Page 58 of The Sheikh's Purchased Bride

When it felt to Zoey that a good half hour had passed, she asked the driver, who wasn’t overly communicative, how much farther away their destination was. At that moment, they pulled in front of Xenia, possibly the most exclusive Greek restaurant on the East Coast. People came from all over the country to sample the cuisine, especially wealthy immigrants from Greece longing for a taste of home.

Zoey was by no means surprised that Stelios has chosen a Greek restaurant for their encounter, and she was thankful she could consider herself something of a fan.

The driver came around and let her out, allowing her to see the magnificent structure properly. The building was made of black marble and took up a huge part of the block. There was an exquisite outdoor café area, cordoned off by artful, wrought-iron gates. Zoey guessed that the restaurant was at least three stories high, and she could glimpse a lavish balcony area on the top floor. To the right of the building was a triangular field filled with tiny holes and surrounded by small, colored spotlights. Every few moments, water would jet out of the holes in different patterns, and the lights would make the streams change color. The doors were made of heavy oak, and the top half of each one bore a circular painting of pastoral Greece. It was breathtaking.

Again, the driver passed her, and with more of an effort than Zoey would have thought necessary, pulled open Xenia’s door.

Zoey stepped inside and beheld the vestibule with awe. It was larger than she had expected, and lit with a massive chandelier. On the wall to her right, in engraved, golden letters, were quotes from several of Ancient Greece’s most famous philosophers and statesmen. On the wall to her left was a skillful rendering of Mount Olympus and the Twelve Olympians.

Beyond the vestibule was the restaurant itself, a huge area that was nonetheless lit to feel intimate and private. A dozen or so rectangular tables bore starched, white cloths, and fine china. Along the far wall an intricately-decorated staircase led to the upper floors.

Zoey was still taking everything in when a sudden, magnificent crash rocked the restaurant, and the smell of smoke began to fill her nostrils.

“What in the world is going on?” Zoey said, to no one in particular—as far as she could see, the restaurant was empty. Had someone broken in? Was something on fire?

She thought about running outside while she still had the chance. She had just turned in the direction of the door when a small, clear, “ahem” stopped her in her tracks.

Zoey turned and beheld a skinny boy, about sixteen years old. He wore black slacks and vest, and had an eager face, wavy hair, and a pencil-thin mustache.

“Good evening, miss,” he said politely. “My name is Ravi. I’m one of the busboys here. Are you looking for Mr. Zakiridis?”

“Er…yes,” Zoey replied skeptically. “Yes I was. I was supposed to meet him here. Is he in the restaurant?”

“Yes, miss. Follow me.”

Zoey was a little unsure, but didn’t seem to have too many better options, so tailed the boy down a long hallway at the very rear of the restaurant. The farther they walked, the hotter it got and the more loudly Zoey heard the banging of pots and pans.

At last, they arrived at a pair of padded swing doors.

“Just through there, miss. I was just finishing up when you arrived, so I’m going to get going now. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

Zoey thanked Ravi as well as she could over the clattering of the pans.

As the boy went back toward the front, she turned and plunged through the doors, and there, battling back a cloud of smoke, was billionaire real estate mogul Stelios Zakiridis.

He wore a pair of black slacks, a white, collared shirt, and an apron covered in splatters of grease. His sleeves were rolled up to just over the elbow, revealing two rather muscular forearms. A sheen of sweat lay on his forehead as he fussed over a baking pan full of dough and meat. Even from where she was standing, Zoey could tell it was badly burned.

What on earth does he think he’s doing? she wondered. Why is he working in the kitchen?

“It’s supposed to be kreatopita, a savory pie that marries wine and herbs, ground beef and buttery phyllo dough. What I seem to have done, however, is to marry heat and grease to create a large charcoal briquette.”

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