powerful Greek!’ She stood up quickly—too quickly—and had to steady herself. ‘Well, I’m perfectly capable of buying my own clothes—and my own wedding dress. So why don’t you give me your precious credit card and I’ll see if I can do it justice? I’ll go out this morning and just spend, spend, spend like the stereotypical gold-digger you’re so fond of portraying!’
‘Ellie—’
She stalked off into her room and slammed the door very noisily, but when she came out again sometime later it was to find him still sitting there—the pile of newspapers almost completely read.
‘I thought you were going into the office this morning,’ she said.
‘Not any more,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you shopping.’
‘I don’t want you to...’ Her voice faltered, because when his blue eyes softened like that, he was making her feel stuff she didn’t want to feel.
‘Don’t want me to what?’
She didn’t want him standing on the other side of a curtain while she tried to cram her awkward-looking body into suitable clothes. She didn’t want to see the disbelieving faces of the sales assistants as they wondered what someone like him was doing with someone like her. Shopping for clothes was a nightmare experience at the best of times, but throwing the arrogant Alek into the mix would make it a million times worse. ‘Hang around outside the changing room,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
She shrugged. Why not tell him the truth? ‘I’m self-conscious about my body.’
He poured himself a cup of coffee. ‘Why?’
‘Because I am, that’s why.’ She glared at him. ‘Most women are—especially when they’re pregnant.’
His gaze slid over her navel, his expression suggesting he wasn’t used to looking at a woman in a way which wasn’t sexual. ‘I should have thought that my own reaction to your body would have been enough to reassure you that I find it very attractive indeed.’
‘That isn’t the point,’ she said, unwilling to point out that lately he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her body, because wouldn’t that make her seem vulnerable? ‘I’m not willing to do a Cinderella transformation scene with you as an audience.’
He opened his mouth and then, shutting it again, he sighed. ‘Okay. So what if I act as your chauffeur for the day? I’ll drive you to a department store and park up somewhere and wait. And you can text me when you’re done. How does that sound?’
It sounded so reasonable that Ellie couldn’t come up with a single objection and soon she was seated beside him in the car as he negotiated the morning traffic. She was slightly terrified when he dropped her off outside the store, but she’d read enough magazines to know that she was perfectly entitled to request the services of a personal shopper. And it didn’t seem to matter that she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt or that her untrimmed fringe was flopping into her eyes like a sheepdog—because the elegant woman assigned to her made no judgements. She delicately enquired what Ellie’s upper price limit was. And although Ellie’s instinct was to go for the cheapest option, she knew Alek wouldn’t thank her for shopping on a budget. He’d once drawlingly told her that it was the dream of every woman to get her hands on his credit card, so why disappoint him? Why not try to become the woman that he and his fancy friends would obviously expect her to be?
She quickly discovered how easy shopping was when you had money. You could buy the best. You could complement your outfits with soft leather shoes and pick up a delicate twist of a silk scarf which echoed the detail in a fabric. And expensive clothes really could transform, she decided. The luscious fabrics seemed to flatter her shape, rather than highlight her defects.
The shopper persuaded her into the dresses she usually rejected on the grounds that jeans were more practical, and Ellie found she liked the swish of the delicate fabrics brushing against her skin. She bought all the basic clothes she needed and then picked out a silvery-white wedding gown which did amazing things for her eyes as well as her figure. On impulse, the personal shopper draped a scarlet pashmina around her shoulders—a stole so fine it was almost transparent, and it was that