Page 3 of Slightly Married
As he took a couple of steps toward me, I fought the urge to back up and remain outside of his powerfully magnetic sphere of influence, which he seemed to carry around him. The subtle scent of cedar and rosemary drifted toward me as he moved.
His hand shot out to me in introduction. “Konstantin Christakis,” he informed me suavely, grasping my cold hand in his. “Your fiancé.”
The contact stirred an unwelcome sensation in my system I immediately resented.
2
The moment I stepped into Michail Athanasiou’s Upper East Side mansion, my instincts flared. The ornate foyer with its gleaming marble felt like the entrance to a well-crafted trap.
“Mr. Christakis, welcome,” the butler announced formally after taking our coats. “If you and your associates would follow me, Mr. Athanasiou is expecting you in his study.”
I gave a barely perceptible nod to Alexei, my head of security, who positioned himself discreetly. Andreas, my assistant, remained two steps behind me, tablet in hand, his presence as unobtrusive as always.
The phantom ache across my left side intensified as it always did in unfamiliar territory. My fingers brushed briefly against my ribs where the bullet had torn through two years ago.
As we followed the butler through a long corridor lined with expensive art, a door opened just ahead of us. A tall man in a tailored suit stepped out, his attention on a folder in his hands.
He looked up at our approach and froze.
Matthaios. My cousin.
Shock registered in his eyes before he quickly recovered. I maintained my neutral expression despite the questions flooding my mind.
“Mr. Christopher,” the butler addressed him, “would you inform Mr. Athanasiou that his appointment has arrived?”
Christopher? So that was the identity he was using here.
“Of course,” Matthaios replied smoothly, his Greek accent muted. Our eyes met again briefly before he turned and walked ahead of us toward the study.
Matthaios disappeared around a corner, presumably to announce our arrival. Moments later, he reappeared and gestured toward a door at the end of the hall.
“Mr. Athanasiou will see you now,” he said formally, as though we were strangers. “He’s requested that your team remain in the waiting area.”
“Thank you,” I replied with equal formality.
When I stepped into Michail’s study, the man rose from behind his desk and extended his hand. I couldn’t help but notice how Matthaios had inherited Michail’s height and dark blue eyes.
“Konstantin Christakis,” Michail said, his handshake firm. “I was expecting your brother Aristides. I specifically requested him.” The note of disappointment in his voice was unmistakable.
“Aristides sends his regrets,” I replied evenly. “He’s overseeing the fire at one of Olympus Motors facilities. I handle all major financial acquisitions for our family. I assure you I have full authority to negotiate for Thalassía.”
As the middle son of Periklis and Domna Christakis, I’d carved out my position between Aristides’ diplomatic leadership and Dimitrios’ operational finesse by mastering financial strategy. As CFO of Olympus Motors, my family’s automotive empire, I’d strengthened our position among global competitors through strategic acquisitions and financial restructuring.
We each had a role to play in upholding the Christakis legacy. Today, this particular duty fell to me.
Michail nodded. “Of course. These operational crises always seem to occur at the most inconvenient times.”
He gestured toward the leather chairs arranged before his desk. “Please sit.”
Once I was seated and the heavy doors closed behind us, Michail poured himself a drink.
“My wife and I tried for years to have children,” he began. “She miscarried three boys before Michaila finally arrived. After her, nothing else... stuck.” He took a contemplative sip. “The doctors said it was a miracle we had one.”
I shifted in my seat, resisting the urge to check my watch. “Mr. Athanasiou, I appreciate your willingness to share personal details, but I’m here to discuss the sale of Thalassía, not your family history.”
Michail chuckled. “You remind me of your father, Konstantin. Always direct, always focused on the business at hand.” His eyes narrowed. “But sometimes business and family are intertwined, especially for men like us.”
I remained silent, waiting for him to get to his point.
