by Ann Cristy
"Ah, yes." Zen smiled weakly, letting the boys out of the car and snapping a leash on Curly.
"What's that for?" Damon asked, nodding toward the dog scooper and taking the lead from her.
"I use it to clean up after Curly when we're traveling," Zen explained. She stifled a giggle as Damon grimaced, shook his head, and walked away. The thought of the great Damon Aristides cleaning up after a dog threatened to send her into peals of laughter.
Damon glared back at her. "There's always tonight, Xenobia, when we're in bed," he warned.
"We'll be at your mother's house, in our own rooms," she retorted.
He shook his head. "The house is mine, and you will be sleeping with me—either in my suite or yours."
Zen made a face at his back. "Go suck an egg," she muttered, then sprinted for the bathroom where the boys were, sensing that Damon had heard her.
The boys had decided that they didn't want to be encumbered by their seat belts, and they were arguing the point with Zen when Damon returned with Curly.
"Don't let me hear you talk that way again," he said more sternly than he had ever spoken to them. "When it comes to safety, there is no arguing. Understood?"
"Yes, Uncle Damon," the boys murmured, chastened.
During the rest of the trip, they stopped at intervals to stretch their legs and feed the boys. Still, David and Daniel became cranky and rambunctious as the trip lengthened. They took only a short nap. Then they began arguing. Several miles farther on, Damon passed Zen and signaled for her to pull over.
"I'm taking over the Cherokee, Zen. You drive the Ferrari."
She gulped. "I've never driven such a sophisticated machine."
"Don't worry. You know how to operate a standard shift, so I'll just adjust the seat for you, explain a few of the features, and you'll be on your way. We have only about a hundred miles to go, and I can see that the boys are beginning to act up."
Zen listened to his instructions with half an ear, feeling more inclined to watch his bent head and the way the sun glistened on his hair.
At last she was alone in the car, watching Damon signal and pull onto the highway. She did the same, keeping a safe distance behind the Cherokee.
When they had traveled several miles, a Camaro passed her carrying two young men who whistled and called out to her. Zen ignored them, but they pulled in between her and the Cherokee and began making gestures out the window, signaling for her to pull over. When she had the chance, she pulled out in front of them and floored the Ferrari, letting it leap ahead. The Camaro began to speed up.
Zen glanced at Damon as she pulled up alongside the Cherokee. He, too, motioned for her to pull over to the side of the road.
When she pulled to a stop, the Camaro pulled over as well. Apparently the young men didn't notice that Damon had stopped, too.
Even as he was stepping from the Cherokee, a State Trooper arrived. Zen wondered if Damon had called him on the CB. The men in the Camaro made as though to return to their car, but Damon collared them and told the officer that the men had tried to intimidate his wife.
"Hey, Mac, we didn't know she was yours," said one of the young men.
"You sure knew she wasn't yours... and that it's against the law to play games like that on the highway," Damon retorted angrily, the words coming from his mouth like bullets, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Officer, I'd like to charge these men with harassment."
Both men shifted restlessly on their feet, their faces flushed with anger.
The policeman wrote busily on his pad. Damon assured him that his lawyer would visit the State Police headquarters to see that the men were charged as he felt they should be.
Zen wasn't sure, but she thought she saw the trooper's lips twitch as he read the men their rights. Was he enjoying this?
When they finally turned into the long circular drive leading to the Aristides estate, Zen could see Sophie standing in the drive, her hands clasped in front of her. Thag was there, too, as usual, but this time he seemed filled with anticipation as he shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. Zen was glad he'd stayed. She hoped to get to know him better. Yanos was leaning on his rake, and Maria and Lona stood farther up the steps.
The Ferrari and the Cherokee pulled to a stop, and the twins tumbled out.
"We had fun!" David exclaimed as he hugged his grandmother.
Daniel hugged her, too. "David and me slept in the loft. Aunt Zeno and Uncle Damon slept downstairs."
Zen's cheeks burned with embarrassment as Sophie's eyes turned to hers, one eyebrow arching just the way Damon's did. Pythagoras was grinning.
Curly jumped down from the van and immediately watered the rose bed.
"Damn you," Damon said mildly, looking amused. "If you kill those roses, Yanos will have your ears." His eyes caught Zen's, where she was still standing beside the Ferrari. "Come over here, darling, and tell Mother what a good time we had."
"We did, we did," Daniel answered for her. "And Uncle Damon says we can go back when the weather is warmer." He looked around him. "It's warmer here, isn't it?"
"That's because you were in the mountains where the air is cool," Thag told him.
"Curly likes the lake, too, Norma. Can you come with us next time?" David asked as his grandmother turned to lead both boys into the house.
"Yes, indeed, that would be very nice," she replied.
David paused on the top step, frowning. "You'll have to sleep with Aunt Zeno and Uncle Damon. They have the biggest bed."
"David," Zen said, "it's time to get washed for dinner." She wanted to die from embarrassment.
"I'm hungry," he announced plaintively.
"Come along with me," Lona offered. "I have nice shiny apples up in your room with wedges of cheese."
"Oh, goody." Daniel smiled at his old nurse, trying to smother a yawn.
"Come on, darling. We'll take a shower before we have a cocktail," Damon said, placing a strong arm around Zen's shoulders. He guided her into the foyer and up the stairs.
"Stop it," she stage-whispered, trying to dig in her heels. "I haven't even spoken to your mother or—"
"That's all right, Xenobia. We'll talk when you come down again," Sophie called.
Zen tried to look over her shoulder at the older woman, but Damon was taking her up the steps so fast she caught only a fleeting glance of the enigmatic face. "This is very embarrassing. Did you hear what David said?" Zen whispered as they went down the corridor leading them to their room. "I am not staying in your apartment, Damon. Surely you can see—"
"Then I'll stay in yours. Even though the bed may be too short."
"Don't be ridiculous. The bed is monstrous... What? You are not staying in my room!" "We're sleeping together."
"No!" She shook her head until she thought her neck would snap. "I can't do it. I'll move out first."
Damon's expression grew as dark as midnight. "Why is it so bad to sleep with me now when we slept together at the cottage?"
"Your mother wasn't at the cottage, Damon. And don't look at me like that. I won't change my mind. So, which shall it be? Do I get a hotel room or do I sleep alone?"
His mouth tightened with anger and frustration. "I don't like being pushed around, Zen. That's the one thing I will not tolerate." He spun on his heel and strode down the hall that led to double doors and beyond to his quarters.
"I don't like it either. You remember that," Zen called after him, watching his broad shoulders stiffen as he paused. He pushed open the double doors with a crash that made her flinch.
Zen stumbled into the shower, letting the steamy water pour down on her, feeling bruised in every muscle.
When she emerged a long time later, she felt a little more relaxed and in control.
Maria had already put most of her things away. "I thought you would want me to press this dress, Kyria." She gestured at the shoes and under things she'd laid out on the bed.
"Isn't that a little too formal for dinner with the family?" Zen
pointed to the grape-colored silk dress Maria was holding.
"There are guests this evening, Kyria." Maria left before Zen could question her further.
Yawning, she shrugged and flopped face down on the bed. Her body felt as flaccid as well-done spaghetti.
Damon's face appeared in her mind as she closed her eyes. Every pore, every laugh line, was familiar to her.
The phantom Damon laughed with her; then his face turned to sculpted stone. His eyes lost their gleam.
"You've run away from me once too often, Xenobia," he said. "Now I don't want you."
"You can't go away," Zen pleaded with him in her dream. "You're my albatross. I left you three years ago and, deep inside, I've been unhappy ever since. If you leave me again, I won't be able to bear it. Come back, Damon." Zen called to him and called to him. "I don't mean you're my good luck. You're my bad," she wailed in her dream. She saw the majestic albatross and whimpered in her sleep.
Suddenly, she sat up in bed, aware that the dream was true. If Damon left her, life would have no meaning.
She shook herself fully awake and straightened the covers on the bed, then reached for a robe to wear while she put on her makeup. Her eye caught the grape-colored dress hanging on the clothes tree, its silky flounces moving at the least breath of air.
The dress was street length but designed for evening wear. The off-the-shoulder ruffle was repeated in a diagonal sweep around her body from one shoulder to the hem. Zen slipped the dress over her head. It clung to her form like a gentle caress. With it she wore the pink sapphire earrings which had belonged to her sister and which Damon had given to her. She twisted her hair into a coil at the back of her head.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the hallway. Would she have time to visit the boys? She saw Lona coming from their room. "Are they sleeping?" she asked.
"Yes. I fed them some soup after they ate their apples and cheese. They are so tired... but it's a good kind of tired. I have never seen Daniel look so bright and healthy. They need each other, don't they, miss?"
"Yes, they do," Zen replied softly, a wrenching sadness welling up inside her. It was true. The boys did need each other. They needed to grow together, to go to school, to play, to discover each other. The words echoed in her head as she descended the stairs.
Blindly, her thoughts like smoke clouding her mind, Zen pushed open the double doors of the living room and was assailed by voices and strange faces. Surprised, she hesitated on the threshold. Where had all these people come from?
"There you are, darling," Damon said, stepping toward her and pulling her close to his side in a powerful embrace.
"Who are these people?" Zen asked through suddenly dry lips.
"Our guests. They've come to help us celebrate."
"That's nice." Zen glanced around her and realized that she recognized only about three people in the room. She turned back to Damon. "Celebrate what?"
"Our forthcoming marriage. Darling, I want you to meet a colleague of mine. Vince, this is Xenobia Driscoll, my fiancée. Zen, my love, this is Vince Dante, my partner in the Olympus Fishery."
"Fish?" Zen repeated stupidly, her head whirling. The room and the smiling faces in it seemed to be distorted, as if seen through a fun house mirror. She swayed and felt Damon's arm tighten around her.
"Yes. And this is Terry Riedle, vice-president of Venus Airlines."
"Planes?" Zen felt as though she had no control over her facial muscles. Her smile seemed to be slipping sideways, her eyes were heavy, and her lips felt like plastic.
"Must you keep repeating what I say?" Damon whispered in her ear.
"What?" Zen looked up at him, trying to focus. When someone held out a drink, she took it without thinking and tipped the iced liquid down her throat. She started to choke, and Damon patted her back and took the empty glass from her hand.
"I never knew you were a drinker," he commented, when she took another glass from a passing tray. "No one should toss off martinis on the rocks as though they were water."
"I don't expect you to believe me, but I thought it was water until I'd already taken a swallow." Zen lifted the full glass to her mouth, but paused when she saw the twist of lemon floating in it. She shrugged and sipped the bitter brew of gin and vermouth.
"Why would I not believe you, love?" Damon leaned over and took her lips, his tongue invading her mouth at once.
"Come, come, Damon... Xenobia. Not now," Pythagoras admonished gently. "Sophie is about to make the announcement." He smiled at Zen when she swayed in Damon's arms.
"Right. We're coming." He urged her into the center of the throng, where Sophie stood instructing everyone to take a glass of champagne.
"I am delighted to invite you all to my son's wedding, which will take place in two weeks," she announced.
Zen glared at them all. "Not a chance," she murmured. But her voice failed to carry over the chorus of congratulations and best wishes.
Chapter 7
"And when is the shower? I suppose you'll expect me to have it," Damon's Aunt Dalia said sourly to Zen. She turned to Sophie. "She doesn't even look Greek."
Zen swallowed more of her martini, squinted to get her bearings on Aunt Dalia's position and started for the woman, fists clenched. "You know what you can do with—" Zen was jerked back into familiar arms and pressed against a hard chest, her words smothered in a silk dinner jacket.
"What did she say?" Aunt Dalia lifted her classic chin and looked down her patrician nose.
"She said there isn't much time if we're to have the shower before the wedding, and if you feel it's too much..." Damon held tightly to Zen, lovingly pressing his finger over her lips.
"Me? Not be able to hold the traditional couple's party for the bride and groom? Ridiculous! We'll have it on next Tuesday. My secretary will call everyone." Aunt Dalia gave a satisfied sniff. "Is Friday the day you're to be married?"
"Yes. In the evening by a judge who's a friend of mine. Here at the house," Damon told her.
"Of course you will have a religious ceremony at some later date." Aunt Dalia gazed at them with disapproval.
Zen freed her mouth. "You can go—"
Damon bent to kiss her, wincing only slightly when Zen bit his lip. He lifted his head and smiled at his aunt. "She said it's getting stuffy in here. Perhaps we'd better get some air."
"Your lip is bleeding." Aunt Dalia looked askance at her nephew. "In my day we saved such things for the bedroom."
"Xenobia is very earthy," Damon observed, only blinking when Zen kicked him in the shin.
"Loose. That's what the world is today, loose." Aunt Dalia humphed and turned away to speak to her nephew Sandor, who was proffering a drink to his aunt and ogling Zen at the same time.
Zen had never liked the oily Sandor, but now she beamed at him and beckoned him to her side.
Sandor waved his lighter close to Aunt Dalia's hair, nearly setting her on fire, then hurried over to Zen and Damon. "If you have guests to speak to, Damon, I will keep Zen company."
"No," Damon barked.
"Lovely idea," Zen said at the same time, moving forward as much as Damon's arm would allow. "Let me go, Damon dear. I would like to talk to your cousin."
"Sandor," Damon said casually, releasing her, his teeth coming together with a snap, "if you keep looking at Xenobia that way, I will blacken both your eyes... here... now... in this room."
Sandor looked at his tall, well-built cousin and would have moved away, but Zen clutched his arm just as another guest demanded Damon's attention and pulled him aside.
Zen needed to clutch something. The unaccustomed gin made her feel as though she were crossing the deck of a ship at sea.
"You have lovely breasts, Xenobia," Sandor murmured boldly in her ear.
Zen's eyes widened in shock at his audacity. "Are you adopted, Sandor?" she asked casually. "No one in this family talks in such a fashion. And incidentally, if Damon hears you speak that way, he's liable to beat your brains in."
She whirled away from Sandor—right into Sophie. "Oh! Excuse me. Ah... about that announcement."
"I know you said you would play the piano for us after dinner," Sophie gushed, "but so many of the family are dying to hear you play now."
Sophie urged her toward the mammoth Steinway. "Eleni played, not me," Zen whispered. "I play the guitar... and not very well."
Sophie ignored her and clapped her hands for attention. "Xenobia has consented to play for us," she announced loudly.
"She doesn't play very well, as I remember," Aunt Dalia warned the assembled guests, earning a glare from Zen.
"I'll play... and Zen will sing," Damon said unexpectedly. "Come, darling. Would you like to sit next to me or stand at the side of the piano?"
"I'd like to get a bus to Cleveland," Zen muttered.
"Why is she talking to herself, Sandor?" Aunt Dalia trumpeted. "She was never too bright as a child, as I recall."
Damon seemed amused by the dark look Zen shot his aunt. "Your family is the most irritating group of cretins," she mumbled between clenched teeth.
"Ignore her," Damon said. "I do. Now tell me, is there anything in this mountain of sheet music you would like me to play?"
Zen was about to tell him she didn't care what he played when her eye caught the title Songs of Ireland on a thick book. She took it from the stack and began leafing through it. She pointed to a song and swallowed to moisten her throat.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to sing something Greek?" Damon laughed when she curled her lip.
"I'll leave that to you," she said, then listened to the introduction, remembering the night when Seamus and several other Irish friends of hers had gathered at her apartment and sung around the piano for much of the evening, even allowing David to sing with them. The words of the ballad had remained in her memory, and her untrained but pure soprano filled the room with the poignant melody.
Zen was so lost in the words that at first she didn't notice when Damon's baritone joined her. The sweet tune came as natural as breathing as he sang the words to "The Isle of Innisfree."