Page 28 of Slightly Married
“If it helps,” Konstantin finally said, “her attitude isn’t about you personally.”
Maybe it wasn’t about me, but I was the one getting cold shoulders. Funny how ancient history could feel so damn present.
“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” I sighed. “But when someone dislikes you because of who your parents are, it feels pretty personal.”
A knock interrupted us, and a nurse’s voice floated through the door announcing we could leave.
“You should go,” I told him, excited at the prospect of finally moving my legs. “I need to get dressed.”
“I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
He exited, and the door clicked softly behind him. I exhaled deeply, the room suddenly larger without his presence. Gingerly,I extracted my stiff legs from the stirrups and reached for my clothes folded neatly on the chair beside me.
As I gathered my things, I checked my phone to find three messages from Simone asking for updates. Despite the ocean between us, she was still by my side for every important moment.
I texted back.
Procedure #2 complete. Call you tonight with details.
I tried not to hope. But hope had a way of blooming in silence, even when you told it not to.
Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, something would take root.
10
Iexamined the contents of industrial refrigerator, searching for something specific yet unidentified. My body craved comfort after a week of international negotiations.
There it was—nestled between imported cheeses and fresh produce: a substantial earthenware dish of galaktoboureko. The semolina custard encased in phyllo reminded me of childhood summers when problems could be solved by my mother’s cooking. My mouth watered involuntarily at the scent of vanilla and citrus.
“The prodigal son returns.” My mother’s voice carried across the kitchen as she entered, setting down her leather-bound recipe journal.
Despite our staff of professional chefs, she insisted on preparing family meals herself whenever the mood struck, often spending evenings planning the next day’s menu.
I crossed over to her, placing a kiss on her cheek, which she returned before pulling me into a proper embrace. “How is your leg? Has the summer warmth improved your discomfort?”
“The pain is manageable,” I replied, straightening my posture. “Two hours of physical training daily and regular therapeutic massage have been effective.”
“I light a candle for your complete recovery every Sunday,” she said, efficiently retrieving the pastry dish from my hands.
She cut a generous portion and placed it before me. I selected a fork from the drawer and sampled the dessert, allowing myself a moment to appreciate it.
“What brings you by?” she asked, her casual tone belied by the directness of her gaze.
“I missed you.”
She made a dismissive sound. “Perhaps. But a man with a new wife should be spending his evenings with her, not his mother.” Her head tilted with the same expression preceding countless lectures throughout my youth.
“What exactly are you doing with your life, Konstantinos?” She gestured toward my suites where Kayla was probably sleeping. “You’ve installed your wife here like a piece of furniture while you reside with your mistress?”
“Stella remains my fiancée,” I stated firmly. “Our engagement predates my arrangement with Kayla. Once our contractual obligations are fulfilled, I will honor my commitment to Stella.”
“But at the moment you have a wife. And arranged or not, marriage is a holy union that demands respect.”
“I’ve ensured her financial security and personal comfort—”
“Pshhhh.” Her dismissive gesture cut through my explanation. “It would serve you right if she sought companionship elsewhere.”
I was formulating a response when my phone vibrated against the counter. I glanced at the screen and saw Kayla’s name above a simple sentence.
