Greek for Beginners

by Jackie Braun

  “And you were hooked,” she guessed.

  She’d felt that way the first time she’d composed an article for her high school’s newspaper. Three paragraphs on changes to the lunch menu and she’d known what she wanted to be when she grew up. Now, eight years after earning a degree in journalism, she could barely claim to be a journalist.

  Nick was saying, “Hooked. Yes, I was. Especially after I decided to sell the Speedster at auction in Kalamai two summers later. Collectors came not only from all over Greece, but from other parts of Europe to bid on it. I loved the excitement. So, I used the money from the sale to buy another car, fix it up and auction it off. Later, I decided I did not want to go to the auctions, I wanted to run them. So, that is what I do.”

  She heard satisfaction in his tone. Pride. How long had it been since she’d felt either of those emotions when it came to her own job? How long had it been since she’d dreamed of bigger and better things for herself when it came to her career? Her life? Settling. Darcie had done so damned much of it.

  “Did you come to Greece on business then?” she asked.

  Nick shook his head and some of his dark hair fell across his forehead. It lent an air of recklessness to his already pulse-pounding good looks.

  “Not this time. I came for a family wedding.”

  Wedding. Even spoken with Nick’s gorgeous accent, the word brought Darcie up short, reminding her as it did of her recent close call with “I do.” How different her life might be right now if a week ago she hadn’t finally found the courage to act on what her heart—and, well, Becky—had been telling her for so long. Tad wasn’t the right man for her.

  “Yet you were going to leave today.”

  “I would have been back. The ceremony does not take place until the Saturday after next.”

  His response had her blinking in surprise. “That’s more than two weeks away, and you’re already here?”

  “It is expected,” he replied.

  Darcie detected a slight edge to his tone and thought she understood its source. She knew all about family expectations. She had three sisters, two older, one younger, all of them happily married and busily procreating as if the survival of the human race depended on them. Meanwhile, Darcie had passed the big three-oh mark in the spring and the only thing that remained of her eagerly anticipated nuptials was the stack of gifts that would have to be returned when she got back.

  A groan escaped. At Nick’s quizzical glance, she said, “I feel your pain. My family can be, well, difficult to please at times. So, who’s getting married?”

  “My brother Pieter.”

  “I take it he lives here.”

  “Yes. As does my entire family.”

  Yet Nick made his home in a city across the Atlantic. Interesting. “No apron strings for you,” she murmured.

  “Apron strings?”

  “Nothing. Are you and your brother close?”

  “We used to be closer.”

  At that, his lips flattened into a grim line, leaving her with the distinct impression there was much more to the story. Still, she kept her curiosity in check and changed the subject. They engaged in polite small talk until they arrived at their destination. Even before she saw the hotel, she knew it would be a dive. The oath that slipped from Nick’s lips told her as much.

  Luxury accommodations? Right. The squat, two-story building looked like it should have a date with a wrecking ball, despite the sign out front printed in Greek and English that announced it was Under Renovation. It was more rickety than some of the country’s ancient ruins. Glancing around, Darcie realized The Santor wasn’t located in the best of neighborhoods, either. As hungry as she was, she didn’t think she would be comfortable hoofing up the block to the restaurant she spied there. At the moment, two men were loitering out front, smoking cigarettes and passing a liquor bottle back and forth.

  With her earlier hysteria threatening to return, she muttered, “Rufus really wasn’t so bad.”

  Nick’s brows drew together. “Your cat?”

  “No longer. I was thinking good riddance after what he did to my favorite silk dress. But now...” She shrugged.

  “Has anyone ever told you that the story of your life is very confusing?”

  “Only all the time.”

  “I’ll walk you in and see you settled.”

  No protest passed Darcie lips. Since it would have been token at best, she didn’t see the point. No way did she want to go inside that death trap by herself.

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

  Nick retrieved her sorry-looking bag and they made their way to the entrance on a makeshift walkway of cardboard that had been placed over mud puddles. On either side of the door were potted palm trees whose fronds were coated with thick, grayish construction dust.

  Nick held open one of the grimy glass doors. “After you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She took a halting step inside and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Once they did, she wished they hadn’t. The lobby was filled with an assortment of power tools and building supplies, and every last inch of the place was as dust-coated as the palms outside. Her apprehension kicked into high gear as she imagined the condition the rooms would be in.

  As if sensing her hesitation, Nick placed a hand on the small of her back and propelled her toward the reception desk. A woman stood behind it. Darcie pegged her to be about forty-five and a chain smoker. A lit cigarette dangled from her lips and a second one burned merrily in the ashtray on the countertop. The woman squinted at them through the haze created by both dust and smoke.

  “Good afternoon.” The greeting was offered in Greek as she set the cigarette in the ashtray.

  “Good afternoon,” Nick replied. His gaze flicked to her name badge and he added, “Pesha. How are you today?”

  He said this in English, which Pesha apparently understood and could speak, because she switched to English as well.

  “I am much better now.” Her smile was flirtatious and made it clear why. Darcie couldn’t fault the woman for that. Nick had certainly brightened her day. “How can I help you?”

  “My friend has a reservation.”

  “Friend.” Her smile widened and she exhaled. Residual wisps of smoke curled out from the woman’s nostrils. Not terribly attractive, but they did distract one from the tar stains on her teeth. “What is the name?”

  “Darcie Hayes,” Nick said.

  There was no computer to consult, only a thick, leather-bound book through which Pesha began flipping. Finally, she glanced up.

  “Sorry. I have no one by that name registered here this week.”

  “Um, what about for a Darcie Franklin.” It would have been her married name. She avoided meeting Nick’s questioning gaze.

  More page flipping ensued before Pesha shook her head. “Oxi. I cannot find that name among my guests, either.”

  “There must be some mistake. The tour package was booked months ago and paid in full.”

  “Tour package?” Pesha said slowly. “Which tour package might that be?”

  “A multicity, sightseeing excursion that was booked through Zeus Tours.”

  “Stavros!”

  The woman spat out the name with enough force to turn the two benign syllables into the vilest of curses. But she wasn’t done. She continued in Greek, gesturing wildly the entire time. Darcie was left with no choice but to grit her teeth and listen. By the time Pesha switched to English again, she had worked up a good head of steam.

  “That man owes me for the last three tour groups that stayed here. I have told him, no more! I have been turning his customers away all day.”

  She selected one of the cigarettes from the ashtray and took a long, lung-blackening drag.

  “Um, when you say no more,” Da
rcie began.

  “I will not honor any more of his bookings unless he pays me in advance.” Pesha stamped out the cigarette for emphasis.

  “I can understand your annoyance with Stavros.” Darcie was pretty annoyed with the man herself. “But I paid in full for a room at The Santor.”

  Sure, the accommodations were crap, but it was the principle of the matter. They were crap for which Tad’s credit card already had been hit.

  Pesha picked up the second cigarette and inhaled deeply before blowing out a stream of smoke that shot past Darcie’s left shoulder. Even so, wisps of it lingered and stung her nose.

  “No, you paid Stavros in full, but he has not paid me. He has not paid me for too long!” Pesha chopped at the air with the hand holding the cigarette, sending ashes flying. Darcie was only glad the woman wasn’t clutching a sharp object. “And until he does, I will not be putting up any more of his tour customers. Now, if you wish to pay with cash, I will be happy to give you a room.”

  Darcie could see the woman’s point. Pesha had a business to run and Stavros had stiffed her more than once. Still, it left Darcie in a bind, and if she had to shell out more money for a room, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be in this fleabag establishment. She turned to Nick, who apparently read her mind.

  “I will take you to another hotel. Perhaps something that is closer to shopping, restaurants and nightlife.”

  Darcie cleared her throat and added, “But reasonably priced. My budget is limited.”

  Pesha bristled as they turned to leave.

  “You will not find a better bargain than The Santor,” she insisted.

  Since so much of Darcie’s life was left to fate at the moment, it was with a sense of destiny that she replied, “I’ll take my chances.”

  * * *

  Mindful of what Darcie had said about her budget, Nick took her to one of the chain hotels in the city, even though it offered neither the charm nor the ambience of the nicer and pricier establishments he would have preferred. But it was conveniently located and tidy, with a smoke-free lobby and a concierge who appeared eager to please.

  After she booked a room, they lingered near the bank of elevators. He wasn’t in a hurry to leave. In fact, he almost regretted having to say goodbye. Darcie didn’t seem eager to end their association, either.

  “How good are the chances that Stavros will refund the money for my trip?” she asked.

  “Not good. My guess is he does not have the money to refund.”

  She made a humming sound. “That’s what I was afraid of. At this rate, I will be on a flight back to New York before the end of the week.”

  Her budget, Nick assumed. He meant it when he said, “That would be a shame. Greece is a beautiful country with so much to see.”

  It might not have any effect, but he planned to call Stavros on her behalf and apply a little pressure. Darcie Hayes and unsuspecting travelers like her shouldn’t have to pay for the man’s bad business decisions and personal habits.

  Nick’s reasons, of course, weren’t all pure. His gaze took in the long line of her legs. Even in flat shoes she was a tall woman. Statuesque was the word that came to mind. Sexy applied, too, given her well-rounded curves and the toned backside he’d glimpsed. Why did he get the feeling she was unaware of the power of her allure? In his experience, most women who looked like she did weren’t. They flaunted their looks, used them to get what they wanted. The fact that Darcie didn’t made her not only refreshing, but also a puzzle.

  Nick liked puzzles. They ranked right up there with games of chance when it came to guilty pleasures.

  “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done,” she was saying.

  “I have done nothing.”

  “I disagree. You’ve acted as my personal driver for the past couple of hours. I’d probably still be sitting in the airport with my busted-up luggage waiting for a ride that wasn’t coming if it weren’t for you.”

  She was all but tipping over on her nose. The signs of exhaustion were unmistakable, from the shadows under her eyes to the droop in her shoulders. He doubted that she would last an hour in her room before sleep claimed her, and knew a moment of regret that he wouldn’t be there when she awoke.

  “I am happy I could help. I would hate for a visitor to my homeland to go away with an unfavorable impression of Greek hospitality. Stavros Pappanolos’s poor example notwithstanding, you will find that the people here are very generous and helpful.”

  “Oh, you’ve more than made up for Stavros.”

  She cleared her throat. There was that becoming blush again. Nick leaned forward, drawn by her reserve. Before he could kiss her, she held out a hand that poked into his solar plexus. Her cheeks flamed bright red now.

  “Well, I guess this is where we say goodbye,” she said.

  Was it? Nick didn’t think so. But she was tired and he had fences to mend with his family.

  He took her hand and meant it when he said, “It has been entirely my pleasure, Darcie Hayes.”

  THREE

  Darcie was still on Nick’s mind the following day as he sat in his grandmother’s kitchen having a midmorning snack of freshly baked koulourakia portokaliou. The sweet, orange-flavored cookies were a staple in Yiayia’s house, precisely because they ensured company.

  His parents were there as well. George and Thea Costas lived right next door. In fact, Nick’s entire extended family was clustered together in a small geographic area on the western edge of Athens. True to tradition, Pieter already owned a house just down the road. In two short weeks, he and Selene would live in it together as husband and wife.

  Even the sweetness of the cookie wasn’t enough to wipe out the bitter taste in Nick’s mouth.

  “Your tea is growing cold,” Yiayia said, interrupting his thoughts. The snow-white hair coiled on her head made a striking contrast to her usual black frock. Sophia Pappas had been a widow for twenty-three years and still wore the color of mourning. She also considered it her duty as the family’s matriarch to meddle as she saw fit. “And you are frowning, Nikolos. Is something wrong with my cookies?”

  “Nothing is wrong with your cookies.” He took another bite and smacked his lips for emphasis. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “This is a difficult time for you.” His grandmother nodded sagely.

  “Only because everyone insists on making it so.”

  “Have you given any more thought to Pieter’s request?” his mother asked.

  It took an effort not the crush the cookie that remained in his hand. Pieter wanted Nick to be his koumbaro or best man at the upcoming Greek Orthodox ceremony. As such, it would be Nick who put the crowns on Pieter and Selene’s heads and switched them back and forth three times to symbolize their union.

  Nick wanted no part of that. He couldn’t believe his brother even had the nerve to ask.

  “I have said no too many times to count, Mama.”

  She frowned. “I wish you would reconsider. He is your brother, Nick. Your only brother.”

  “Pieter conveniently forgot that when he started seeing Selene behind my back.”

  “You were gone, Nick. You went to America to start your business,” Thea reminded him unnecessarily. “You told Selene you understood when she said she did not want to move to New York, too.”

  What Nick understood was betrayal. Despite what he’d told Selene at the time, he’d held out hope that she would change her mind. In his heart, he’d believed that the two of them would marry eventually. Until Pieter.

  “I will not be his koumbaro. Be happy that I have agreed to attend the wedding at all.”

  “Be happy, be happy,” Yiayia chided with a shake of her head. “You would do well to listen to your own advice, my boy. You will not find a bride of your own if you do not look.”

 
“I can assure you, I do not lack for female companionship.”

  “Take care how you speak around your grandmother,” George interjected gruffly.

  Nick recognized the tone. It was the same one his father had used when Nick stepped over the line as a boy. He was over the line now, too. And so he apologized.

  “I am merely trying to point out that if I wanted a wife I would have one.”

  He wouldn’t call himself the black sheep of the family, but his wool was definitely dyed a different shade than his brother’s, much to his mother’s and Yiayia’s regret. In addition to his Manhattan apartment, Nick kept a house just outside Athens near the Aegean. His whitewashed home was situated on a hillside and boasted panoramic views of a harbor that was dotted with yachts and fishing boats. His mother claimed the view soothed his restless nature. In some ways, watching all of those boats sail out into open waters only fed it.

  “The women you know in Manhattan are not proper wife material,” his mother said.

  This was true enough, in part because at this point in his life, with a business to build and the related travel taking up so much of his time, he wasn’t ready to settle down.

  Still, he couldn’t resist asking, “How do you know this, Mama? You have not met any of the women I have been with since Selene.”

  “I do not need to meet them. I am your mother. I know.” Thea folded her arms.

  He loved his family. He loved Greece. But ever since he’d sold that first automobile to a collector living in the United States more than a decade earlier, he’d known that he would never settle for the quiet and predictable life he would have endured living here and working with his father.

  His family had never understood Nick’s obsession with classic cars and his desire to see them restored, much less the pleasure he took from connecting a collector with exactly what he or she sought. They were proud of him, certainly. Through hard work, shrewd investment and a little bit of luck, Nick had managed to turn his passion into a multimillion-dollar enterprise. They just wished he’d decided to base it in Athens rather than New York.