Free A Perfect Wife: International Billionaires V: The Greeks by Caro LaFever Page A

appearing to think the child would somehow contaminate him with its touch. Another young child bounced to his side, ignored the clucking of his mother, and wrapped his arms around a powerful male leg. The fallen god’s thigh tensed as if ready to shake the boy off like a gnat.
    He didn’t.
    She’d give him at least this.
    He just stood, silent. His grim gaze remained locked on the baby as if he had to keep an eye on the kid in case she kissed him. The baby cooed and batted her long dark lashes into the forbidding face above her.
    For a moment, Nat thought he might soften.
    But the flicker of emotion on his face skittered away, a blank look of nothing replacing it. Didn’t the man realize how precious this was?
    Grief clutched in her throat.
    She hadn’t allowed herself to miss her family for years. Developing a quick habit of dismissing memories had been necessary to get through her days taking care of her depressed mom and trying to keep track of her careless brother. She’d given herself no time to remember the dazzling Christmases with her cousins and aunts and uncles. She spent zero of her precious moments studying at college thinking about the times when she’d loved her dad. The times when they’d been a big, happy family. None of the childhood romps or rowdy games or funny jokes shared with her cousins and brother were allowed to penetrate her new reality.
    Not for years.
    Not until now.
    Now, when she watched a big, happy family interact with each other, laugh with each other, be with each other—not until now did she let herself remember.
    Observing this joyful family, those memories and joy came rushing back, swamping her heart and soul with the bittersweet knowledge—her family was gone forever. Buried or exiled. Like a cracked egg, a split circle, her family could never be put back together again. The happy memories were swept away by the painful reality of what had happened to her family. The pain slammed into her when she tore her gaze away from his relatives and pinned it on him again.
    The men in her life had ruined her family. Ruined the memories and the joy.
    Didn’t Aetos Zenos understand what he had here? Didn’t he know how precious this love was, and how easily it could be destroyed?
    He rolled his broad shoulders as if trying to shake off the love spinning around him. His mouth tightened into a thin line when one of the men patted his shoulder. His jaw clenched when the boy hugging his leg laughed up into his tense face.
    No, he didn’t. Not only was he an evil man, he was a fool.
    As if he heard her thoughts and wanted only to confirm them, he handed the baby back to its mother with a twitchy, hurried motion.
    Then, he turned.To look at her.
    The performance was about to begin. She knew she’d fail. She wasn’t an actress. She couldn’t pretend to like this man, much less love him.
    But what choice did she have?
    All of the dozen or so Greeks surrounding him turned to stare at her.
    Her skin turned to ice and her muscles turned to glass. The play began whether she wanted it to or not.
    “ Éla edó .” His words might be foreign, but his intent was clear. He waved at her, a flash of irritation crossing his face when she didn’t immediately move.
    She couldn’t move. Frozen flesh did not move.
    So they moved to her.
    A wave of humanity surrounded Natalie in seconds. Pats on her shoulder and back, laughing smiles, loud, happy voices ringing in her ears. A short, stout woman, who looked to be a hundred years old, pushed her way through the crowd and without a moment of hesitation, engulfed her in a tight, loving embrace. “ Kaló̱s í̱lthate , kaló̱s í̱lthate .”
    “She says welcome.” A young teenager smiled through her braces. “ Giagiá doesn’t speak much English, but most of the rest of us do.”
    The old lady tightened her grip. The wiry, gray hair at the top of her head brushed Natalie’s chin and she abruptly realized: she stood out in this crowd as much as Zenos