One Kiss in... London. Carol Marinelli
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nudge in her ribs again from Stavros, an irritated prompt which again she ignored.
And Nico knew it.
Though he stood in front of them, Nico was acutely aware of what was going on, could hear Stavros’s angry breathing, could see, in the highly polished doors, him turn to his newly belligerent wife. There was an unseen hint of a smile on Nico’s lips as behind him the sleeping dragon within her awoke.
But as they stepped out of the lift he stood for just a brief moment and watched as Stavros took his wife’s hand and they headed to the restaurant. Now he was not smiling, for she was still, Nico noted, minus her wedding ring, the row in the bedroom spilling outwards, and he was worried for her. Not, Nico told himself, because of closeness they had shared, worried as you would be for anyone. For he had stood up to his family, had turned away from the family business, from the island, had refused the direction to take a suitable wife and deliver the promise of rapid grandchildren—and even for a man as mentally tough as Nico, it had been hard. How much harder for Constantine, for a married woman, for the golden only child of her parents, to turn the mighty tide now?
‘Sir …’ The concierge interrupted his thoughts, abject in his apology, especially for such an esteemed guest, but the hotel was already struggling to accommodate the demands of the wedding guests, and to have Nico Eliades added to the list had spun behind the scenes into chaos. No matter how he had juggled, the poor man had to now tell his esteemed guest that his transport would be another fifteen minutes.
At best.
‘Perhaps you would like breakfast while you wait.’
Nico was about to decline for he never ate breakfast. He operated better hungry, black coffee his only charge till lunchtime, but, yes, he might as well say farewell to his parents.
Not that they seemed particularly pleased to see him. His mother almost jumped out of her skin when he approached the table.
‘Nico!’ Her exclamation was horrified, then rapidly changed to pleasant surprise. ‘I thought you’d left.’
‘Clearly not,’ Nico said.
‘When?’ His father did not even an attempt to greet him, just demanded to know when he would be gone—and Nico had not, from the day he had turned eighteen, given in to his father’s demands, and he didn’t start now.
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps I will do some sightseeing.’ He had no intention, of course, he was just testing their reaction.
‘You, sightseeing?’ His mother smiled brightly, but it was so blatantly false that Nico was quite sure he could have leant over and peeled it from her well made-up face. ‘The only views you like are from your yacht or five-star hotel windows.’
‘I would like to see more of the island,’ Nico said.
‘I’m surprised we never came before—I always thought it was a miserable place …’ Because that was how his parents had described it, Nico realised, over and over. Whenever Xanos had been mentioned, they had turned up their noses, told him it wasn’t worth the time … ‘It’s really quite charming, I’d like to see it for myself.’ His eyes halted whatever was about to come from his mother’s mouth, even his father stayed quiet. ‘Is there a problem?’ Nico never dodged issues.
‘Of course not,’ his mother said, far too quickly.
There was no silver service, his mother was quick to point out, but coffee was quickly brought over to him and Nico took a sip and watched as Constantine stood chatting to some guests as Stavros made his way over and duly took her hand.
It was not jealousy that assailed him as he watched another man take her hand, it was something far deeper, something that incensed, and perhaps it incensed her, too, for she walked off from her husband. Nico saw her rather pointed drop of his hand as she went over to the breakfast buffet, and that knot of nervousness for her was back in his stomach.
You don’t mess with these people.
There were rules and there were ways, hundreds upon thousand of unspoken things that were expected, that were done without question, and there was a tinge of regret for telling Constantine she had choices, when in reality she had none.
‘I’m going to get some breakfast.’ He would break his rule for her—and not just about eating. He went into his pocket and pulled out his business card, not the one he gave his lovers. Nico had two phone numbers, one for women that rang frequently but was answered rarely and changed all too often, the other number his permanent one.
‘Kalimera,’ Nico said for the second time that morning as he joined her at the breakfast buffet.
‘Kalimera.’ She answered for herself, she certainly did not need Stavros’s prompting.
‘How are you?’ His voice was low and soft and the concern in it almost made her break down.
‘Trying to choose …’ And though her eyes wandered over the fruit, they were speaking not about fruit but in their own coded language.
‘Be careful.’ His hand was completely steady as he spooned some yoghurt into a bowl, but, as choices went, Connie made the wrong one, blueberries not the best fruit when one’s hand was shaking so.
‘Look, Constantine, if you need anything …’
‘It’s Connie,’ she muttered, because it was who she was, a girl from a village, the golden child of a family that had made good. And if she did what her heart told her to, then she would surely destroy them.
‘Not to me,’ Nico said, and then he placed the business card on the bench. When he’d safely gone, she collected it, the weight of paper heavy in her hand, but her heart lighter for it. Just a small slip of card, but it was, Connie knew, her most valued possession.
‘Eat later.’ Stavros was beside her. ‘We need to socialise.’
She turned to her husband. ‘We need to talk.’ But he wasn’t about to listen to her, so she did as she was told, but only for now, and as she turned she saw the concierge approach Nico. She had to stand and make small talk, while out of the corner of her eye she was watching him, how effortlessly elegant he looked. The restaurant blazed with Lathira’s and Xanos’s Sunday and wedding best. It reeked of perfume and was filled with clean-shaven or well made-up faces, gold on fingers and necks and ears. And there Nico stood, unshaven, almost, her heart shivered, unkempt, for his shirt was a bit crumpled and his trousers were the same ones he’d had on the day before. But he stood out, not for that reason. He stood out for he commanded attention in a way that new clothes and heavy Greek gold never could.
She watched as he left, as all the good in her life walked out of the room without a backward glance, and, as she had yesterday, she wanted to run to him.
To run with him.
To be free.
‘I’VE changed my mind.’
The concierge was excellent, Nico decided, because apart from the bulge of veins in his neck, Nico would not have known the inconvenience he was causing. ‘I would like to stay for another night here in Xanos. For now, I would like a driver to be arranged, one who can take me around the island. I do not know for how long.’
It was no trouble, the concierge assured him, no trouble at all.
‘And …’ He turned and gave an unusual request, one he would not have given had he stopped to think about it. ‘My room is not to be disturbed.’
‘I will have the maids just deliver fresh towels and make up the bed.’
‘It is to be left,’ Nico said, and for the second time in a lifetime, he almost blushed.
And Nico tried not to notice a middle-aged couple being shepherded, protesting, out of a vehicle, their luggage unloaded. In just