As the limousine pulled up to the end of a long red carpet, Kelly shrank. ‘You didn’t say anything about a red carpet, cameras and a million people staring. Alekos, I can’t walk in these shoes in public.’
‘If I’d mentioned it, you just would have worried.’ Alekos took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m with you this time. You just smile and look aloof.’
‘It’s hard to look aloof when you’re nose is splattered on the floor, which is where mine will be if I have to walk the length of that carpet in front of an audience!’
‘I’ll be holding your hand.’
‘Can I take my shoes off?’
‘Not unless you want to attract extra attention. Smile,’ Alekos instructed as the car door was opened from the outside and a burst of light filled the car. ‘Leave the rest to me.’
Kelly stepped gingerly out of the car and
was immediately blinded by flashbulbs. Her lips fixed in a rigid smile, she took one look at the yelling crowd, and would have shot back into the car but Alekos’s fingers handcuffed her wrists.
‘Walk. Incline your head. Lift your chin slightly—better.’ He issued a stream of instructions and encouragement, his hand holding hers tightly as he walked her down the red carpet and into the gallery. ‘Now you can relax.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Kelly stared nervously at the priceless artefacts. ‘I won’t relax until I leave knowing I didn’t break anything.’
‘If you do break something, no one will dare comment,’ Alekos said smoothly. ‘I’m an extremely generous benefactor. And, no, before you ask, that doesn’t give me warm, fuzzy feelings.’
‘I don’t think even I’d get warm, fuzzy feelings about a painting,’ Kelly confessed, craning her neck as she looked at the art on the walls. ‘Why do you support a museum in Venice? Why not the museum in Athens?’
‘I do support the museum in Athens. Come with me, there is someone I want you to meet.’ Supplying her with a drink, Alekos led her through the elegant throng of people towards a man who stood admiring a painting. ‘Constantine.’
The man turned and Kelly saw that he was elderly. His white hair was swept back from a face that was still handsome, despite his years. ‘Alekos.’ His expression brightened and there was a brief exchange of rapid Greek before Alekos drew Kelly forward and introduced her.
‘Ah.’ Constantine smiled at her, a knowing look in his eyes. ‘So we are surrounded by priceless works of art but still Alekos manages to arrive with something more dazzling on his arm.’ He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Even the gold of the Renaissance doesn’t shine quite so brightly as a woman in love. Good, I’m pleased. And not before time, Alekos Zagorakis.’
Kelly felt Alekos stiffen beside her and suddenly she wanted to put her hand over the other man’s mouth to silence him.
She’d been walking on eggshells for weeks, and now this man was stomping over their fragile relationship with hobnail boots.
‘I love this painting,’ she blurted out in a high voice. ‘Is it a—?’ Suddenly her brain emptied; she couldn’t think of a single Italian artist. Panic had wiped her mind clean. ‘Canaletto?’
Constantine looked at her curiously and then shifted his gaze to the information plate next to the painting that clearly said Bellini.
Kelly gave a weak smile. ‘Bellini—of course. I wonder if they have any postcards that I can buy for the children…’ Gabbling nervously, it took her a moment to realise she’d inadvertently said totally the wrong thing.
‘Children? You have children?’ Constantine glanced from her to Alekos who was standing as frozen as a statue. ‘This is good news. Is there a reason for me to congratulate you?’
Horrified, Kelly sneaked a look at Alekos, whose face was a study in masculine tension.
‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘You have no reason to congratulate me.’
‘I meant the children that I teach. I’m a teacher.’ But Kelly’s legs were shaking and she put her hand against the wall to support herself.
Constantine slapped Alekos on the shoulder. ‘So you’re not a father yet?’
‘No.’ Alekos’s voice was hoarse. ‘I’m not a father.’
Kelly felt as though he’d punched her.
She felt hideously, horribly sick. Had he really said that?
He still wasn’t telling anyone. He was still denying the existence of the baby.
Not trusting herself to speak, Kelly wished she could drink the champagne that was circulating, but she had to settle for orange juice which proved absolutely useless for numbing pain. Alekos had smoothly changed the subject, but Kelly was so upset she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. Her hands shook so much, she sloshed orange onto the floor. Normally she would have been mortified by her clumsiness, but tonight she didn’t even care.