Page 11 of Slightly Married
“He knows it too.” Frustration edged Aristides’ voice.
“We could find another way,” Dimitrios insisted. Unlike our eldest brother’s rational approach, Dimitrios had always led with his heart. “Perhaps we could challenge the original sale? There must be legal options we haven’t explored.”
“Who makes those kinds of demands?”
“A man who holds all the cards,” I reminded Aristidis, moving into the bedroom where the city lights of Manhattan created a constellation of brightness beyond the tall windows. “Besides, aren’t you the one who’s always saying family connections matter most, Aris? Aren’t you wanting Santo to get back with Antonis Tsolakidis’ daughter?”
“A Christakis-Tsolakidis union would be good for business,” Aris acknowledged, “but I would never force my son into a marriage. And we both know Chrysanthos would rebel if I even hinted at it.”
I smiled at the mention of my nephew’s antics. At twenty-three, Santo marched to his own rhythm with unwavering confidence. Tell him to go left, and he’d probably turn right simply on principle. The boy was stubborn, but still the coolest kid I knew.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, absently rubbing my knee. “I did what needed to be done to honor Baba’s dying wish.”
My brother’s sigh was heavy, carrying across the miles between New York and Athens. “If I had known he would do this, I wouldn’t have asked you to go in my stead.”
“I know.”
“What does his daughter look like?” Dimitrios asked, changing tack.
The image of Kayla from earlier, barefoot and wearing a slip of yellow, came unbidden to my mind. “She’s unlike any other woman I’ve ever met. She’s a bronze version of a temple goddess, as if lovingly handcrafted by Aphrodite herself.”
“You’re in love already?” Amusement colored Aris’ tone.
“Hardly,” I scoffed, then to shift the spotlight away from myself, added, “Matthaios is here in New York and working for Michail.”
“You have to be joking.”
I moved back toward the windows as I recounted the encounter at Michail’s house and the subsequent confrontation in the car.
“I’ll call him as soon as we hang up and find out what’s really going on,” Aristides promised. “In the meantime, I’ll inform Mother and Theia of the wedding.”
I was almost thankful not to be the one breaking the news. Theia Irida wouldn’t be pleased about this marriage to the daughter of the man who’d jilted her.
Dimi voiced my thoughts. “It’s going to be a shit-show.”
Over the next several minutes, we discussed business matters, which provided temporary respite from personal issues. Eventually, I steered the conversation toward lighter ground. “Tell your son he’d better not try to weasel out of giving me my money.”
“Why are you encouraging Chrysanthos to gamble?” My brother demanded. “I’ve been trying to get him to take life more seriously. He needs to grow up.”
I wanted to remind my brother that despite being eighteen years older than Santo, I still enjoyed a good wager now and then, but a soft knock at the door interrupted my speech.
Irritably, I wrapped myself in a plush hotel robe and crossed to the door. Even though I knew my security would have vetted any visitors, I still checked the peephole.
Standing in the hallway was Stella, her honey-blonde hair framing her face in soft waves. She wore a simple white dress paired with delicate gold jewelry. Her overnight Hermès bag hung from one shoulder.
I pulled open the door, though my stomach tightened with dread rather than anticipation. A feeling that had become almost constant since we’d woken up naked after a night of grieving went too far.
“Kostas!” With glowing eyes and a delighted smile, she threw her arms around my neck, rising on tiptoes to kiss me.
I returned the kiss, going through the motions while my mind remained completely detached. Kissing her felt like kissing a stranger.
“Surprise!” she exclaimed after pulling away.
“Stella,” I breathed. “What are you doing here?”
The last time I saw her, she was begging to accompany me to the U.S. I’d refused, telling her this trip was business and required my full attention.
“I thought you might need these,” she said, producing a folder from her bag with a smile. “The notes from your meeting with the Japanese investors? You left them at my place.” She tilted her head. “I could have sent them electronically, but then I thought... why not deliver them personally?”
