Page 51 of Greek’s Christmas Heir

That night, he took a page from Constance’s book and made certain he had the appropriate costume for the part. A flannel shirt. Jeans and clunky boots. In fabrics he could not recommend, but certainly would not make him stand out—a common complaint in this town, as he knew very well.

When he came down from the room that he had always taken as his when he was here, both Maria and Constance stared at him like he was some kind of apparition, which he chose to interpret as a round of applause.

He pretended he didn’t see it, either way. He went to his daughter instead, whisking her away from the commotion as Maria set about serving dinner to play with her instead. So that when it was time to sit around the table, she was tired enough to allow it.

That night, he crawled into bed next to his wife and pulled her up against his body.

“We are not having sex,” she told him fiercely. “It’s too confusing.”

“Whatever you wish,koritsi,” he replied, like the angel he was not. And he did not convince her otherwise, as he knew he could. But he also did not leave.

And they slept like that, tangled up together, as if they had never spent a night apart.

That, too, felt like hope.

In the night, he heard Natalia making noise. He went in to soothe her, shooing Maria back to her bed when she came in. And when the baby would not settle, he brought her into the bed he had left, where Constance was stirring.

“Is she all right?” she asked, instantly awake and alarmed.

“We will sleep together,” he told her gruffly, and lay the baby down between them, where he and Constance curled around her like they were making her a crib of their own bodies.

And in the morning, they were woken up by a delighted Natalia, who squeaked and crawled all over them and made it clear that as far as she was concerned, this family thing was heaven.

That next day, he trailed along as Constance went and saw her friends. They all greeted him with wide eyes and some suspicion, so he did his best to be charming. He spoke to their husbands. He was halfway through a discussion with one man, the genial Mike, before he realized that the man was discussing a backyard grill with the intensity that Anax himself reserved for high-level corporate negotiations.

He drank mass-produced beer. He made encouraging noises when sports were discussed.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Constance asked as they walked back in the cold, with more snow coming down. He watched his daughter try to catch snowflakes with her tongue. Then he looked at his wife.

“I am blending,koritsi. Was this not what you wanted?”

“I’m not sure I wanted the one and only Anax Ignatios dressing like a country song,” she muttered.

“I will take that as a resounding show of support for this costume, thank you,” he said blandly.

The next day was Christmas Eve. He took it upon himself to go out and find the Christmas tree he’d heard Constance tell Maria would be too much trouble. He brought it home and set it up in the living room, so that Constance could play happy carols and bring out boxes of decorations, all of them careworn and handmade.

They made her eyes shine, so he hung them without complaint.

He spent some time in the kitchen that afternoon with Maria, attempting to learn her tricks with dough and pie filling, though his creation was more theoretical than anything else.

Still, he felt a bizarre shock of pride when his wife deemed it delicious.

And that evening, they made their way to the tiny church where he had first laid eyes on Constance a year ago. This time, Anax sat with his daughter in his lap, and his wife sat beside him, no longer the Virgin Mary, Mother of God. This year the role was played by a young girl with several pillows stuffed beneath her shirt.

And he was not sure he heard a single word of the service.

Because something was building up inside of him, like a terrible song he was not at all sure he could keep within his chest. By the end of the play, he thought it might have leaked into his bones, and he was surprised that he could stand.

When everyone started filing out, he did the best he could to keep up conversation with that strange old shopkeeper and the rest of these villagers who clearly did not know what to make of Constance, Natalia, or him.

Though he also made certain that if they had anything barbed to say, they said it to him—because, as ever, it turned out that most people were far more comfortable saying such things to women.

Maria took Natalia as they started back toward the house, out there beneath that wide-open sky. Anax took Constance’s hand as the snow began to fall again, and kept her from going after them.

“It is Christmas Eve,” he said.

“I know it is.” She frowned at him. “Are you sorry you’re here?”

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