The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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She held out elegant hands spoiled only by chipped nails.
“You should’ve told me. I would’ve organised a beautician, a hairdresser—” Damon waved a hand at her nails “—whoever you needed to fix that.”
“How can I expect you and Savvas to understand? You are men! Look, I’m wearing nightclothes in the middle of the day. And I reek of antibacterial soap.” She paused for breath. “I can’t bear the smell of the antiseptic.”
“Neither can I,” said Rebecca with heartfelt fervour. Memories haunted her of the hospital her brother, James, had been in and out of before his death.
Soula gave her a sharp glance. “Only the experiences of the old and sick bring on such strong dislike.”
“Perhaps.” Rebecca kept her reply noncommittal, aware that she’d already given away more than she’d intended—especially with Damon hovering so close.
Soula patted Rebecca’s hand. “One day you will tell me more, pethi.”
Rebecca looked away. Not likely. It hurt too much.
Every single person she’d loved in her life had been ripped away.
Her parents.
James.
Aaron.
Fliss.
And with Damon she hadn’t even got started before it had all come crashing down on her. All she had left was T.J. whom she loved more than life itself.
She blinked. Soula’s hand was warm on hers and the weight of it resting there made her feel like the worst kind of fraud.
“Rebecca, pethi, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Rebecca forced herself to snap out of the black grief that smothered her. Soula should be the focus of her concern now.
“Come, child, let’s talk about other things.” Soula glanced meaningfully over at her silent son. “Damon, stop glowering and make yourself useful. See if you can find coffee for yourself and Rebecca.”
Rebecca winced, waiting for the inevitable explosion to follow the barrage of orders, then relaxed when Damon simply shot her a hooded look, his mouth slanted.
As soon as the two women were alone, Soula patted the bed invitingly, “Kathiste, come sit. Tell me what you think about this wedding that has me in such a state.”
Not for the first time suspicion rose inside Rebecca and she pinned Soula with a thoughtful look, but the other woman simply smiled and looked angelic.
Raising one speaking eyebrow, Rebecca sat. “And while we talk I’ll tend to some of those things that are bothering you so much. Where can I find your vanity case?”
Twenty minutes later Damon padded silently back into the ward. His mother and Rebecca were chatting softly—too softly for him to hear what they were saying—while Rebecca repainted his mother’s nails. His mother’s crow-black hair had been brushed and secured into a stylish knot that made her look more like her usual immaculate self. Her cheeks held a slight blush, and her lips were coloured with the shade she’d worn as long as he could remember.
Without warning, Soula laughed, and the dull helplessness that had cloaked him since receiving her call started to lift. All at once things seemed brighter. Happier.
His mother was going to be fine. She was not going to die. And he had Rebecca to thank for the transformation. He stepped forward and with his right foot pushed the door shut behind him. The thud caused both women’s heads to shoot around.
Rebecca looked instantly wary, but his mother beamed. “Ah, coffee. Rebecca will enjoy that. Won’t you, dear?” And without waiting for an answer, she continued. “Put it on the trolley where Rebecca can reach it.”
“Two sugars, right?” he asked, unable to help noticing the easy relationship his mother and Rebecca shared. How had he failed to notice the strength of the bond between the two women in the past? Always he’d seen only the differences: one a proud Greek matriarch, widow of one of the richest men in the southern hemisphere, the other born and raised in a series of Auckland foster homes, a woman of questionable morals. One reluctant to succumb to the tyranny of age, the other young and lushly beautiful. Never before had he noticed the common bonds they shared: the strength of will, the burning determination, the stubborn tilt of the chin.
Both were staring at him now, waiting for a response to something he had not heard. He looked from one to the other. “I’m sorry?” he said in his most distant tone, not wanting either woman to conclude that he’d been in dreamland.
“I was commenting on the fact that you remembered that Rebecca takes two teaspoons of sugar in her coffee.” For some reason his mother was smiling beatifically at him.
His brows drew together. “She must have told me.” But he knew she hadn’t. His internal radar had always been attuned to Rebecca’s every action. He’d hated it, resented it fiercely. But there hadn’t been a thing he could do about it. Except pretend it didn’t exist.
And treat her as if she barely existed.
“No, she didn’t,” his mother said triumphantly. “You remembered from all those years ago.”
Backed into a corner, he made the grudging admission. “Perhaps I did.”
To his surprise, it was Rebecca who rescued him. “But then, how many women take two spoons of sugar? Not easy to forget. It’s something that often makes me self-conscious, my addiction to sugar.”
“It shouldn’t,” he said without thinking. “You can afford to eat whatever you like.” And could’ve kicked himself at her startled expression…and his mother’s smug one.
To his relief, his mother didn’t comment. Instead she steered the conversation back to Demetra and Savvas’s wedding and Damon started to relax.
“I can’t help worrying about Demetra. About how she will cope with the strain of a high-profile marriage. She’s very…” His mother paused searching for a word.
“Vivacious?” Rebecca inserted with a smile. “But, Soula, that’s part of her charm. And don’t you worry—as long as Savvas loves her, she’ll be fine.”
“I hope so.” Despite the doubt in the words, his mother looked happier. “But she’s not interested in the arrangements at all. The only thing that matters to her is the home Savvas has bought—and more than the house, the garden.”
“Some women aren’t into the whole wedding spectacle.” Rebecca shrugged. “It doesn’t mean a thing.”
“She has other strengths. She’s a landscaper,” Damon said.
“Oh, yes, and she’s very good with children, too.” Soula’s eyes lit up. “I can’t wait to hold my first grandchild. Damon was very remiss.”
Damon felt the explosive reply rising, bit it back and glared at Rebecca. How dare his mother bring this up? To her credit, Rebecca looked extremely uncomfortable.
Even as he glowered, Rebecca rose to her feet. “Speaking of children, I need to get back to the house. T.J. will be wondering where I am.”
“I can’t wait to meet your son, Rebecca. Does he take after you?”
Rebecca looked flustered. “Not really, although there is some family resemblance. His eyes are just like—” She broke off, blood draining from her face.
Damon took pity on her and said, “He has your dark hair.”
“What?” Her face blanked out all emotion. A second later he watched her snap out of the hell she’d retreated to and reply, “Yes, yes, of course he does.”
Damon froze at the undiluted anguish he’d glimpsed in her dark eyes. Eyes so unlike T.J.’s that he concluded that T.J.’s must resemble his father’s. A fleeting