Page 66 of Slightly Married
She fixed me with those penetrating eyes—so like K’s it was almost unnerving—and said, “I refuse to repeat these mistakes with my sons.”
“I appreciate that more than you know,” I replied, unable to hide my smile. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” She squeezed my hands. “I’ve watched my son transform since you arrived. He’s becoming whole in ways I feared might never happen after the attack. You’ve restored the light and laughter to his life that deplorable Stella stole away. How could I not welcome the woman who accomplished what none of us could?”
I blinked rapidly, fighting back the sudden emotion threatening to spill over. “Well, when you put it that way, Isound pretty amazing,” I joked, before adding more seriously, “He’s done the same for me, you know. I guess we both got lucky.”
For the first time since arriving at this estate, I felt like I belonged here.
22
The crystal chandeliers of Elaia scattered prisms of light across the white tablecloths as I outlined Olympus Motors’ expansion plans to our American investors. The rich aroma of sizzling meat and fresh herbs wafted from the open kitchen, mingling with the subtle notes of expensive perfumes and aged wine.
Kayla sat beside me, her burgundy Valentino wrap dress complementing my matching tie. A detail she’d insisted upon when we chose our outfits.
“The Mediterranean climate presents unique challenges for battery efficiency,” I explained to James Freeman, the silver-haired investor from Detroit. “Which is why our hybrid power trains outperform pure electric vehicles in real-world conditions here.”
Freeman nodded, but I noted the skepticism in the furrow of his brow. After years of negotiations, I could read hesitation in the slightest micro-expressions. This meeting wasn’t progressing as efficiently as I’d anticipated.
Rebecca Clark, Freeman’s colleague, leaned forward. “Consumer perception remains our primary concern. American buyers associate European vehicles with luxury, not innovation.”
“Innovation and luxury aren’t mutually exclusive. Our design philosophy integrates both elements seamlessly.”
I continued detailing our technical specifications, market projections, and production capabilities. Clark’s posture stiffened during my explanation of production timelines. It was another indicator that they weren’t fully convinced by the data-driven approach.
“I drove the Iris last week,” Kayla interjected suddenly. “I know nothing about torque or horsepower, but I felt glamorous behind the wheel. It was like the car anticipated what I needed before I knew I needed it.”
I suppressed my initial reaction to redirect the conversation back to metrics and specifications. Instead, I observed how Freeman’s expression softened immediately at her comment.
“Consumer experience is ultimately what matters,” he acknowledged, his tone warmer than it had been during our entire technical discussion.
“Precisely why our user interface design receives as much investment as our engineering,” I added, building on Kayla’s effective contribution. “The Iris may be our city model, but its customization options and intuitive features represent our entire philosophy.”
As our entrees arrived—lamb for me, grilled sea bass for Michaila—movement near the entrance caught my attention. Aristides had just arrived with a woman I didn’t recognize. Tall, elegant, with deep brown skin and shoulder-length curls.
My brother’s hand rested lightly at the small of her back as they followed the maître d’ to their table, his expression more relaxed than I’d seen in years. Interesting.
“Excuse me a moment,” I said, setting my napkin beside my plate.
Freeman nodded. “Of course.”
Kayla’s questioning glance followed me as I made my way across the restaurant. I could see the exact moment she spotted what had drawn my attention.
“Aris,” I greeted my brother, who seemed momentarily surprised by my appearance. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“Kostas.” He recovered quickly, gesturing to his companion. “This is Dede. She’s visiting Greece. Dede, my brother, Kostas.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” She was American. Her handshake was firm.
“Likewise,” I replied.
My brother had always been private about his personal life, yet the way his eyes kept returning to Dede suggested I was witnessing something entirely new in my brother’s world.
“We’re with the American investors,” I explained in Greek, gesturing toward our table where Michaila was now deep in conversation with Mrs. Freeman. “Would you care to join us for dessert later?”
Aristides glanced down at Dede before he responded. “Perhaps another time.”
As I returned to our table, I found Freeman’s wife laughing at something Michaila had said, the earlier business tension completely dissolved.
