The Santorini Bride

by Anne McAllister

  “You’re too pale.” Her sister, Cristina, assessed Martha’s pallor and shook her head, then seemed to decide that rather than gloom, a pep talk was in order. “It’s the bride who’s supposed to look pale, sweetie. All you have to do is handle the guest book while Garrett takes their picture. Just ‘Sign here, please.’ And ‘Thank you very much. Elias and Tallie will be so happy you came.’ How hard is that?”

  “Not hard,” Martha agreed. She pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face and stared into the mirror in the small room at the back of the church where they were waiting to go in. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  She would be better, of course, when the day was over, when she had seen Theo again and could put him behind her once and for all. Not that she said so to Cristina.

  No one in her family knew she’d ever even met Elias’s soon-to-be brother-in-law, much less that she’d spent the most memorable week of her life with him. And she certainly wasn’t going to mention it now!

  “It’s just a…big day,” she said, which was something of an understatement. It wasn’t even a day, really. It had started midweek when the family and out-of-town guests had begun to arrive. And now, with the ceremony about to begin, it seemed as if the wedding had been going on forever.

  Every time there was an occasion at which Tallie’s family was expected to be there, too, Martha was sick with the notion that she would see Theo. But at least half a dozen events had come and gone, and Theo had not been there.

  Last night she had been at the rehearsal dinner, certain that he would appear. But while three of Tallie’s brothers appeared, Theo wasn’t there.

  Did she dare hope he wasn’t coming?

  But the most she could do was ask Tallie casually after the dinner had ended, “Are all your brothers here, then?”

  “All but Theo,” Tallie replied cheerfully. “He’s coming from New Zealand.”

  New Zealand? Well, why not? It was surrounded by water. Where better, Martha thought, for the world’s sexiest sailor to hang out?

  “How nice,” she murmured. In fact, now that Tallie mentioned it, Martha remembered Theo had raved about New Zealand. It was the most beautiful place on earth, he said. He had friends there and he went back frequently. He especially liked it because it was a long way from his parents and the women they tried to shove down his throat—to provide Savas grandchildren, presumably. Her own mother had been, at that very moment, proudly showing off the only Antonides grandchild, Cristina and Mark’s baby, Alex, to Tallie’s envious mother.

  “Theo’s my favorite brother,” Tallie had gone on, cheerfully oblivious. “When I was trying to figure out what I was doing with Elias and my life, he gave me perspective.”

  “Really?” Martha hoped she’d kept the scepticism out of her voice. And you got married anyway? But of course she didn’t say that.

  Tallie had nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. He’s the best. I really miss him. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

  So he was here now, presumably, somewhere among the throng of people gathering outside the church waiting for the wedding to begin.

  Ordinarily Martha was not a big fan of large weddings. But in this case, she thought, the more the merrier. If she could just fade into the background there was a remote possibility she could miss seeing Theo altogether.

  No, she didn’t want to miss seeing him. She just hoped he would miss seeing her.

  “It’s time,” Cristina said, hauling Martha to her feet and pinching her cheeks determinedly. “Let’s go.”

  Martha was sure it was a beautiful wedding. Memorable. Moving. A blend of ancient Greek customs and more recent American traditions, it had the color, the music, the words to inspire and enthrall.

  To her it was nothing more than a blur as her gaze searched the crowd for Theo.

  From behind portly Uncle Orestes, she peeked as surreptitiously as possible, trying to pick him out of the sea of faces. Maybe, she thought, she wouldn’t even know him again. Maybe her memories were clouded by summer sun and fertile fantasy. Maybe he wasn’t as ruggedly handsome, as hard-edged and sharp-featured as she remembered.

  And then again, maybe, she thought as her breath caught in her throat, he was.

  He was seated on the far side of the church, next to a pillar, nearly as hidden behind a woman in a bright-pink dress and a rather amazing fruit basket sort of hat as she was behind Uncle Orestes. But among at least a hundred and fifty dark-haired deeply tanned Greek men, there was only one Theo.

  And he was looking straight at her.

  She was staring straight at him.

  She looked pale now—it was winter, after all—but even more beautiful than he remembered.

  For just an instant their gazes locked. And all the memories came back—of Martha, sweet and sassy, of Martha, stubborn and defiant, of Martha, hot and passionate.

  Theo resisted the memories, made up his mind to nod his head and politely acknowledge her. But when he did, she abruptly looked away.

  As if she wanted to pretend they’d never met?

  Theo’s jaw tightened. He frowned and leaned forward, twisting his neck and trying to look past Aunt Ophelia’s monstrosity of a hat at the very moment his aunt turned her head, stabbing him in the ear with a banana.

  “Is something wrong, Theo?” she asked in a stentorian whisper.

  His mother turned around and glared at him.

  Removing the banana from his ear, Theo shook his head. “Nothing,” he said under his breath. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

  Determinedly he focused his gaze once more on the wedding couple as they were crowned and led around the altar. Elias was grave and unsmiling, but Tallie was radiant, positively beaming.

  Martha had been radiant, too, he recalled. What little he’d seen of her.

  He resisted the urge to turn and look again. For months Theo had suspected his memory of her fresh-faced beauty might have been colored a bit by the mind-blowing sex they’d shared. One brief glimpse told him that it hadn’t.

  She looked stunning, her dark hair framing her fair face. Her eyes were huge, bigger even than he remembered. While her summer tan had faded, her cheeks were flushed.

  He leaned back against the pew, turned his head to avoid Aunt Ophelia’s hat and craned his neck.

  Yes, there she was. Sitting on the far side of some Greek imitation of a sumo wrestler. Theo could see the man’s neck bulging above his shirt collar. But all he could see of Martha was a wedge of cheek, a bit of dark hair and the shoulder of red dress. A man’s hand rested along the back of the pew behind her.

  What man?

  Theo tipped his head back and stretched even farther to glimpse a slender blond man on the far side of Martha.

  Bloody Julian?

  She couldn’t be that stupid!

  Theo’s eyes narrowed. His fists clenched. Good God! She hadn’t gone back to the jerk, had she? He growled under his breath.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, dear?” Aunt Ophelia murmured, patting his knee. “Jet lag perhaps?”

  Theo muttered in fury.

  His mother’s head snapped around again.

  Theo flexed his shoulders and gave his mother a determinedly bland Who-me? look.

  She wasn’t amused.

  Neither was he. He couldn’t imagine Martha had gone back to the moron. What the hell did she think she was doing? As soon as this blasted ceremony was over, he’d track her down and find out what she was playing at.

  And she damned sure wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know him!

  He turned his head again to get another look at the blond interloper—and collided with a bunch of plastic cherries.

  “Ow!”

  His mother’s head whipped around. “For heaven’s sake, Theo!” she hissed. Even his father looked back and glowered.

  Theo shut his eyes, sank back against the pew and prayed for patience, forbearance and a whole lot of other virtues he’d never had much use for in his life.

  The go
od thing about being in charge of the guest book, Martha thought, was that she got to sit behind a table and be inconspicuous. The bad thing was that she got to sit behind a table and couldn’t see a blessed thing. She also couldn’t run away.

  It meant that Theo couldn’t easily spot her.

  But equally it meant that she couldn’t see him coming and escape.

  Of course, there was always the chance—a really very big chance—that he wouldn’t want to see her.

  He had, after all, left her on Santorini as soon as he possibly could. If he’d wanted to be around her—if she’d meant anything to him, even as a friend—surely he would have stayed even an hour longer. He hadn’t.

  And that memory gave Martha hope.

  So did the belief that Theo wouldn’t have the patience or interest to stand in line and sign the wedding guest book. And even though Tallie had made a point of telling Martha she wanted everyone in it—and had pressed a college friend, the gorgeous, blond, very-eligible Garrett, into taking an instant photo of each individual or family to put in the book along with their written comments, Martha wasn’t going to track down those who didn’t show up.

  So while Garrett snapped, Martha kept giraffing her neck from one side to the other in an attempt to see around the people in line, hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo. If she did, she intended to grab her cousin Nicola or her aunt Phil to sit in for her while she made a very necessary trip to the ladies’ room.

  By the time she got back—a determinedly long time later—he would be through the line, have had his picture taken, written his comments and be long gone.

  That was the plan.

  But while three hundred other guests posed and wrote their best wishes to the wedding couple, then wandered off in pursuit of refreshments, Theo never appeared.

  All of his brothers came: George, the physicist, looking distracted and like he’d rather be doing string theory in a lab than wearing a suit and trying to be sociable, stared at the camera suspiciously; Demetrios, the actor, gathered the gaggle of girls following him into his arms, grinned like a maniac and wrote, “Elias, you fool! Look what you’re giving up to marry my sister.” Yiannis, the forest ranger, sweet and serious, had brought a pretty fresh-faced date who looked at him as adoringly as he looked at her.

  And Martha, who thought that, of all of the brothers, Yiannis looked the most like Theo, understood why the girl would look at him that way. Seeing the two of them together and so obviously in love, she felt her heart give an odd little skip.

  But then they ambled off, hand in hand, to talk to a lady wearing a fruit-basket hat, and Martha craned her neck again.

  But she didn’t see Theo.

  Lots of other Savas relatives came and posed and left. So did more Antonides kin than Martha had ever met, along with a legion of friends of Elias’s and Tallie’s.

  But no Theo.

  The meal began, but Martha didn’t move.

  “You never know when someone might want to come and sign the book and have their picture taken,” she told Garrett. And because keeping a low profile had worked so far, she was beginning to believe she might actually make it through the whole day without having to encounter Theo at all. Especially since Garrett grabbed each of them a plate of food and bottles of mineral water and they ate right there.

  Then the meal ended and the toasts began.

  Elias’s best man, his brother Peter, who stepped in—“barefoot,” he claimed with a grin and a reference to his years beach bumming in Hawaii—when his brother went haring off to Austria to track Tallie down and persuade her to marry him, gave a wonderful, funny, moving toast.

  “You never know what you’re capable of, do you?” he said to them all at the end. Then he turned and raised his glass to his brother and Tallie. “To you. To love—and to surprises.”

  Everyone laughed and clapped. And Martha smiled wistfully and raised her glass, clinked it against Garrett’s and drank deeply.

  The maid of honor, one of Tallie’s cousins, made a toast, too. And she was followed by other members of the wedding party.

  And then, in the murmurs that followed, Theo stood up.

  Martha’s heart kicked over at the sight of him, so hard and lean and handsome in his charcoal suit and brilliant white shirt and tie. She couldn’t tear her eyes away as he turned to look at his sister and her new husband.

  “If they gave an award for coming the farthest to the wedding I’d probably win it,” he said. There was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he looked at them.

  Martha remembered that smile. It was the gentle, tender smile she’d sometimes seen when something touched him.

  “But I would have come any distance to celebrate this day. I don’t have anything profound to say. And definitely no advice.” An amused murmur drifted through the hall. “I just wish you happiness, Tallie. And Elias.” He raised his glass to both of them. “Now and always.”

  There was an unreadable look on his face. It was both tender and distant. And it cut at Martha’s composure. Her glass tipped and spilled.

  “Hey, you okay?” Garrett asked, giving her a worried look and mopping up with one of the wedding programs.

  Martha straightened and cleared her throat. “Fine. I’m fine. I’m just clumsy.”

  Thank God the band began to play before anyone noticed. But once Elias led Tallie out onto the dance floor, everyone was watching them.

  Martha tried to get one more glimpse of Theo, but people were standing now, blocking her view. Then Cristina appeared.

  “Want a break?” her sister asked.

  “Oh, yes! Excellent.” Martha babbled her relief. “You take over. I need to go—”

  “Dance with me.”

  Both she and Cristina looked around, startled, to see Theo on the other side of the table, his hand outstretched in Martha’s direction.

  The tender smile that had lit his face when he’d toasted his sister and Elias was gone. His expression was arrogant and imperious, hard as granite, exactly the way he had looked when Martha had first met him.

  She stared at him in silence.

  “Do you two know—?” Cristina began, looking from one to the other. But she wasn’t even on Theo’s radar.

  He was looking straight at Martha, and he said it again. Commanded it. “Dance with me.”

  And the very imperiousness of it put starch back in Martha’s spine. She pasted a polite smile on her face and said with all the pleasant insincerity she could muster, “Well, hello to you, too.”

  Cristina started again to say something, then took another look at the two of them and the electricity arcing between them and instead said brightly, “Well, obviously you do.”

  Theo still didn’t glance her way.

  “Hello,” he responded to Martha’s challenge. But he didn’t pull his hand back. It was extended in invitation—or challenge—of its own.

  “Nice toast,” she said.

  “Thank you.” His response was grave. The hand didn’t move.

  “Tallie said you were in New Zealand.” Martha hoped a little light conversation might be useful. It wasn’t.

  “I was. I’ll tell you all about it. Let’s dance.”

  Martha shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged lightly. “I don’t feel like it.”

  Theo’s brows arched. “Since when?” he challenged. “You loved it.” And without another word, he stepped around the table, grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  The dress Martha was wearing was red. It was scoop-necked to show off creamy skin and the lift of breasts that were fuller than Theo would remember. She could tell the moment he noticed them. Just as she could tell when his gaze moved further south and the meaning of the distinct bulge in her midsection began to register.

  He stopped dead, his eyes locked on her protruding midriff. Seconds passed. The music swirled. Cristina cleared her throat a little uncertainly. God knew what thoughts must be going thro
ugh her head. Martha was sure her sister was jumping to plenty of conclusions—and one of them, she had no doubt, was the right one.

  Oh, hell.

  “Fine,” she said abruptly, because she had to do something. And refusing was pointless now. “Let’s dance, then.” And she literally dragged Theo by the hand to the dance floor.

  On Santorini they had danced cheek to cheek, their bodies molded together, generating sparks that became a conflagration once they were back home in Theo’s wide welcoming bed.

  Now he held her at arm’s length and steered her like a robot holding a broom. His jaw was locked so tight that she could see a muscle twitching. Even his fingers in hers felt as if rigor mortis had set in.

  Just about the reaction she’d expected. Though, admittedly, she’d hoped for something more.

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “So,” she said brightly. “Tell me about New Zealand.”

  “The hell with New Zealand!” The words hissed through his teeth. “How could you go back to him?”

  Martha tripped over her feet—or his feet. Someone’s feet. “Go back to—What?”

  Furious, Theo hauled her up onto her own two feet again, but not before her burgeoning belly had brushed against the flat plane of his. The touch was slight, but he practically jumped away from her. Yet still he kept her hands locked in his grasp. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see a muscle tick in his temple.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded when he didn’t speak, just continued to glare at her.

  Theo jerked his head toward the table where Garrett and Cristina stood watching them like spectators at a bomb defusing. “Lover boy,” he spat, his tone low and harsh. “Don’t you have any pride?”

  This time Martha stepped on his foot, and not by accident. “I beg your pardon,” she said frostily—and not for stepping on his toes.

  “Was he waiting when you got back?” Theo sneered. “Or did he come to get you? Or maybe you went after him?”

  “Who?”

  “Bloody Julian!”

  Martha stopped dancing in the middle of the floor and stared wide-eyed at him. “Julian? That’s not Julian.”

  His brows drew down. “You said blond—”