Page 42 of Greek’s Christmas Heir

He climbed out of the car in front of his mother’s house and waved his driver off, knowing that his mother found his wealth embarrassing. In case he might tell himself otherwise, she had been sure to say so, more than once. She did not like that much money. And she certainly did not like to see it flashed about outside her cottage, where the neighbors would be sure to comment.

Anax stood outside in the cool sunshine. He did not have to turn to know that his mother’s ancient neighbor was peering out her window. He knew that his presence would be shared round the whole village, likely before he said hello to Evgenia—

And that was when he realized that this village was not so different, really, than Constance’s Halburg. There were more hills and goats and olive trees than cornfields, but thefeelof each place was more alike than not.

He could not have said why that comparison seemed to slosh about uneasily inside of him.

And he might not know what he was doing here, but he had not gotten where he was by wasting time questioning his decisions. He strode to the door and knocked, not entirely surprised when there was no answer. He could have let himself in, because he had his own key—and suspected Evgenia did not bother to lock her door anyway—but he knew that there was only one other place his mother was likely to be.

Opting not to test her door to see if his unlocked theory was correct—a thought that would keep Stavros up in the night—he walked through the village, down to the small church at the base of the hill.

Anax had no particular reason to dislike this place, he could admit as he walked. It was lovely, especially basking in the sunlight on this near winter’s day. It was colder than Athens, but that was to be expected, as it was at a higher elevation. As he walked, he could admit that it was charming and picturesque.

It was only that his mother loved it and so unreasonably, he thought. That, to his mind, she had shrugged off one foot on her neck for another.

An opinion she had not liked very much when he had shared it.

The church was old, and kept in pristine condition, something that made him tense all over again. Because he knew what he would see, and he did. He walked in the front doors and there was Evgenia Ignatios herself.

Though her bank account was now stuffed full and every luxury on this planet available to her with a wave of her finger, that was not how she chose to spend her time. It was this. It was here, no matter how baffling it seemed to Anax. Cleaning this church as if it was her own home.

Something she did not have to do any longer either, because he had a service come into the cottage.

So she did it here instead. Every day. As if this was one of the flats they’d lived in when he was young and her actual health and well-being hinged on making the place sparkle.

Anax stayed in the back of the church and watched her as she moved around, concentrating fiercely on her work. It reminded him of when he’d been a boy. No matter what nightmare his father had unleashed upon them the night before, Evgenia would always be up with the dawn, keeping whatever hovel they lived in bright and sparkling.

He did not move from where he was, though he was aware that his mother knew he was there. She made no move toward him. She continued her work and when she was finished, she rose from the floor that she had been scrubbing on her hands and knees. She wrung out the rag she’d used and hung it on the side of her bucket.

Only then did she look at him.

It was quiet. Peaceful, he supposed some might say, though he was not likely to agree.

“What an unexpected visit that brings you not only to the village unannounced, but into the church.” His mother sniffed. Her dark eyes seemed to pin him to the pew where he sat. “I can’t imagine what could cause such an unprecedented event.”

“Can a son not visit his mother on a whim?”

“Many sons do.” A gleam in his mother’s eyes reminded him a little too much of himself, just then. “But mine does not, as a rule.”

She walked toward him, and it had been a long time since he had really looked at her like he did now. Without any preconceptions. To see what others must.

That she was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a beautiful woman. Yet if anything, her vanity moved in the opposite direction of most women’s. She wore her dark hair scraped back into a bun, so that if there had been any gray showing it would be obvious. But there was still only the faintest hint at her temples. She wore no makeup, ever. He could recall his father shouting about a bit of lipstick here and there, back in the day, and wanted to wince as he wondered if that was why she preferred to keep herself barefaced now.

But he rather thought that it was a kind of armor.

She refused to hide from her past. She refused to hide in his money. If she was still beautiful, it was a simple gift from nature that she did nothing at all to nurture.

He knew from his sister that many men in the village had attempted to charm her, but she had only ever laughed them off.

I do not think,Vasiliki had said,that our mother has any desire to ever enter the marital state again.

Can you blame her?he had always responded.It is a state of disrepair, at best.

But now he wondered. “How many ghosts do you think we carry within us, you and me?” he asked Evgenia as she drew near.

She did not seem remotely discomfited by the question, which was an answer in itself.

“Even all your money cannot keep them at bay. Did you think otherwise?”

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