The Santorini Bride

by Anne McAllister

  “Hey, Theo!” Dustin appeared at his elbow.

  Theo turned, distracted. “Hi.” He was still scanning the crowd. “Haven’t seen Mart—er, Ms. Antonides, have you?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I was comin’ to tell you. She’s out in the hall, sittin’ on a bench. Maybe you wanta—”

  But Theo didn’t even let him finish. “Yeah, I will. Thanks.” And he began shoving his way back through the crowd in the other direction.

  He found her sitting in the hall, just as Dustin had said. Dozens of people were milling around, talking and laughing, looking at the quilts and oils and watercolors from the co-op artists that were hung all along the walls. No one was talking to Martha now. Her head was tipped back against the wall, her eyes closed.

  Theo threaded his way through the crowd until he stood with his knees touching hers. Still she didn’t open her eyes.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice gruff and just loud enough for her to hear over the noise.

  Her eyes flicked open. “Oh! Hi. Sorry.” She sat up straighter, began to stand, but he forestalled her.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “My feet hurt. I shouldn’t have worn these heels.” She glanced down ruefully and he saw that her feet and ankles were puffy and swollen.

  “Stay put. I’ll get your coat.”

  “I’m all right, really.”

  “Sure you are.” He wasn’t going to even dignify that statement with a rebuttal. He just went down the hall to the designated cloak room, got their coats and came back. It was a testimony to how much her feet must actually be hurting that she was still sitting where he’d left her.

  “Come on. We’re going home.”

  “But—”

  But he grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet without another word, stuffing her arms into her coat as if she were a toddler, which in her current frame of mind was close to the truth, he thought. Lucky for her he was such a saint.

  “You’re not leaving!” Lucille found them just as they reached the stairs.

  “No, we—”

  “Actually we are,” Theo said flatly. “Martha’s dead on her feet. She needs to get home to rest.”

  To give her credit, Lucille nodded and smiled encouragingly. “That’s right, dear. You just go off and get some sleep. It’s a wonderful mural. You’ve done us all proud.” She leaned up and kissed Martha on the cheek. Then she turned and kissed Theo, too. “Take care of her.”

  “I intend to.” He took Martha’s arm and started to steer her down the stairs. It was slow going in those shoes of hers. “Take ’em off,” he growled.

  She turned and stared. “Do what?”

  He went to his knees on the steps and deftly removed first one of her shoes then the other. “There,” he said, straightening. “Better?”

  “How am I going to walk outside?” she demanded. “I’ll never get them on again.”

  He stuffed her shoes in the pockets of his jacket. “We’ll manage.”

  And they did. As soon as he got the door open, he turned and scooped Martha up into his arms.

  “Theo!”

  “Put your arm around my neck.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Just do it, damn it,” he ordered gruffly. “And then look ahead for ice so I don’t drop you on your butt.”

  He was already striding along the sidewalk toward the car, which he’d had to park a block away, and Martha, apparently deciding that cooperation was the better part of good sense at the moment, clutched his neck and stared out intently at the sidewalk ahead of them.

  For his part, Theo got a nose full of Martha’s soft flowery scent and a face full of her windblown hair. He leaned into it, relishing the feel, loving the smell, all of his hormones going on instant hungry alert. He was almost sorry when they got to the car and he could settle her in the front seat.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” He wasn’t kidding.

  He carried her up to the porch when they got home, but she had to stand on the cold planks while he fished the key out of his pocket. Then, when he went to pick her up again after he opened the door, she said, “I’m fine now,” and trotted—well, not really, hauled herself—up the stairs ahead of him. He followed, enjoying the view, but wishing she’d let him carry her. Stubborn woman.

  As soon as they got inside he pointed her toward the chair. “Sit. Not you,” he said to Ted who had done so and was looking hopefully at him.

  “He wants a treat,” Martha said. “And a walk.” But at least she sat and put her feet on the hassock.

  “Later.” Theo shrugged out of his jacket, then picked her feet up, sat on the hassock himself and settled her feet in his lap.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Massaging your feet.” He pressed a thumb against the swollen flesh and scowled. “You probably should have ice on them.”

  “You should have let me walk then.”

  “Uh-huh.” Theo rolled his eyes and kept kneading. “These are a mess. Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

  “They’re not that bad. And it was stupid of me to wear them, but I wanted to look…all right.”

  “You looked fantastic. But it was a helluva price to pay.” He elbowed away her hands batting at his and determinedly kept on massaging. Something that sounded like a whimper reached his ears. Her toes wriggled and flexed.

  Satisfied, he smiled and slanted her a glance. “Feel good?”

  Her eyes, which had been shut, opened. “Fine,” she said, with the enthusiasm of Dustin faced with five hours of homework. “Very nice. But if you want to be useful, Ted would like a walk.”

  If he wanted to be useful…damn it! He gritted his teeth, met her gaze, tried to read her mind, her feelings, her intentions. Martha Antonides had been an open book on Santorini. She was a bloody Sphinx now!

  And getting nothing but a stonewall in her eyes as a response, he nodded curtly and stood up, dropping her feet onto the hassock. “C’mon, Ted. Ma doesn’t want us anymore.”

  Martha did want him, though.

  She sat there after the door had closed behind him and she wanted him desperately. Couldn’t seem to stop wanting him.

  She just needed to know that he loved her. Sometimes she thought that he must.

  Why would he stay if he didn’t?

  Why would he put up with her grouchiness? Her complaints? Her students? Her friends? Her dog?

  Why would he cook her oatmeal and carry her whole city blocks and massage her feet and walk her dog if he didn’t love her the way she loved him? She felt a sob catch in her throat. Desperate. Needy.

  “Stop it,” she told herself. But her voice croaked like an old woman’s. She was all emotions. Brimming over. And she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to.

  She couldn’t even get up, though she wanted to. She didn’t have the energy. Her back ached. The baby kicked. He punched. He turned somersaults. Her abdomen resisted, tightened. And Martha put her hands on it. “Shh,” she murmured. “Shh. It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

  But she didn’t know how.

  She didn’t know how long she slept there in the chair. Ten minutes. Half an hour. The next thing she knew she was being lifted into Theo’s arms and carried into the bedroom. She was being laid on the bed. Touched. Gentled.

  Loved.

  Oh. Yes. It felt like love.

  Theo knelt on the bed beside her and drew her dress up. “Raise your arms.”

  Mindless, obedient, Martha did, and felt the soft wool of the dress slide effortlessly up her body, off her arms, over her head. The coolness of the air made her suddenly aware of her near nakedness, of Theo staring down at her burgeoning body, the dress still clutched in his hand.

  “Not quite what you expected?” Martha managed to ask a little wryly, sensing his shock at the change in her since her lithe prepregnant days in Santorini.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice husky. He didn’t look away.

  His intense
appraisal made her feel self-conscious, made her remember other times he had stared at her body, had touched her body, loved her body.

  But despite what he said, things were different now.

  “This is not mind-blowing-sex time, Theo.” She tried to be flippant. She only sounded rusty.

  “I know that.” He glanced away, spotted her nightgown, grabbed it and helped her put it on, covering her. “Can I give you a back rub?”

  He sounded almost hesitant.

  “A back rub?” she echoed doubtfully.

  “Just a back rub. Make you feel better?” A corner of his mouth lifted. His dark hair flopped over his forehead. He looked surprisingly young. Almost innocent.

  Martha narrowed her gaze. “Just a back rub?”

  He put a hand on his heart. “Swear to God.”

  He sounded so earnest, so honest. How could she say no? Especially when she wanted it so much. “All right.”

  The smile nearly split his face. In an instant he was ripping off his sweater, his shirt, shucking his trousers.

  “Theo!” she protested. “You said a back rub!”

  “And I meant it,” he vowed as she felt him slide into bed beside her, then turn her body and spoon his around hers.

  “Theo!” She murmured yet another protest, but then his breath whispering, “Shh,” against her ear, shushed her. And if it hadn’t, his fingers on her back would have done the trick. They walked up and down her spine, traced the muscles along her shoulder blades, worked the back of her ribs. Then rhythmically they found and pressed into the aching muscles of her lower back.

  Oh, God, it was wonderful. It was bliss.

  Martha sighed. She squirmed. She stretched and settled.

  She slept.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE WAS going to marry him. Theo knew it.

  She’d let him spend the night in her bed.

  Granted, she wasn’t in it when he’d awakened a few minutes ago. But she hadn’t woken up screaming or insisted he leave during the night, either. She’d spent the whole night in his arms, sleeping soundly. And for the first time in months, Theo slept well, too.

  He got up feeling energized, refreshed. Alive.

  And he hadn’t even had sex. Or won a sailing race. No, he’d won something better. He’d won Martha.

  He could hear her puttering around in the kitchen now, humming, talking to Ted. He grinned and stretched. Yes!

  He got up and went out to find her sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea. She turned when he opened the bedroom door, she looked up—and she smiled at him.

  A real Martha smile.

  One of those “warm, welcoming” looks that lit her whole face and made him feel liked she’d thrown her arms around him.

  Theo smiled back. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” There was a slight flush along her cheekbones, and her lashes fluttered as she looked away. “Thank you for the back rub last night.”

  “Anytime.” Every time. “I’ll grab a quick shower and run you to school.” He knew her schedule by now and that her first class was at ten. He also knew that so far she’d argued with him every time he’d said he’d take her.

  But this morning she just said, “I’ll be ready.” She even handed him a piece of toast that she’d made.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “So then, let’s get married.”

  But he didn’t. He didn’t have to. He was glad she’d finally seen the light.

  Whistling, he headed off to the shower—followed by Ted who didn’t care for showers, but who tried never to let a piece of toast vanish without his help.

  He loved her.

  He had to. He would never have simply spent the night in her bed, rubbing her back and holding her if he didn’t. Would he?

  She couldn’t just brazenly say, “So, do you love me, Theo?” Or at least she hadn’t been able to yet. But she couldn’t get last night out of her mind. It was too recent, too tempting. It felt too right.

  It brought back memories of their time in Santorini. And yet, when she thought about it, she realized that what had happened last night was almost the flip side of what had happened there. When she had gone to bed with Theo in Santorini, it had been all about sex.

  Last night had been about something more. It had been about love. But dear God, she wanted him to say it.

  She’d hoped he would say something when he came out of the bedroom. She’d sat there waiting, giving him a smile and an opening. He had smiled, too.

  But he hadn’t said it. He’d gone to take a shower instead.

  He didn’t say anything as he drove her to school, either. He talked cheerfully about the play last night, about the terrific response to the mural, about how impressed everyone was, about how he’d enjoyed meeting Dustin’s parents and various other people.

  When he dropped her off, he said, “I’ll pick you up at 1:30.” Then he grinned and winked at her. “I’ve got things to do.”

  He was early. Ten minutes. Fifteen maybe.

  He sat in the car outside the high school, watching as the kids poured out. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, feeling exhilarated and oddly nervous, the way he felt when the adrenaline began to pump at the start of a race.

  And just as he was always prepared at the beginning of every race, so he was ready now. He had his birth certificate. He had his divorce decree. He had the cash required for the license.

  “No checks. No credit cards,” the clerk had told him when he’d gone to the courthouse right after dropping Martha off.

  “No problem,” Theo had said then. He had it all with him in a manila envelope between the front seats.

  There was no waiting period in Montana. As soon as the license was issued the ceremony could be performed. He’d called a judge to make an appointment.

  All they needed now was to stop back by the apartment for Martha to get her birth certificate. Then they could go to the courthouse, get the license, turn up at the judge’s office, say the words and the deed would be done.

  He tapped his foot, adjusted the mirror, waved a greeting to a couple of the kids who had worked on part of the mural, drummed on the steering wheel again.

  And finally there she was.

  He jumped out and met her before she got to the car, took her briefcase and opened the door for her. All the other days, she had said, “I can do it, Theo,” and tried to brush him away. Today she let him help her in.

  He smiled to himself as they drove back to the apartment.

  “It feels odd,” Martha said as they climbed the steps, “not to have to go work on the mural.”

  “I imagine we can find something to do.” Theo slanted her a grin. He had been as silent on the way home as he had been talkative on the way to school that morning. Martha looked at him curiously. “Get your birth certificate,” he said.

  She paused as she was about to kick off her shoes. “What?”

  “Your birth certificate. You do have one, don’t you?” he said, as if it were a matter of some importance and had just occurred to him.

  Martha nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “Great. Then get it and let’s go.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re supposed to be there at two.”

  “Be where?” Her stomach felt oddly leaden. Her legs wobbled. She sat down.

  He hesitated only for a moment. Then he shrugged and flashed her his best charming “sexiest sailor” grin. “At the judge’s chambers.”

  Judge’s chambers. Which meant—

  “To get married,” Theo said.

  Martha was glad to be sitting. “Married.” It sounded wonderful. And at the same time…as if something was missing. As if Theo had jumped from A to Z and left her standing back around E somewhere. “Why?” she said after a moment.

  He stared at her. “Why?” he echoed. Then said, exasperated, “For God’s sake, Martha. You know why!”

  “Because of the baby,” she said automatically.

  “Well, yeah. Of course. But not o
nly because of the baby!”

  No? Then, “Because of what?”

  “Because…because we belong together. We’re a family.”

  But he still wasn’t saying it. She shook her head. “Do you care, Theo?” she asked him.

  Theo glared at her. “Of course I care! I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t!” He raked a hand through his hair and began pacing.

  “I know you care about the baby. I understand that. But—” she hesitated, then plunged on “—what about me?”

  He stopped pacing and stood looking at her, breathing hard. “Of course I care.” There was a ragged edge to his voice.

  “Care.” Not love.

  Martha’s fingers tightened convulsively in her lap. She swallowed, didn’t know if she dared ask, then knew she had to. “Right. But…do you love me, Theo?”

  He stiffened as if he’d been shot. His jaw tightened. Something shuttered in his expression. “I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?”

  Her fingers flattened against the upholstery. She bent her head. “Yes,” she said quietly, “you did. But that’s not love, Theo. That’s not what I want.”

  He stared at her wordlessly.

  And Martha knew she had to lay all her cards on the table, had to spell it out and hope against hope that it allowed him to say the words she so desperately needed to hear. To believe.

  “I love you, Theo. I don’t know when it happened. Sometime back on Santorini. I thought…I hoped—” she corrected herself “—that you loved me, too. Or that you could learn to. Obviously I was wrong.”

  And there was an understatement for you, she thought, for Theo just stood there as still and unresponsive as a stone.

  Even in the face of his stoic indifference, she continued. “I couldn’t believe it when you left me. I waited. And waited. I kept thinking you’d come back.” She shrugged and swallowed against what felt like a boulder in her throat. “But then I figured out you’d meant everything you’d said.”

  She pressed her lips together and blinked hard, determined not to cry even though she knew he wasn’t going to stop her now.

  “You did me a favor, really,” she said, wishing her voice was steadier. “You made me realize I needed to grow up and stand on my own two feet. Well, I can stand on them now—with a little help from my friends.” She even managed a faint smile, assuring herself she was past the worst of it now.