Modern Romance February Books 5-8. Heidi Rice
Читать онлайн книгу.
suddenly, strangely happy. Finally, she pushed her chair away from the table, shaking her head as his relatives offered yet more plates. “No, thank you.” She turned anxiously to Darius. “How do I say that?”
“Óchi, efharisto.”
“Óchi, efharisto,” she repeated to them warmly.
One by one, his family members hugged her, speaking rapidly, patting her belly, then hugging Darius before they hurried into the villa.
“Your family is wonderful.”
“Thank you.” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “By the way, some of them speak English quite well. They’re just hoping if you don’t realize that, you’ll be inspired to learn Greek.”
She laughed, then looked around the terrace at the flowers and sea view. “I’m feeling very inspired, believe me.”
“They already love you. Because you’re my wife.” He put his arm along the back of her chair. “Not only that, you’re the first woman I’ve ever brought home to meet them.”
Her eyes went wide. “Really?”
He grinned, shaking his head. “For years, they read about my scandalous love life and despaired of me ever settling down with a nice girl.” He sipped strong black coffee from a tiny cup. “Great-aunt Ioanna is delirious with joy to see me not only sensibly married, but also expecting a child. And she remembers you.”
Letty’s smile fell. “She does?”
“Yes.”
“Does she blame me for—?”
“No,” he cut her off. “She remembers you only as the girl that I loved and lost long ago. In her mind, that means our marriage is fate. Moíra. She believes our love was meant to stand the test of time.”
Letty blinked fast. Our love was meant to stand the test of time.
Leaning forward, he took her hand. “You are part of the family. You are a Kyrillos now.”
It was true, she realized. She had a new last name. When she updated her passport, she’d no longer be Letitia Spencer, the daughter of the famous white-collar criminal, but Letitia Kyrillos, the wife of a self-made billionaire. Just by marrying, she’d become an entirely different person. What a strange thought.
But maybe this new woman, Letitia Kyrillos, would know how to be happy. Maybe their marriage, which had been so bleak at the start, could someday be full of joy, as her own parents’ marriage had been.
She just had to change Darius’s mind about her father. It wouldn’t be hard.
Like making it snow in July.
One of Darius’s female cousins came back out of the villa and pulled on his arm, talking rapidly in Greek, even as she smiled apologetically at Letty.
“They need to move the big table,” he explained. “To get the terrace ready for the party tonight.”
“What party?”
“They wouldn’t let us come all this way without making a big fuss.” He grinned. “There’s a party tonight to welcome you as my bride. Only family and friends from the village have been invited...”
“Good,” she said, relieved.
“Which, naturally, means the entire island will be here, and a few people from neighboring islands, as well.”
Her heart sank to her sandals at the thought of all those people judging her, possibly finding her unworthy of being Darius’s bride. She whispered, “What if they don’t like me?”
Reaching out, Darius lifted her chin. “Of course they will,” he said softly. “They will because I do.”
As the hot Greek sun caressed her skin in the flower-dappled terrace, the dark promise in his gaze made her shiver.
As his relatives bustled back out on the terrace, with maids following them, they started clearing dishes, wiping the table and sweeping the terrace.
Letty looked around anxiously. “Ask them how I can help.”
He snorted. “If you think they’ll allow either of us to lift a finger, you’re out of your mind.”
“We can’t just sit here, while they do all the work!”
“Watch this.” Pushing his chair back, Darius rose from the table and said casually in English, “Hey, Athina, hand me that broom.”
“Forget it, Darius,” his cousin replied indignantly in the same language, yanking the broom out of his reach. “You sent my sons to college!”
“You gave me a job when I needed work,” a man added in heavily accented English, as he lifted fairy lights to dangle from the terrace’s leafy trellis. “We’re doing this. Don’t think you’re getting out of it!”
They all gave a low buzz of agreement.
Looking at Letty, Darius shrugged. She sighed, seeing she was outmatched. His great-aunt was now, in fact, shooing them away with a stream of steady Greek, a mischievous smile on her kindly, wizened face.
Letty drew closer to him. “So what should we do with ourselves?”
Darius’s eyes darkened as he said huskily, “We are on our honeymoon...”
She shivered at his closeness and at the tempting thought of going back to the bedroom. But she was distracted by the sweep of the brooms and the loud cries of the relatives and house staff bustling back and forth across the villa as they cleaned and set up for the party, all the while watching Darius and Letty out of the corners of their eyes with frank interest and indulgent smiles.
“I couldn’t,” Letty whispered, blushing beneath all the stares. “If we stay, I’ll feel like we should help cook and clean.”
“Then let’s not stay.” He took her hand. “Let me show you the island.”
He drew her out of the enormous, luxurious villa, past the gate and out onto unpaved road. Looking around, she saw the rural rolling hills were covered with olive and pomegranate trees, dotted with small whitewashed houses beneath the sun. But there was one thing she didn’t see.
“Where are all the cars? The paved roads?”
“We don’t have cars. Heraklios is too small and mountainous, and there are only a few hundred residents. There are a few cobblestoned streets by the waterfront, but they’re too winding and tight for any car.”
“So how do you get around?”
“Donkey.”
She almost tripped on her own feet. She looked at him incredulously. “You’re joking.”
He grinned. “I managed to put in a helicopter pad, and also a landing strip, at great expense, and it isn’t even usable if the wind is too strong. Here we transport most things by sea.” As they walked closer to an actual village clinging to a rocky cliff, he pointed to a small building on a hill. “That was my school.”
“It looks like one room.”
“It is. After primary school, kids have to take a ferry to a bigger school the next island over.” As they continued walking, he pointed to a small taverna. “That’s where I tasted my first sip of retsina.” His nose wrinkled. “I spit it out. I still don’t like it.”
“And you call yourself a Greek,” she teased. His eyebrow quirked at her challenge.
“I’d take you in and let you taste it, except—” he looked more closely at the closed door “—it looks like old Mr. Papadakis is already up at the villa. Probably setting up drinks.”
“The whole town’s closing—just for our wedding reception?”
“It’s a small island. I don’t think you realize how much pull I have around here.”