by Lucy Monroe
Right now he was trying to deal with his fury at his brother for making such a mess, and with his own out-of-control emotions. The news articles were bringing back so many bad memories.
The Petronides name had been dragged through this kind of foul-smelling refuse by the media by his mother. She had not been discreet in her liaisons, and had been ignorant or simply uncaring of the effect her indiscretions had had on her family.
He remembered listening to his grandfather and father having shouting matches about it. Grandfather had not approved of Timothy taking his wife back after every infatuation burned itself out. He had argued that for the sake of their sons his own son needed to stand firm as a man, and if not divorce his wife at least separate from her.
Papa had countered with the argument that he loved his wife, tacking on as an afterthought that he might not have full access to his children if he separated from her. This last was what had always swayed his grandfather, however. To Timothy’s claim of love he had always replied that he’d loved his wife more than life itself, but would never have tolerated her behaving in such a dishonorable way.
The thing about Mama was that she had not been a witch…she’d been lovable, and her sons had loved her. In spite of everything they had missed her when she’d left with her paramours, and prayed for her to come back. The last time she hadn’t…and neither had their beloved if ineffectual father.
Spiros had vowed never to treat his family with such contempt—and never to allow another to do the same to him. Now his older brother was doing it—and not just to him and their grandfather, but to Phoebe as well. He knew it was unintentional, but that wasn’t doing much to mitigate his anger at the moment. Dimitri had been Spiros’s hero his whole life. How could the older man have been so stupid in his dealings with women?
If Dimitri had not wanted to marry Phoebe he should have had the guts to say so and call the promise off. Instead he had allowed them all to believe Phoebe was spoken for…off-limits.
If Spiros spoke to Phoebe right now she’d probably yell at him for being too hard on his big brother. Only Spiros had been through hell for years, trying to keep his hands to himself where Phoebe was concerned. And he’d done it. For four long years. Only to be tossed into a whole other kind of purgatory when he’d betrayed his brother and finally kissed Phoebe so passionately.
He’d spent the last two weeks trying to figure a way out of the marriage between Dimitri and Phoebe for her sake, convinced he’d lost his one chance at having her himself.
He had always been Phoebe’s protector and he had failed her. That day in his office and in the two weeks since. He should have told her about the blackmail. Maybe she would have understood better about his own position. Maybe she wouldn’t have hated him so much.
And now there was only one thing that could right the wrong his family had done to hers. Marriage.
Certainly not between Dimitri and Phoebe.
She deserved better. She deserved a husband who would not be pining for another woman while taking her to his bed.
She deserved Spiros. But he was certain she no longer wanted him.
No doubt her father would only be too happy to agree to new terms—the company was still in deep water financially, after all. And her mother would be grateful for an action that would separate Phoebe’s name from Dimitri’s. But what would Phoebe think?
Somehow Spiros did not think she would be falling all over herself with thanks. In fact he had no doubt that he had his work cut out for him if he wanted to convince her to go along with the idea at all.
He wouldn’t consider the possibility that he might fail. He’d spent enough time pining for Phoebe. Now he was going to have her. Somehow he would make it up to her so she was happy to have him too.
Not only was she not grateful, but his lifelong friend, the woman who had haunted one too many of his dreams lately, was as coldly withdrawn as a marble statue.
He’d never seen her like this. Not when she was angry. Not when she was hurt. Not when she was disappointed. But that spark that had been missing the past couple of weeks was still hiding, and in its place was an icy core that was nothing like his Phoebe.
“So you are offering to marry Phoebe in your brother’s place?” Aristotle asked, with his own lack of warmth.
“That is correct. It will go the longest way to distance her from Dimitri’s scandal, and stop speculation that she has something to do with Xandra Fortune’s disappearance.”
“What assurances do we have that you do not have your own floozy waiting in the wings somewhere?” Basila asked.
Phoebe turned her cold-eyed stare on her mother. “Xandra Fortune is not a floozy. She is the woman Dimitri loves, and I find it personally insulting that you refer to her in such a fashion.”
Wow. She really stood up for what she believed. She always had, and Spiros couldn’t help the spurt of pride that gave him.
Her mother, however, did not look impressed. Her mouth gaped like a hooked fish. Aristotle made a sound of displeasure, but Phoebe stared him down.
“It is not merely your name being bandied about, Phoebe Leonides. This scandal reflects on us all,” her mother finally got out.
“Be that as it may, leave off making your digs about floozies. I knew about Dimitri’s girlfriend. I would know if Spiros had one as well. He’s never hidden his personal life from me.”
“That is true…but this whole thing feels a bit incestuous, if you ask me,” Aristotle said.
“While Phoebe and I have been as close as any two siblings for two decades, she is not my sister—nor do I harbor sibling-type feelings for her.”
Aristotle nodded, as if taking Spiros’s word for it, but Phoebe gave him an indecipherable look.
“Again, I need to ask what kind of assurances we have that you will not back out of the engagement as your brother has done?” Basila asked.
Spiros lifted his briefcase and unlocked it to open it. He pulled out a sheaf of papers. “This is a contract that stipulates I will supply the same capital investment my brother was going to provide. I am prepared to sign it before the wedding. Right now, in fact.”
Aristotle nodded, his dark eyes gleaming with approval.
For the first time Basila stopped wringing her hands and looking ready to break down crying at any minute. “You are serious?” she asked.
“As serious as I have ever been in my life.”
“Then we accept,” Aristotle said.
Phoebe stood up and looked at all of them with the same dispassionate stare. “Excuse me, Papa, but this is not the Middle Ages. You cannot accept a marriage proposal on my behalf. That is something I must do for myself, and I am not prepared to do so at this time.”
“What do you mean, Phoebe?” her mother asked shrilly.
“I need time to think.”
“How much time?” Spiros asked.
“A week.”
“Impossible,” her father stated. “If we want to alleviate more scandal it must be done at once.”
“Tomorrow?” Spiros asked Phoebe, recognizing the stubborn look tightening her features.
“Forty-eight hours, and that is as much of a compromise as I am willing to make. Surely you cannot begrudge me that much time to be sure of my future? We are talking about the rest of my life, and how it is to be lived and with whom, you know.”
“Of course. I…” Basila looked older than her years and very vulnerable. “We want you to be happy, Phoebe. We do.”
“Then give me some time to decide if I can be…with Spiros.”
Aristotle sighed. “If two days will give you time to adjust to your circumstances, then take it.”
He made it sound like Phoebe’s decision was a done deal. Probably for him it was. After all, Phoebe had agreed to marry Dimitri, who she had voiced numerous concerns about. She was now being asked for the sake of both their families to marry the man who up until two weeks ago had been her best friend. And as far as her parents knew he still was.
; Spiros knew differently, and he could only hope her parents’ confidence was not misplaced.
Phoebe didn’t respond to her father, but simply shook her head and walked out of the room.
Spiros stood to leave as well. “Again, I am profoundly sorry for the effect my brother’s actions have had on your family. I will wait to hear from you.”
Both Aristotle and Basila hugged him before he left.
CHAPTER SIX
PHOEBE bumped into a tall, wiry body as she left the drawing room.
“Ooph…you’re more solid than you look,” her brother complained as he grabbed her shoulders to steady her.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No problem. You look like you could use a break. Come with me—I’ve got just the thing.”
Before she had a chance to say yes, no or maybe, she was being steered outside to Chrysanthos’s waiting car.
“Get in. It’s safe,” he said, as she hesitated at the open passenger door.
“Uh…”
“She’s a classic, not decrepit. I did all the renovations myself.”
“Papa let you?” Phoebe asked in shock as she allowed herself to be guided into the seat.
Her brother waited to answer until he had gone around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. “He didn’t know I was doing them until it was finished.”
“But…” Hadn’t her father offered to buy her brother a car, the same as her? Or had things been tighter in their personal finances than she’d realized?
“He never brought up buying me a car, and neither did I.”
“I bet he regretted that when he saw this.”
“She’s a beaut.” The car certainly sounded healthy, purring to life as her brother started it.
“I’m just amazed you did this…I had no idea your strengths were in this direction.”
“Oh, it’s just a hobby. A guy’s gotta have ’em, you know?”
She smiled for the first time in days. “Sure.”
“So, I was listening at the door when Spiros was talking to you all.”
“Didn’t Mama teach you better?”
He just snorted. “Please. I’m no mushroom.”
“You don’t like being kept in the dark?” she guessed, doing her best to translate his teenspeak.
“Would you?”
She thought of all the things her father should have told her over the past four years but had not—and the things Spiros had kept from her as well. “No. I don’t like it at all.”
“So what’s the big deal with this marriage thing?”
“You said you were listening.”
“I was. I got that Leonides Enterprises is in trouble and we need a lotta money, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“But how did Papa come to the conclusion that selling you was the way to do it?”
It was what she’d accused her father of, but it sounded so much worse coming from her brother’s mouth. “I don’t think he sees it that way. He wanted our families joined all along. That’s why he and Theo pushed Dimitri and me into making the promise we did four years ago. The fact that the marriage itself was a way of digging the company out of a very deep hole was a side benefit.”
“If that’s true, why is he pushing you to marry Spiros now?”
“Same reasons.”
“He still wants our families connected?”
“Yep. Too bad Dimitri and Spiros don’t have a younger sister, isn’t it?”
“Bite your tongue. I’m so not ready to get married.”
“I wasn’t four years ago.”
“Are you ready now?”
“I don’t have much choice.”
“You do. You don’t have to marry Spiros.”
“Then the company goes under.”
“No. Then Papa has to take it public.”
“We may be past where that would help. The situation gets worse the longer the infusion of capital doesn’t happen. It wouldn’t look that good to investors right now, and Papa would probably end up losing control at this point.”
“So we start over.”
She loved her brother’s attitude, but she couldn’t share it. “I think it would kill Papa and Mama.”
“Really kill…like a heart attack?”
“Or something. Tio Theo isn’t the only one who works too hard and hasn’t exercised enough in the last ten years.”
Chrysanthos headed into the city, his expression sober. “So you are going to marry Spiros?”
“Probably.”
“Why did you agree to the promise with Dimitri in the first place? You didn’t know we needed money then.”
“I wanted to get over someone else…make him see me as a woman.”
“Did it work?”
“Not the way I planned.”
“You aren’t over him?”
“No.”
“Does he see you as a woman?”
“Yes. But my promise got in the way of him doing anything about it.”
“Was it Spiros, then?”
She laughed. “How did you get so smart?”
“Hey, I’ve managed to go my whole school career without getting twisted around some girl’s finger. You can’t do that without being aware of what’s going on around you relationship-wise.”
“Everyone else thinks Spiros and I are like brother and sister.”
“People see what they want.”
“You don’t see it that way?”
“You make the guy crazy, Phoebe. You have for a while. And the way you look at him…it’s all heated. Not a sister look. And those I know, being your brother and all.”
He was right.
Chrysanthos took Phoebe to a popular dance spot, and she spent hours dancing with her brother’s friends and perfect strangers. It was fun, and it did exactly what her brother had promised it would. It got her mind off Spiros and the whole marriage thing for a while.
She exhausted herself physically and was able to fall asleep when she got home late that night. The next morning she felt strangely at peace when she woke.
The old adage that sleeping on something made it look more bearable in the morning had proved true. This time. What had helped as well were Chrysanthos’s words about Spiros. Her brother had said she’d been making him crazy for a long time. Okay, so the comment had been highly embarrassing when he’d made it, but, looking back, it gave her hope.
Apparently Spiros had been attracted to her for a while. She hadn’t noticed. But she’d convinced herself it was never going to happen. So she hadn’t been looking for the signs.
When they had kissed in her tiny student apartment his passion had been too overwhelming for her to blind herself to it. But then later he had dismissed the kiss as nothing special.
Now she had to wonder. Had he played down its impact on both of them because he refused to compromise his integrity? She had been promised to his brother, and Spiros had made it more than obvious that he placed the highest priority on keeping promises. He would not have wanted to compromise her ability to do so.
But this was all speculation.
There was only one way to find out if he wanted her. The question was, did she have the courage to push the issue? Could she face another rejection if she was wrong?
When faced with a loveless and passionless marriage as a possibility if she didn’t, she knew she had no choice. Better to deal with rejection now than a lifetime of marriage to a man she loved but who didn’t want her. What she could have tolerated with Dimitri—a marriage of convenience—would be pure torture with Spiros. And she couldn’t do that to herself. Not even for the salvation of Leonides Enterprises.
Spiros let himself into his apartment, checking the voicemail on his mobile phone as he did so. Still no word from Aristotle or Phoebe. It had only been the better part of a day, but that didn’t prevent his impatience from growing. He wanted to know if Phoebe would agree to be his.
He poured himself a whiskey and took a sip just as the buzzer for downstairs went
off.
He pressed the intercom button. “Who is it?”
“Phoebe.”
What was she doing here? Had she come to tell him her answer in person? He pressed the unlock buzzer and then waited for her to arrive.
Her unmistakable knock sounded on his door and he let her in, scrutinizing her features for clues as to what she had decided. She looked…resolute.
Was that good or bad? And what was he? A woman, that he should be so worried about all this?
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked as she sat on the edge of the butter-yellow leather sofa.
It was very comfortable, but he still wasn’t sure about the color. But it went with the rest of the room and, according to the decorator who had done his apartment, that was what mattered.
“What are you having?” Phoebe asked.
“Whiskey.”
She scrunched her nose in a wholly adorable way. “Maybe a wine cooler?”
“We’re in Greece, Phoebe. Not the States.”
“So? Mix some wine with club soda and juice.”
He left and returned a few minutes later, carrying a glass full of a pale pink beverage. He’d made it for her before, but gave her a hard time about it as a matter of course. He handed it to her. “Your wine cooler.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was not up to its usual wattage, but it was better than nothing.
“You ever hear the term high-maintenance?”
“Yes.” A mischievous glint shone in her dark eyes. “I’ve looked it up, even, and one of the definitions just said Greek men.”
“I think not. Here I sit, drinking a simple whiskey, while you ask for a concoction of three different beverages.”
“Is it a Scotch or a malt whiskey?” she asked, all innocence.
“Malt.” He’d been in the mood.
“How old?”
He frowned, guessing where this was going. “Old enough.”
“And expensive enough too, if I don’t miss my guess. You had to go through a special supplier to get it, didn’t you?”
“Naturally.”