Mistresses: Blackmailed With Diamonds / Shackled with Rubies. Robyn Donald
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She would have been quite happy to just turn up at the wedding looking the way she always looked. It wasn’t as if Nikos had any other expectations. He hadn’t so much as mentioned a wedding dress or flowers. In fact, he’d treated their forthcoming nuptials in much the same vein as he might a business meeting.
She still smarted with indignation as she remembered his attitude during the visit to the lawyer. He’d virtually dragged her into the room and had then proceeded to ignore her, speaking entirely in Greek to the young, nervous lawyer seated behind the enormous desk. But even her fluency in his language hadn’t helped her understand what was going on in his head. He’d instructed the man to ensure that the jewel became his on marriage.
Then they’d switched to English and it had been left to her to stumble out her wish that Nikos be banned from indulging in extramarital sex, a conversation she’d found painfully embarrassing to conduct with a third party.
Instead of looking annoyed, Nikos had lounged in a chair in the furthest corner of the room, occasionally glancing at his watch as if he were being detained from something far more pressing than the simple matter of a pre-nuptial agreement.
In the car following their visit to the lawyer, he hadn’t spoken to her. Instead he’d checked his e-mails on his Blackberry and made endless calls on his mobile phone, pausing only long enough to drop her home with the announcement that he’d send a car for her in two weeks’ time. Then he’d driven off without a backward glance, leaving her seething and fuming.
It was clear that he wasn’t allowing the prospect of marriage to interfere with his life in the slightest.
She frowned as the make-up artist stepped back and admired her work. Or maybe he was making the most of his last two weeks of freedom. Yes, that was probably it. Knowing him, Nikos was probably currently indulging in a sexual marathon of Olympian proportions. Something that would keep him going throughout his long sexless marriage to her.
Suddenly a disturbingly clear picture of Nikos’s bronzed limbs entwined with creamy female flesh filled her brain and she blinked in shock, trying to dispel the image. What was it about him that made her think about sex when she wasn’t even interested in sex?
She chewed at her freshly glossed lower lip, wondering what on earth she was letting herself in for. What had possessed her to demand all those things from him?
What had possessed her to insist on marriage when she wasn’t in the least bit interested in marriage and even less so in marrying a man like Nikos, who had none of the qualities she admired in a person. He was probably quite clever, she conceded, or surely he wouldn’t have been able to make such a success of his life but he clearly didn’t require the slightest intellectual stimulation from his female companions. As long as they had blonde hair and were formed in the mould of Venus, he was happy.
Relieved that the make-up artist had finally finished, she stood up and examined her reflection in the mirror, failing to see a difference in herself. Even make up couldn’t turn her into something she wasn’t.
An image of the elegant blonde she’d seen him with in the paper taunted her and she took a step backwards, turning away from the mirror. Marrying her must indeed be the most hideous of punishments for a man like Nikos. All right, so she’d put away her glasses in favour of contact lenses and had allowed them to trim her hair and apply a little discreet make-up, but she still looked nothing like the women he usually escorted.
And that was a good thing, she told herself firmly. She was perfectly happy with the way she looked. She wasn’t the slightest bit insecure. She knew she wasn’t at all attractive in a physical sense and it really didn’t bother her. It wasn’t what mattered. She’d been given other, far more important gifts, like her brain. And the fact that Nikos didn’t exactly regard intelligence as an asset was a good thing, wasn’t it? She wanted him to suffer. That was the whole point of the exercise. He was going to be trapped with her. Committed to one woman for the first time in his life. It was surely justice at its most poetic.
‘You look really worried,’ the make-up artist said as she stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘Bridal nerves, I expect. Perfectly normal.’
Angie didn’t respond. What was normal about marrying a man you hated for the sole purpose of making him unhappy?
Suddenly submerged by a wave of panic, she was on the verge of withdrawing from the whole deal when she suddenly caught sight of her sister’s photograph on the small table in the living room. Tiffany was laughing and posing, clearly flirting with the person behind the camera. Angie gave a soft, wistful smile and then felt a stab of pain. However foolish her sister had been, she hadn’t deserved Nikos Kyriacou. She hadn’t deserved to be so badly treated.
Staring at the photograph, she blinked back tears. If she didn’t go through with the wedding then it would be someone else’s sister. Someone else’s loved one who was hurt. And she wasn’t going to let him do it to anyone else.
‘You look amazing.’ The make-up artist was obviously trying to be reassuring. ‘Your skin is so good you don’t actually need much make-up. And you have an amazing bone structure. If you were a few inches taller you could find work as a model.’
Angie bit back the instinctive denial that leapt to her lips. The girl was trying to be kind, she reminded herself. And it was very sweet of her. It would be churlish to point out that she knew she looked absolutely nothing like a model.
‘Thank you.’
‘And I love your dress. Fabulous. It’s simple but it really shows off your figure.’
Angie opened her mouth to say, What figure? but stopped herself in time, instead glancing down at the simple shift dress she’d chosen with a doubtful frown. It had been the first thing on the rail with a reasonably high neck. She certainly wouldn’t have described it as fabulous. But she’d had to purchase something. It had crossed her mind that she might turn up at the wedding wearing her everyday navy suit just to irritate Nikos, but she had a nasty feeling that he was more than capable of stripping it off her and, anyway, she mused as she turned sideways and studied her reflection in the mirror, she wasn’t prepared to wear navy to her wedding, even if the whole thing was a sham.
‘Angelina—’ Her mother entered the room and gave a soft gasp. Wearing a dress of soft blue silk, she floated across to Angie and studied her in amazement. ‘My goodness, you look almost—almost—’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Angie interrupted her hastily before her mother could say something that would dent her fragile confidence.
‘I mean you’ll never touch Tiffany for looks, but at least you look tidy.’ Her mother looked at the make-up artist and her eyes filled. ‘My Tiffany was a real stunner.’ She opened her bag and pulled out a handkerchief.
‘No crying, Mum,’ Angie said quickly, aware that the make-up artist was looking at them in amazement.
‘I can’t actually believe you’re going through with this.’ Her mother blew her nose. ‘It’s the perfect revenge. So clever. Not only does the man have to marry even though he doesn’t want to but he has to marry you! And all I can say is he deserves it!’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Her dry tone received no acknowledgement from her mother and Angie gave a sigh and quickly paid the make-up artist and hurried her out of the house, not even daring to imagine what must have been going on in the woman’s head. Not only had it been made brutally clear to her that Angie’s mother had an extremely low opinion of her own daughter, but she was obviously under the impression that Angie herself had trapped some poor unsuspecting male into marriage against his will.
Which was exactly what she had done, of course.
Feeling more and more jittery and less and less confident and sincerely wishing she’d agreed to meet her mother at the register office so that she wouldn’t have been in a position to consistently undermine her when what she really needed was encouragement, Angie picked up her bag. ‘Are you ready to leave? The car should be outside by now.’
‘Of course I’m