Page 70 of Slightly Married
“I’ll come too,” Tia said, squeezing Santo’s hand before releasing it to join us.
As we guided the elderly women from the room, I glanced back to catch Konstantin’s eye. Despite the seriousness of the moment, his gaze softened when it met mine before he turned back to his brothers.
We made our way through the corridor to Domna’s private suite, a procession of women supporting one another through this unexpected storm. Irida’s weight leaned heavily against Deanna and me, while Tia escorted Domna.
As we approached the threshold of Domna’s rooms, the polished tiled floors gave way to plush cream carpet. It was luxurious yet understated, much like my mother-in-law herself.
Her suite was a perfect reflection of her character. Her space blended elegance with touches of modernity.
Soft ivory walls provided the backdrop for vibrant contemporary art alongside antique silver frames holding family photographs. Fresh white lilies perfumed the air from crystal vases positioned throughout the room.
“The daybed, I think,” Domna directed, gesturing toward a comfortable chaise near the windows overlooking her private garden.
We guided Irida to the chaise, where she sank down with a heavy sigh. Her sobs had quieted to occasional shuddering breaths, but the devastation remained etched across her features.
“I’ll make tea,” Tia offered, her quiet voice breaking the silence.
Domna nodded gratefully. “The electric kettle is on the sideboard. Chamomile with honey for Irida, please.”
While Tia busied herself with the tea, Deanna moved to the windows, adjusting the curtains to let in the perfect balance of afternoon light.
“This article is about as clear as mud,” I said, scrolling through my phone with a frown. “They’ve reopened the case and are calling it a homicide, but there’s literally zero explanation about why after thirty years. Did someone confess? Find new evidence? Have a psychic vision?” I waved my hand in frustration. “Give me something to work with here, people!”
Irida’s eyes flashed with a vindication I’d never seen before. “I don’t care what it is! For three decades we’ve been dismissed as hysterical Greeks who couldn’t accept a natural death. Now, justice would be served.”
“Stavros had two sons, right?” Tia asked, carefully placing porcelain cups on saucers.
“Yes,” Domna nodded, her fingers tracing the embroidery on her linen napkin. “Nolan and Leon.”
“Wait, Nolan Christakis?” I perked up, making the connection. “I think my sister graduated high school with him!”
An idea sparked, and before I could filter it, I blurted out, “We should go to New York! Show up in person and make some noise. Nothing gets results like being physically present.”
“Absolutely right,” Deanna chimed in. “I watch enough true crime shows to know the police need constant pressure. Otherwise, your case collects dust while they move on to the next tragedy and the next and the next.”
I expected Irida to shoot down my suggestion, but to my complete shock, she nodded. “It’s a good idea,” she said, looking directly at me.
Had the temperature in hell just dropped below freezing?
“Thank you, Kayla,” she continued. “Your compassion and support mean a great deal. I know I haven’t been...” she paused, searching for words, “...welcoming. But your kindness hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
My eyebrows practically hit my hairline. I wished I had my phone ready to record this moment for posterity. Or at least to prove to K later that it actually happened.
“Very well!” Domna declared, clapping her hands. “We are in agreement. I’ll have Aris prepare the jet while we begin packing.”
I stood up, ready to hunt down K and break our travel news, when my stomach lurched violently. Oh no. Not now.
“Excuse me,” I managed to squeak before bolting for the guest bathroom in the hallway, barely making it to the toilet before emptying my stomach. So much for the crackers I’d been snacking on all morning.
I rinsed my mouth and splashed cool water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. “Morning sickness is the biggest scam in pregnancy marketing,” I muttered to my reflection. “Try all-day, random-attack, surprise-here’s-vomit sickness.”
The bathroom smelled of lemon-verbena potpourri, which thankfully didn’t trigger another wave of nausea. I dabbed my face dry with one of the monogrammed hand towels, silently praying I wouldn’t be one of those women who hugged toilets for nine straight months.
As I made my way back to our bedroom to start packing, anticipation tingled through my body despite my queasy stomach. Going to New York wouldn’t just mean supporting my new family through this bizarre murder investigation. It meant seeing Daddy, Simone and dragging Lauren out for mocktails.
The door opened behind me, and I spun around with a grin. “K! Perfect timing. I need your opinion on how many shoes constitute excessive for a trip of undetermined length—”
The smile froze on my face when I caught his expression.
