The Greek Billionaire's Marriage Matchmaker

by Holly Rayner

  “It’s still hard for me to even look at a plane, never mind get in one.”

  “I know, but I’ve been looking into it, and there are some things we can do together to lessen your anxiety. For instance, if you know how a plane works and what to expect, that’s one step closer to making getting off the ground easier. I learned that a plane goes through eleven hours of maintenance for every hour it’s in the air.”

  “But people still die, Zoey.”

  “Yes, that’s true, but they also die falling out of bed. You have a better chance of going that way. Fulton drives us around all the time, and the chances of us dying that way are one in thirty thousand. The chances of what you’re worried about happening are one in thirty million. Statistically speaking, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “I don’t think talking about this is helping,” Stelios interjected, the anxiety in his voice evident. His parents had been that one case in thirty million, the winners of the worst lottery Stelios could imagine. He could see their plane in his mind’s eye, sailing across the heavens without a care in the world. He could hear them pointing out the clouds to each other, giving shape to the clumps of condensed water vapor. A stewardess was walking down the aisle with her cart, handing meals and snacks out to the passengers as she passed. A ginger-haired girl was making a joke, and her parents were tangled in fits of laughter.

  Then the plane shook. First, a little rumble, then a loud, teeth-rattling quake. Through the window, he could see smoke billowing from one of the engines. People were screaming, and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, struggling to remain calm.

  Stelios felt his chest tighten horribly. He thought he could actually smell the smoke. A sheen of sweat cascaded down his forehead. His eyes were alight with cabin fires, and he held his smartphone in a death grip.

  Zoey heard his ragged, wheezing breath, and every part of her leaped to attention at once.

  “Stelios? Are you all right? Tell me what you’re feeling right now,” Zoey said, her voice full of concern.

  “My palms are sweaty and, my fingers are tingling,” he answered in a weak, gasping voice.

  “Remember your refuge in the forest, Stelios? I want you to close your eyes and visualize it now. Close your eyes, and listen to my voice. Try to remember the clearing.”

  Fighting to regain his composure, Stelios did as he was told. At first, his imagination kept trying to show him the plane crashes he had seen in movies and news reports. But soon, Zoey’s calmer, quieter voice filled his ears, offering him hope. He began to feel his breathing slowing down with each word.

  “See the lake,” she was saying. “See the crisp blue lake. Watch the surface ripple as the wind blows across it. See the sailboat perched on the calm water, its sail billowing like a robin’s breast.”

  The more she talked, the more meditative Stelios became, and the clearer the picture in his mind appeared. Very soon, his palms were cool, and the tingling that had plagued his fingers was gone. In time, his chest began to loosen, and he began to feel like a human being again.

  “Picture the lush green grass of the island, which grows ankle-high and feels like a carpet. See the olive trees with their twisting branches, sun-drenched leaves, and hanging fruit.”

  “What is this called, Zoey?” Stelios asked.

  “Guided imagery. Is it helping at all?”

  “Actually, yes. I feel much calmer now than before.”

  “Great. Why don’t we try something else?”

  “That’s a good idea, Zoey. Just not today. Right now, I’d really like to talk about something else.” He felt as though he’d barely survived one of the trials of Hercules, and unlike the ancient hero, he needed a rest.

  “Well, all right,” she replied. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’re afraid of?” he asked.

  The question caught Zoey off guard, but she recovered quickly and started on a story about a wasp’s nest in the bushes of her childhood home and the all-consuming terror it had inspired in her. They ended up talking for another two hours before Zoey had to give in to sheer exhaustion.

  “I want to thank you for what you did today,” Stelios told Zoey just before he hung up. “I really appreciate how much you’re doing to help me.”

  “As long as we’re together,” Zoey told him, “your problems are my problems. Always remember that.”

  ***

  Nearly six months had passed since the debacle surrounding Melinda’s billboard campaign. Zoey was working with Stelios on stress management techniques almost every day now. A slim window of opportunity had opened, and Stelios was keen to take advantage of it.

  The following week, he would have a block of free time where no meetings had been arranged, and he wanted to use it to take Zoey to Greece and introduce her to his family—the people who had helped him from afar in his darkest hours. He was focused on his goal in a way that Zoey had to admit was highly impressive. He had yet to step foot on an actual plane, but had gotten through several simulations with flying colors.

  “You’ve come such a long way from when we started,” Zoey exclaimed proudly as Stelios stepped out of a large machine. It looked like a cross section of a passenger jet, and moved in ways that showed passengers what to expect from turbulence.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you, Zo’. You’ve been a huge inspiration to me these past few months.”

  “I said I didn’t think there was anything we couldn’t get through together, and I’m glad to know that I was right,” she replied with a laugh.

  Stelios kissed her on the cheek and the pair crossed the airfield, eventually reaching Stelios’ black town car. Fulton was leaning against it, patiently awaiting their return.

  When they were within earshot, the driver spoke up. “I hope I’m not being too personal when I say this, Mr. Zakiridis, but I’m very proud of what you’ve accomplished, sir.”

  “Thank you, Fulton,” the billionaire replied, helping Zoey into the back of the car.

  The driver nodded and a few moments later the three of them were on their way back to the city.

  On the way, Zoey was struck by the fact that she knew so little about the man who had been driving her around for months. He very rarely spoke, and his proclamation at the airfield had started her thinking. Who was he? How long had he worked for Stelios?

  When they reached Manhattan, Zoey told Fulton that she hoped it wasn’t too personal for her to inquire after his first name, if nothing else.

  “It’s Herbert, miss,” he replied, turning a tight corner with the ease of a seasoned pro. “Herbert Earnest Fulton is my name. It’s been a pleasure serving you.”

  FIFTEEN

  On the home front, in a small café near the offices of Melinda Forde Singles, Zoey’s mother was accomplishing a monumental task of her own: sharing a cup of coffee with a client.

  Over the past few months, Branden Kingston had been as good as his word, appearing in her office with increased frequency. Several more picnics had followed the first, until it became perfectly impossible for Melinda to deny her heart what it wanted any longer. Finally, she had broached the subject of a date, and Mr. Kingston had proven to be perfectly willing.

  “It’s kind of funny,” Branden was saying, as he added creamer to Melinda’s coffee. “When you think about it, places like this offer privacy, despite being chock-full of people. The dim lighting makes it hard to see, and everyone talking at once creates a wall of white noise.”

  “Yeah, but every single person has a camera and a video recorder,” she reminded him. “And they pull them out like Clint Eastwood the moment anything remotely interesting happens.”

  “Well, private or not, I’m glad we’re here together,” Branden returned. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for a long time. I feel like you can say things on an official date that you can’t really say in someone’s office.”

  “We talked about everything in my office, didn’t we? Claire, Wil
liam, Zoey, greeting cards…”

  “Everything but how beautiful I think you are, Melinda. There’s an intensity in your eyes that really demands attention. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Not for a long time,” Melinda admitted; the last person to say that had been a contest judge. “Thank you,” she added warmly. “Well, while we’re sharing, I might as well tell you that I’ve always liked the sound of your voice.”

  “My voice?” Branden replied, a little surprised.

  “Yes, your voice. It’s a wonderful baritone. Every time you say something, the words feel like they roll over me. I think you’d be a wonderful singer.”

  “Tolerable,” he corrected.

  “You’re just being modest. Why don’t you sing something now?”

  “Because of the dozens of smartphones you mentioned earlier,” Branden answered, laughing a little.

  “Oh, don’t mind them,” she replied. “Let me tell you something. I’m forty-something and you’re in your fifties. Neither of us watch YouTube, so there’s really no reason to be afraid.”

  Branden had to chuckle at that. “All right, Melinda” he smiled. “You win.” And clearing his throat, he began singing ‘I Can’t Help Myself’.

  As he’d said, his voice was tolerable, but after the first few moments of nervousness wore off, it began to improve by degrees. Soon, two or three people near their table were clapping along in time, and Melinda smiled and followed suit. When his rendition came to an end, several people even applauded.

  “Now that wasn’t so bad was it?” Melinda said with a grin.

  Branden had to admit that it had gone better than he thought. He got a kiss for his trouble, and by the time the pair of them headed back to Melinda’s office, they were surer than ever that they were meant to be together. They set up a second date for the following Saturday.

  “I’m so glad I decided to come and see you all those months ago,” Branden said, holding Melinda’s hand at the door to her office. “I doubt there’s a person within a hundred miles of here that’s happier than I am.”

  “Zoey might just give you a run for your money,” Melinda replied softly. “She’ll be overjoyed when she finds out about today. She’s been trying to push the two of us together for months now.”

  “And bless her heart for doing it. As long as I live, I’ll always be grateful to that girl for sticking her nose in other people’s business.”

  “As will I,” Melinda agreed with a grin. “Zoey’s a treasure. She’s done so much to make me feel human again. Thank you for singing today, by the way,” she said, giving Branden another kiss. “Believe it or not, it really made my day.”

  “I’m glad it did,” he replied, smiling broadly. “I admit, it went better than I thought it would. I don’t care who you are, it feels good to have an audience clapping for you. But let’s not get used to it.” He shook his head good-naturedly and gave Melinda a peck on the cheek. “I can only sing about two other songs without sounding like a drunken alley cat.”

  “I can’t wait to hear them,” returned Melinda. “And remember, I’m always available to sing backup. Sugar pie, honey bunch…” she began to sing.

  A moment later, the pair of them were singing together. Branden kept making up silly lyrics to fit the music, causing Melinda to erupt in fits of laughter, her singing veering off-key.

  They were at it for a good ten minutes before Branden remembered he had to be on his way. He often told people that, even when one is retired, life refuses to take care of itself. As the echoes of the racket they had been making died away, he fervently wished that it would, just this once.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised Melinda as he walked out of her office, nodding cheerily at Maria as he did.

  “You’d better be!” came the jaunty reply.

  SIXTEEN

  When she came in to work next morning, it didn’t take Zoey long to find out what had happened with her mother. She heard the entire thing from Annie within ten minutes of arriving in the office. Maria, had apparently been exceedingly vocal about her boss’ antics with her new love interest, reminding anyone who would listen that she had been at the agency the longest, that she had seen Melinda in the months after William left her, when she had been a broken woman.

  In her office, Zoey inwardly prayed that Maria didn’t start any drama, but as the day wore on, it became quite evident that everyone was worrying for no reason. Zoey kept finding excuses to go upstairs and visit her mother, and each time she found Maria at her desk, wearing her familiar unreadable expression.

  The third time Zoey went up it was just after lunch, and when she arrived, it was to find Branden on his way out, carrying a picnic basket. His face lit up when he saw her, and he hurried eagerly to her side.

  “Zoey!” he exclaimed. “Boy, am I happy to see you. As you can see, your little suggestion worked. I want to thank you for that. I don’t like to tell tales out of school, but your mother and I have never been happier.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that, Mr. Kingston,” she replied. “I’m sure it’s going to stay that way.”

  Branden gave her a quick one-armed hug on his way out, and Zoey gave her mother’s personal assistant another significant look before knocking on the inner office door.

  “Come in, dear,” Melinda’s voice rang out. “There’s something we really need to talk about.”

  Zoey thought she saw Maria squirm when Melinda said that, but she hadn’t been looking directly at her, and Maria was as still as a statue by the time Zoey turned her head in that direction. With a sigh, Zoey entered her mother’s office to find her surrounded by an incredible amount of paperwork. For one horrifying second, Zoey assumed that Melinda Forde was getting sued again. But the expression on her mother’s face was serene.

  “So it turns out that Branden studied commercial law in college. We had a working lunch today, Zoey, and he’s been giving me advice about something I think we need to discuss. It has to do with Melinda Forde and our future together, so I’m going to talk for a while and I don’t want you to interrupt, okay?”

  “Sure, Mom, but you’re worrying me. Is everything all right?”

  “Of course it is, honey,” Melinda replied lightly. “I promise there’s nothing to be worried about.”

  Having said that, Melinda talked for nearly an hour, occasionally pointing to one of the surrounding documents to illustrate her point.

  As Zoey listened, she ran the gamut of emotion, but she was as good as her word, and though she burned to do so several times, she let her mother’s speech go unimpeded.

  By the time Melinda was finished, surprise was the only emotion Zoey was certain she could still legitimately feel.

  “Are you absolutely sure about this, Mom?” she inquired. “This is a pretty enormous step to take.”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, Zoey, so I need you to try to do your very best. I’m really going to have to count on you. I know you’re heading to Greece in a week, so Branden and I won’t finalize things until you get back here. I know this must seem shocking…”

  “No kidding,” Zoey interjected.

  “…and you probably think this is all happening too soon, but we love each other, and we want to be together full time. I just don’t see a more responsible way…”

  “All right, Mom,” Zoey cut in. “If you’re sure this is what you want, I want you to know that I’m here for you.” She kissed her mother before pulling her in for a hug.

  SEVENTEEN

  When the day of their flight finally arrived, Zoey arose with the excited vibrancy of an older child on Christmas Day. She methodically got herself dressed for the airport, before folding a few last-minute items into a suitcase. She had read an article about packing efficiently, and over the past few days, Zoey had treated it like a gospel. Every item she was bringing had at least two functions. Anything the hotel was likely to have had been culled from her luggage. She was using straws to keep her necklaces detang
led, and the little zip top bags the extra buttons for her blouses came in to keep her earrings together. Socks had gone into shoes, and all of her clothes had been rolled in an effort to take up twenty percent less space. In the end, she had managed to fit everything she needed for the week into two tiny carry-on bags. It was an impressive feat, and Zoey had to admit she was more than a little proud of herself.

  At nine fifteen that morning, the doorbell rang, and Zoey let Fulton in to the apartment. He was resplendent in a new black uniform that looked like it had been pressed within an inch of its life. Brass buttons lined the front of the jacket, twinkling in the sunlight that shone through her windows.