Page 92 of Slightly Married
“Perfect,” I replied, squeezing his hand.
The reception at the Christakis estate was in full swing by early evening. The gardens had been transformed into an enchanted wonderland, with twinkling lights strung through the trees and tables draped in white linen scattered across the lawn.
A band played softly in the background, and the air was filled with the aromas of lamb, fresh seafood, and the honeyed sweetness of baklava.
I made my way through the crowd, stopping to chat with each guest, accepting congratulations and compliments on both the beautiful ceremony and my even more beautiful daughter.
“The flowers are divine,” Lauren gushed. She kept her manicured hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “And that cake! Kayla, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“Wait until you taste it,” I replied, proud of the five-tiered creation I’d ordered. Each layer was a different flavor, decorated with hand-crafted sugar flowers that matched the church arrangements exactly.
“Lauren, can I please have the first slice?” Her daughter Gianna drawled. Her complexion, like mine, revealed her mixed heritage. “It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, I swear.”
“Mind your manners, sweetie,” Lauren reminded her with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder. “But yes, I reckon your godmother might save you a special piece.”
Despite the warm smile on her face, I could see the strain around Lauren’s eyes. Her mother had given her an ultimatum—move back to the family farm in Texas for a year to prove she could handle full-time motherhood, or fight them in court for custody.
Determined to make her daughter’s transition from grandparents’ care to hers as smooth as possible, Lauren had recently packed up her entire life in New York and returned to her childhood home.
“I absolutely will,” I promised with a smile. “First slice for my favorite ten-year-old.”
As Lauren moved on to greet other guests, I scanned the party. Simone and Yiorgos were dancing, her head thrown back in laughter at something he’d said. Nearby, Matthaios stood alone, nursing a whiskey, his expression dark as he watched them.
On the other side of the garden, my father was engaged in what appeared to be a polite but strained conversation with Domna. Irida hovered at the periphery of their circle, talking to Yiorgos’ father.
“Disaster waiting to happen?” Konstantin appeared at my side, TJ cradled against his shoulder. Her little face was peaceful in sleep despite the music and chatter surrounding us.
“Surprisingly, no,” I replied. “Everyone’s behaving. Even Matthaios is keeping his brooding to a minimum.”
“She needs changing,” Konstantin said, nodding toward our daughter. “Shall we?”
I followed him inside, grateful for a moment away from the festivities. The nursery was a vision of soft pink luxury—from the ornate crystal chandelier to the elaborate canopy draping regally over TJ’s round white crib.
The walls were painted a delicate blush pink with intricate crown molding, complemented by flowing silk curtains framing the tall windows. Plush teddy bears occupied their own dedicated armchair, while fresh flowers adorned both the mantelpiece and the base of the crib.
The antique white dresser and changing table maintained the classical esthetic, and the hand-tufted floral rug tied the entire fairytale nursery together.
“Hand me the wipes,” I said, efficiently unbuttoning TJ’s christening outfit. “And grab a fresh onesie.”
He handed me each item exactly when needed, as though we were surgeons in an operating theater rather than parents changing a diaper.
“Today went perfectly,” he said, passing me the clean onesie. “Your planning was impeccable.”
“Our planning,” I corrected, smiling up at him. “You interviewed three different priests.”
“I wanted the best for her,” he replied without a hint of embarrassment. His fingers brushed mine as he helped secure the snaps on TJ’s outfit.
“Of course you did.” I leaned over to kiss his cheek. “That’s why you’re such a great father.”
He caught my hand as I pulled away, his expression suddenly serious. “Are you certain about Thalassía? We could easily make our primary residence Athens or Corfu.”
I scooped up our freshly changed daughter, inhaling her sweet baby scent. “I’ve never been more certain of anything. Thalassía is the reason we’re married, and it’s where TJ was born. It’s home.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely positive,” I assured him. “I want to raise our children there.”
“Children?” he repeated, his eyebrow quirking upward.
