“But why? You’ve told me everything I need to know.”
“No. I’ve told you what to expect in terms of the surgical procedure as it affects you, should you prove to be a suitable donor.”
“Why do I get the feeling the other shoe’s about to drop?”
“Because that’s the easy part. It’s what comes, or might come next, that’s not so predictable.” She rested her forearms on her desk and fixed Brianna in a candid gaze. “Sometimes a transplant just doesn’t work. Should this happen with Poppy, it’s imperative that you understand it’s not your fault. Assuming you pass all the tests with flying colors, I’ll be booking you for a couple of sessions with our staff psychologist, just to be sure you’re prepared in the event of a negative outcome. Also, once you’re approved as a donor, I’ll ask you to sign a consent form. It’s not legally binding and you’re free to back out at any time—”
“I won’t back out, Noelle. I’m committed to doing this for that poor child.” Brianna leaned forward urgently. “Give me the form and I’ll sign it now.”
“Hear me out, please,” the doctor said, holding up her hand as if she was directing traffic. “There’s more. Once you’ve signed that document, we’ll start Poppy on a round of conditioning chemotherapy.”
Brianna sank back in her chair, the information so unexpected and shocking that she felt sick to her stomach. She had a modeling friend, a stunningly beautiful young woman, who at only twenty-three had been diagnosed with leukemia. Although she was now in remission, she’d said more than once that the cure was worse than the disease.
“For heaven’s sake, why?” Brianna cried, tears stinging her eyes. “Poppy’s just a little girl—not much more than a baby—and she doesn’t have cancer. Why do you have to do something so horribly drastic?”
“To destroy her abnormal cells and make room for your healthy replacement.”
A logical procedure from a medical point of view, Brianna supposed. Still…“How long will it take—the treatment, I mean?”
“About a week, although the aftereffects last significantly longer, but you may be sure we’ll do our best to keep her as comfortable as possible throughout that time.”
“Does Dimitrios know about this?”
“Of course. I consult with him every day.”
“It must be killing him!” And I’m not making it any easier, doing battle with him over every perceived slight.
“He’s had a hard time coming to terms with it, certainly, but given the alternative, he’s presented with little choice. However, the reason I’m bringing this up with you now, Brianna, is that the conditioning therapy also kills off the patient’s immune system. It’s therefore critical for you to understand that if you were to change your mind after this point, Poppy will almost certainly die or suffer serious delays in further treatment.” She pushed a thick folder across her desk. “And that’s why I won’t let you sign anything today. I want you to go away, read this information package and weigh what I’ve told you before you make any final decisions.”
“Poppy doesn’t have time for that.”
“We’re talking about two weeks at the most, and Poppy is relatively stable right now.”
“So stable she’s in a hospital, instead of at home!”
“To protect her from exposure to infection. Even something as simple as a cold could set her back and prevent a successful transplant. Obviously, that’s not a risk any of us is prepared to take.”
“No, of course not.” She hesitated a moment before continuing, “I’m not sure how much you know of my relationship with my sister, but you’ve probably gathered from remarks made at dinner last night that I’ve never actually met Poppy, and I’d very much like to put a face to this child who’s depending on me for so much. Is it at all possible for me to visit her?”
“I don’t see why not, as long as Dimitrios has no objection.” Noelle glanced at the clock on her desk. “He usually stops by over the lunch hour, so is probably with her now. Why don’t we go and find out?”
Brianna thought she knew all about heartache and heartbreak, but the next twenty minutes or so taught her she hadn’t begun to plumb the depths of either. Not only was Poppy hospitalized, she was in isolation—what Noelle chillingly referred to as “a sterile environment”—which meant not only that she had no other children nearby to keep her company, but also that everyone going into her room first had to follow a strict hygiene regimen.
“Doesn’t it frighten her, being surrounded by people whose faces she can’t really see?” Brianna asked, donning the required gown and mask.
“You tell me,” Noelle responded, approaching an observation window set in the wall connecting the nursery with the outer room. “Does that look like a frightened child to you?”
Following, Brianna looked through the glass, and what she saw on the other side made something deep and powerful clutch at her heart. Dimitrios sprawled in a rocking chair, reading to Poppy whom he cradled in his lap as easily, as naturally, as if it had been designed for the express purpose of holding a sick child.
His broad shoulders filled the width of his chair; his long legs, elegantly clad in finely tailored black trousers, poked out from the folds of a pale-yellow gown. Above his mask, his dark brows rose in comical dismay. Wide with feigned astonishment, his gaze swung from the book and came to rest on Poppy, and even with the barrier of glass separating them, Brianna heard her laughter.
Climbing his torso, she planted her bare little feet on his thighs and reached for the brightly colored balloon bouquet floating almost to the ceiling and anchored by ribbons to the back of the chair. From her vantage point, Brianna could see only the back of the child’s head, covered with thick black hair just like her own. And soon it would be gone, falling away in clumps….
Again tears threatened, but she blinked them back and managed a shaky smile when she saw that Dimitrios had glanced up and was gesturing for her and Noelle to join him.
Poppy turned at the sound of the door opening, and for a moment, Brianna froze. Even allowing for illness robbing her of so much, the child was exquisite, her delicate little face dominated by enormous eyes the exact same shade of blue as her own and Cecily’s—but with an innocence to them that Cecily had lost at a very early age if, indeed, she’d ever possessed it at all.
“Kalimera,” Dimitrios said. “Hi. This is a surprise.”
Until that moment Brianna had deliberately thought of Poppy as his daughter, or the little girl, or the child, or even, may God forgive her, “the patient.” It had been, she supposed, her way of distancing herself from a set of circumstances still more painful to contemplate than they had any right to be. But now, suddenly, the words she’d avoided using were the only ones with real meaning. Closing the distance between herself and the chair, she dropped down to be at eye level with Poppy and said, “I thought it high time I met my niece. Hello, beautiful! I’m your auntie Brianna.”
Whether or not she really understood what that meant was doubtful, but after surveying Brianna for a long, quiet moment, Poppy smiled and reached out her arms to be held. Almost choking with emotion, Brianna looked to Dimitrios to gauge his reaction.
In one lithe movement, he was out of the chair. With a jerk of his chin, he invited her to take his place, and when she was comfortably seated, passed her niece to her. Brianna felt the warm little body, the painfully fragile bones, the soft skin. She felt the sweet damp draft of breath against her cheek, the trusting clutch of tiny fingers at the side of her neck.
A fresh tide of emotion rolled over her. Her entire being filled with something so visceral, so elemental, it left her breathless. Only once before had she known such an instant connection with another human being, and, as swiftly as she had the first time around, she fell in love again. Hopelessly, helplessly. And this time, forever.
I’m finally where I belong, she thought, dazed by sudden blinding insight. Not on a runway or on location for a glamorous shoot, but in a simple rocking chair, with a
child in my arms. Modeling might have been my occupation, but motherhood is my true vocation.
Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes and held on: to Poppy, and to the tears she didn’t want her niece to see; to the hope that she could be the one to give this little soul the gift of life; and most of all, to the chance to make up for the years she had missed being an aunt to this adorable child. When, after struggling for an interminable minute or so, she could finally breathe again, she set the rocking chair in gentle motion and began to hum a lullaby, which she neither knew how nor when she’d committed to memory. And as if she’d finally come home, Poppy relaxed and let her head settle drowsily against Brianna’s shoulder.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say she recognizes you,” Dimitrios said, his voice as rough sounding as if his throat had been scraped raw with coarse brown sugar.
Brianna’s eyes flew open in shock. “Do you think she’s mistaking me for Cecily?”
His laugh emerged, harsh, abrupt and brimming with bitter irony. “Ohi! Not in a million years! For a start she was only eighteen months old when her mother died. Not only that, Cecily never crooned to her or held her like that, and I’m pretty sure she never rocked her to sleep. She left that kind of job to Erika or the latest nanny.”
Running her hand in slow, comforting strokes up Poppy’s delicate spine, Brianna whispered, “What did she do for her, then?”
“Dress her up like a doll or something you’d stick on the top of a Christmas tree, and parade her before visitors to impress them. Smother her with kisses and endearments if there happened to be a captive audience on hand to applaud her. Pretend she cared,” he finished, with such unvarnished disgust that Brianna shuddered.
It all sounded so horribly familiar; so reminiscent of her and Cecily’s own blighted childhood, when their mother would deliver an award-winning performance as Parent of the Year if the “right” people were there to witness it and there was the chance she could further her ambitions to make money from her daughters. The difference, of course, was that Cecily hadn’t done it for money. She hadn’t needed to. She’d married it, instead.
“If that’s how she felt, she never should have had a baby in the first place.”
“No. You’d have been a much better choice,” Dimitrios said, so quietly that Brianna wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him correctly.
But the glance he turned on her, intense and full of dark remorse, made her heart leap in her breast and sent a thread of warmth stealing through her body. But Be careful! her head cautioned. He seduced you with words once before and you learned to your cost that, in the end, they meant nothing. Don’t fall for the same old ploy a second time.
From her post by the door, Noelle coughed lightly, as though to remind them of her presence and, crossing the room, lowered the high rail on the side of the hospital crib and took Poppy from Brianna. “This little one’s had enough excitement for now and is falling asleep,” she said, very much the doctor in charge. “The more rest she gets, the better, so let’s leave her to nap undisturbed.”
She placed Poppy gently on the mattress and drew a soft blanket over her lower limbs. Robbed of the warmth of that sweet little body, Brianna crossed her hands over her breast in a futile attempt to stem the emptiness that filled both her arms and her heart. She should have been our baby, she thought, anguished. Mine and Dimitrios’s. She’d never have had to make do with Erika or a nanny if I’d been her mother.
Noelle touched her arm kindly. “If Dimitrios doesn’t mind, you can come back later, but I have to ask you to leave her for now.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “It’ll be a change from her having to make do with me all the time.”
“Is there no one else in the family who comes to see her?”
“We have no other family,” he replied with grim finality.
Poppy rested on her stomach with her head turned to one side. Her lashes lay thick and dark as soot on her pale cheeks. Her thumb had found its way into her sweet little rosebud mouth. Her little bottom rose and fell gently with each breath she took.
Brianna lingered for one last look at the new love of her life. You do now, sweetheart, she telegraphed fiercely. You have me, and together you and I are going to beat this disease, and I’m going to be there to watch you grow up strong and healthy.
Dimitrios was so silent and so obviously preoccupied as they rode the elevator to the main floor and walked out to the clinic’s sun-filled forecourt where Spiros waited in the Mercedes, that the last thing she expected was for him to stop her as she was about to climb into the car and say, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for something to eat. How about we stop somewhere before you head home?”
Taken aback, she said, “You’re inviting me to have lunch with you?”
“Why not?”
“Well, for a start, we might have agreed to put our differences behind us, but that doesn’t mean we particularly like each other much.”
“Are you so convinced of that, Brianna,” he asked gently, “or is it just wishful thinking on your part?”
Both his tone and his question stopped her short. For the past several years she’d clung to the belief that he was a liar and a cheat. It had made losing him a little more bearable. After all, she prided herself on having some brains, and what woman in her right mind wanted to tie herself to a man incapable of fidelity?
Since her arrival on his doorstep, though, and from a couple of rather ambiguous remarks on his part, not to mention that unpremeditated, devastating kiss, she was no longer sure of anything. Last night, when the first doubts crept in, she’d told herself her imagination was in over-drive. Today, she’d been forced to confront a reality so stark it left nothing to the imagination.
Like it or not, she and Dimitrios were allies against a fearsome, wicked enemy. Although they were both hurting, his pain ran deeper; deep enough that he was regarding her now with a dark, almost pleading urgency that tugged at her heart.
But could she trust her heart, this time around? Could she trust him?
Sensing her reluctance, he said, “I’m inviting you to have lunch, Brianna, not asking you to sell me your soul, and I promise not to have your food poisoned.”
“It never occurred to me that you might,” she said, shaking off her doubts. “And yes, I’d very much like to have lunch with you, as long as your driver doesn’t mind being kept waiting.”
“I pay Spiros to be where he’s needed, when he’s needed. He can take us to the taverna I have in mind, or we can walk, if you’d rather. It’s not too far.”
Finding herself in the back seat of the Mercedes with a Dimitrios who, despite the anxieties plaguing him, grew more appealing by the second, was a bit too potent a mix for her to swallow. “It’s such a lovely day, why don’t we walk?”
“I hoped you’d say that.” After a quick word with his driver, he cupped her elbow and steered her down the curving drive to the tree-shaded street. “Sure the heat’s not too much for you?” he inquired solicitously, glancing at her cheeks, which she knew were flushed.
She was burning up, but not for the reason he thought. His touch electrified her, sending a tide of warmth riding up her neck and reviving more buried memories.
Time spun backward to another hot afternoon under a blue Greek sky. Clad in a black bikini, she reclined under an awning, on the deck of the 325-foot yacht lying at anchor in a quiet bay in the Cyclades, some sixty miles south of Athens. And Dimitrios Giannakis, a man she’d met only a few days before was tracing seductive patterns over her exposed midriff and murmuring sweet nothings in her ear.
And at the end of it all, they really were “nothings,” she reminded herself, shutting out the image. He hadn’t meant a word he’d said, and she’d be a fool to read too much into the present situation. He was, after all, a sophisticated man, accustomed to moving in the upper echelons of society. Impeccable manners were as much a part of him as his black hair and beguiling smile. Taking a woman’s arm as she crossed the st
reet came as naturally to him as breathing. Or lying.
They stopped at a charming little taverna several blocks from the clinic. Tucked away on a side street, it opened at the back to a large courtyard shaded by a vine-covered pergola. About a dozen tables clustered around a fountain set in the middle, but only two were occupied, the lunch hour crowd having already been and gone.
Without consulting her, he ordered two salads and a bottle of Boutari Moschofilero. “Still your favorite Greek wine, I hope?” he queried, tipping the rim of his glass to hers, after the waiter had poured.
“Yes,” she admitted, unable to stem a little glow of pleasure that he’d remembered.
“And you still don’t care for ouzo?”
“Definitely not.”
He fixed her in another unwavering gaze. “It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed, Brianna.”
But some things have, she told herself sternly. Don’t let him seduce you into forgetting that.
Their waiter reappeared and set down a basket of bread still warm from the oven and a small appetizer tray of olives and grilled octopus.
Welcoming the interruption as a chance to turn the conversation into safer, less personal channels, and hoping she sounded a lot more nonchalant than she felt, she said, “I’m not familiar with this part of Athens. It’s really quite lovely.”
“Yes.”
“I noticed on the way here that we passed a number of rather grand villas.”
“Yes.”
“Some reminded me of Victorian manor houses in England.”
“Yes.”
“Noelle’s English, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” he agreed, still holding her captive in his stare.
“What made her decide to work in Greece?”
“The weather’s better here?”
More unhinged by the second, she snapped, “Stop making fun of me—and stop saying ‘yes’ all the time.”
“Okay. I don’t know why Noelle chooses to work here, although I expect it’s because she’s free to work in any country that’s part of the European Union. What I do know, and what matters to me, is that she’s recognized as being one of the best in her field, the clinic’s as high-tech as anything you’d find anywhere else in the world, and only the best is good enough for my daughter. Any other questions?”
The Giannakis Bride Page 4