Struggling to keep her voice steady, she said, “There is no problem. I have decided I can’t marry you, that’s all.”
“I see. And why is that?” he inquired evenly.
“Because I don’t want a husband who sees me only as a means to an end.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
Tired of the games, she said, “I followed you tonight, when you went off with Noelle. I heard her tell you I didn’t measure up as a donor for Poppy.”
“Is that what this is all about?” He actually had the gall to laugh. “Sweetheart, it’s not a question of your not measuring up, it’s—”
“A question of how soon you can get me pregnant. Yes, I heard that, too.
“What?” There was no laughter this time, just well-feigned incredulity, which she didn’t buy for a second.
“‘The ideal donor is always a sibling,’” she recited in her best imitation of Noelle’s precise English diction.
“And?”
“And I’m the only woman still alive who can give you a child whose DNA will match Poppy’s. If that’s all you ever wanted from me, why didn’t you just say so in the first place, and spare us both this masquerade?”
By then they’d reached the coast and were just minutes away from the villa. “Let me get this straight,” he said, slowing to let a cat cross the road. “You can’t donate bone marrow to Poppy, but if you have my baby, we can use it in your place, instead?”
“That’s right. I should be wearing your ring through my nose, not on my finger.”
He turned into the drive, parked at the front door and killed the engine, but made no move to get out of the car. Instead he hefted the keys in his palm and stared through the darkened windshield at the moonlit walls of the house. “Whatever happened to the idea of truth and trust between us, Brianna? You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. Why isn’t that enough for you?”
“Because your idea of love isn’t the same as mine. As for truth and trust, they’re just a couple of five-letter words you throw into the mix whenever you think they might get you what you want.”
“I wanted you,” he said harshly. “I thought we had the ideal recipe for marital bliss. Sexual electricity, desire, passion, yearning—everything we had before, except this time, it was better because we believed in one another. And all the time, the same vital ingredient was missing. You never could quite bring yourself to accept that what we had was real. I’m surprised you’re still here. Usually you don’t bother to stop long enough to say why, before you decide to cut and run.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll try to come up with an explanation for Poppy when she asks about you.”
“I won’t desert Poppy. I love her dearly and I’d do anything in my power to make her well. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some packing to do. I’ll let you know which hotel I’m at, in case you need to reach me.”
She flung open the car door, but before she could escape, he wrenched her back and pinned her to the seat. “Oh, no, you don’t!” he snarled. “This is one time you’ll stay and listen.”
“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”
“I don’t care! First, I have a piece of advice you’d do well to heed. The next time you decide to eavesdrop on someone else’s conversation, do yourself a favor and make sure you listen in on everything before you leap to unwarranted conclusions.”
“Thank you so much,” she said acidly. “Anything else you feel compelled to share?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I am not Poppy’s biological father.”
It was her turn to stare in disbelief. “What did you say?”
“I am not Poppy’s biological father, I have no idea who is, and nor do I care. She is my daughter in every way that matters, and I would give my life for her. That, Brianna, is how I define love.”
“But Noelle said—”
“That even if you and I were to have a child solely for the purpose of harvesting his or her stem cells, it wouldn’t necessarily help Poppy and that, of course, is something I’ve known since the day I tested as a possible donor myself, and discovered not only that I wasn’t a match but also that there was no way I could possibly be her biological parent. So you see, my dear, my proposal to you was never contingent on your acting as a brood mare. Oh, yes, and one last thing—I learned tonight that we’ve found an unrelated donor who’s a perfect match for Poppy. That was the other piece of news Noelle wanted to convey. She’d have told both of us yesterday, when she also learned of your unsuitability. But rather than risk a second disappointment, she waited until she received absolute confirmation that the other person, a twenty-three-year-old medical student from Chile, is available. Apparently, he is and will be here on Tuesday.”
He released her then and flung himself back in his seat. “You may leave now. Don’t let me keep you from your packing.”
Chapter 12
The house was silent as a tomb. Creeping up the stairs, Brianna let herself into her room and slumped onto the love seat. She wished she could cry. But she had nothing left inside. No tears, no hope and no heart. She and Dimitrios were finally over. Done. She’d heard the absolute contempt in his voice. Seen it in his face. Felt it in his touch.
Slowly, she pulled off his ring and placed it on the coffee table. She couldn’t blame Cecily for this latest falling out. This time it was all her own fault. She’d been the one who lacked faith, and if she was as honest with herself as she’d told him he should have been with her, she’d admit she’d been second-guessing herself and him from the day she arrived. Now the only thing left for her to do was leave with dignity.
Or was it? Was anything ever really over as long as a person had life and the will to fight?
You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, he’d said, not in a moment of passion, but with anger fueling his words. Wasn’t that reason enough not to give up on the best thing that had ever happened to her?
She had no answers, and knew only that if she wanted to find any, she had to put some distance between him and her. As long as his room was just across the hall from hers, it would be too easy to go to him. She knew what the outcome would be if she did: the same as it had always been with them. A matter of body over mind, of the driving hunger of the flesh silencing the saner voice of reason.
And they had made enough mistakes. There were only so many times that a man and a woman could keep trying to mend what was broken between them before all they had left were the tattered remains of what had once been beautiful but was now ruined past recognition.
Kicking off her satin dancing shoes, she stripped away her pretty gown and changed into a light cotton shift and sandals.
Opening her door, she saw a strip of light showing under his. Otherwise, the house lay in darkness. Quietly she stole along the upper landing, down the stairs and out into the sweet night air of early June. When she reached the gates, she turned left, away from Rafina, which lay to the north, and toward the village a few kilometers in the opposite direction.
Dimitrios ripped off his bow tie and yanked the top two studs of his dress shirt undone. Still he felt choked—on anger, on regret, on pride. Why couldn’t she simply have come to him and asked him to explain, instead of automatically believing the worst of him? He thought they’d moved beyond that. Instead it seemed nothing he did would ever really redeem him in her eyes. At the first hint of trouble, he became again the man she believed had betrayed her before.
Well, to hell with her! He was tired of proving himself worthy of her love. Let her run back to her precious career. He’d lived without her once before; he could do so again. He had his daughter, his loyal household staff, perhaps his mother. And if he needed a willing body once in a while, there were women enough who’d be glad to warm his bed.
But would they be enough to make him forget her, or would it always be her face he saw in his mind’s eye, her body he thought of as he lost himself i
n some stranger whose name he’d have forgotten by morning? How long before the day came that he didn’t think of her, or miss her with an ache that never went away?
Never. She was in his blood, a fatal, magnificent disease. And the cure he’d spend the rest of his life seeking, if he let her slip through his fingers a second time.
He couldn’t let it happen. If he had to get down on his knees and plead with her to stay, he’d do it, and pride be damned.
Stepping out of his room, he saw a strip of light showing under her door. No time like the present, he decided. Tomorrow might be too late. Crossing the hall, he tapped gently, and when he received no reply, he turned the knob and went in.
He knew then why she hadn’t answered. The room was empty.
Although it was well after midnight, the village teemed with life. Music and light spilled from open windows into the warm Mediterranean night. Children played in the street, dogs barked, babies cried. Men and women, husbands and wives, laughed and loved and scolded, daring to wring every last drop of flavor from life because it was worth it and in the end, the good balanced out the bad.
The four-kilometer walk had cleared Brianna’s mind and swept away the anger and confusion. Standing now, a solitary spectator on the fringe of the scene, she knew that this was what she wanted. Not perfection. Not a trouble-free future with no dark clouds. She wanted the security of knowing she could be angry sometimes; of loving deeply enough to forgive; of trusting enough to believe what she and Dimitrios shared was strong enough to survive, not because they’d ironed out all their differences, but despite the fact that they didn’t always see eye to eye.
She wanted all the rich flavors, all the subtle textures that made up a marriage. The sweet and the not-so-sweet. The rough and the smooth. She wanted him because without him, she was nothing. She needed him because she loved him. And there in that dusty road, surrounded by strangers, she at last realized what she had to do to keep him. She had to risk it all to have him.
She’d turned to go back the way she’d come, when the screech of brakes split the night. Parents scooped their children out of the path of impending danger and retreated to the safety of their doorways. But the speeding car had stopped at the far end of the road and a tall, familiar figure was climbing out.
A wonderful lightness filled her then, and slowly she started toward him. Then suddenly she was running and so was he, and they met in a breathless meshing of arms and mouths, and she was crying helplessly, and he was telling her he was sorry, that it was all his fault and he should have explained about Poppy sooner and he was nothing but a big, arrogant Greek fool with too much pride and not enough brains, and if she ever took off like that again without telling him where she was going, he’d put her over his knee.
Eventually the tumult passed and they drew apart. He took a deep breath and so did she. “Let’s go home,” he said, surely the sweetest words in the world.
“Yes,” she said. “Please.”
The next second he was carrying her to the car, while everyone in the village clapped and whistled, and the bouzouki music started up again, loud and exuberant.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe. “When I saw you’d gone…Brianna, I once told you I don’t beg, but I’m begging now. Don’t leave me. Don’t give up on us.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I won’t,” she told him, smiling through her tears. “Never again. I was coming back to tell you so, but then you were here and…”
“And I’m never letting you out of my sight again. If you want Poppy, you have to take me, as well. We’re a package deal.”
“And a bargain at half the price. I know that now.”
They sat on the love seat in her room, and the first thing he did was slide the ring back on her finger. “Just to let the rest of the world know you’re taken,” he said, settling back with his arm around her.
After that, they talked far into the small hours of the night, hours longer than they’d ever done before. About how, after they’d made love by the pool after the garden party, he’d almost told her about Poppy not being his biological child, and how later, he was glad he’d kept quiet because he’d tarnished Cecily’s memory enough and he wanted to leave Brianna with some of her illusions intact. About Poppy and what she faced in the coming months. About finally closing the door on the past. About how much they’d both always craved marriage and children and family. And most important of all, about priorities.
“I agree,” he admitted, when she said the wedding should be put on hold. “As long as we’re together, it can wait until everything else is sorted out. Assuming the transplant does go ahead without any complications, Poppy’s facing a lengthy recuperation.”
“There’s also the small matter of you and your father getting past your differences and reaching some sort of truce. This ridiculous feud has gone on long enough, and you have to know how hard it is on your mother. Even though you and she have reconciled, she’s still caught in the middle. Put an end to it, Dimitrios, for everyone’s sake. You made your point. He got the message. Can’t you please leave it at that and just sit down with him, man to man, and try to heal the wounds?”
“Hmm.” He eyed her gloomily. “Are you going to make a habit of always being right?”
“Only when it can’t be avoided,” she said, snuggling deeper into the curve of his arm. “Which’ll probably be most of the time.”
She felt the laughter rumble deep in his chest. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Just that I love you, I always have, and that will never change.”
“That’s all I ask,” he murmured against her hair, and took her to bed to seal their bargain.
The passion consumed them, as it always had, but in its wake came a new serenity, a sense of absolute certainty that while trouble and sorrow might touch their tomorrow, their love would do more than survive. It would emerge triumphant.
She was where she belonged. At his side.
Epilogue
A cold February rain dripped from the palm trees, but inside the villa walls, fires chased away the chill of the winter afternoon, and the scent of gardenias filled the rooms with summer.
In her bedroom Brianna fixed the coronet of rosebuds more securely in Poppy’s hair, which had grown back thicker and more lustrous than ever after her chemotherapy. “You look adorable, my angel.”
Poppy twirled before the mirror, sending the skirt of her pale-pink flower girl’s dress flaring around her ankles. “I’m not an angel, I’m a princess.”
Brianna exchanged a smiling glance with Hermione. “She’s a miracle.”
“One of many lately,” Hermione replied fondly, “and I give thanks for them every day. You’ve done more than fill my son’s life with love and happiness, Brianna. You’ve given me back my family. I never thought to see the day that Mihalis would stand up as best man for Dimitrios at his wedding.” She dabbed at her eyes and gave a little laugh. “Dear me, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry today, and look at me. I’m not even waiting for the ceremony to begin before I get started.”
“Don’t,” Brianna begged. “You’ll get me going, too, and we’ve shed enough tears in the past eight months to last us a lifetime.”
Even on this, the happiest day of her life so far, the specter of those dark days after the transplant still haunted her. She still sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, terrified and soaked in sweat, tears streaming down her face, caught again in the nightmare of agony of watching Poppy suffer the nausea, the fever, the pain and debilitating weakness that were part and parcel of the cure.
She’d never forget the suspense of waiting for signs that the new bone marrow had migrated and was beginning to produce normal blood cells. For weeks on end, every time the phone rang, she and Dimitrios would freeze, fearing the worst.
The emotional highs and lows, the unending stress, had almost killed them. Yet it had made them stronger, too. “If we
can survive this,” he’d often said, “we can survive anything.”
But whoever first said God never closed a door without first opening a window, had it right. One day she’d looked up from her post with Dimitrios beside Poppy’s hospital crib, and seen Mihalis standing with Hermione on the other side of the observation window, his chin quivering and tears rolling down his face. Dimitrios had been a rock until then, but at that, he’d buried his face in his hands and his whole body had shaken with great, heaving sobs.
Heavens, yes. They’d all cried enough tears to fill a lake. They didn’t need more today.
Fortunately, Carter knocked on the door just then, timing his arrival to prevent a complete emotional meltdown. “You’re running late, ladies, and the groom’s growing impatient.”
“We’re ready,” Hermione said, letting him in. “Come along, Poppy, my darling. We’ll go ahead and give Mommy Brianna a moment to collect herself.”
Alone with Carter, Brianna managed a smile. “Thank you for being here, Carter.”
“Try keeping me away! You’re a picture, you know that? And I’m a damn fool to be giving away the best client I ever had. I hope that Greek god you’re so crazy about realizes how lucky he is.”
“We’re both lucky,” she said tremulously. “And you’re a lot more than just my former agent, Carter. You’ve been my best friend for more years than I care to count, and I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for all you’ve done for me.”
“I do,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Be happy. That’s payment enough for me.”
“You’ve got the rings?”
“Right here.” His father patted his pocket, then cleared his throat and stepped closer. “Just wanted to say…well, I’m here and you’re here and…well, that young woman upstairs, she’s all right. You’re both all right, and I’m…well, I’m here. If you need me. Which you probably don’t.”
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