The Greek Billionaire's Marriage Matchmaker

by Holly Rayner

They ate slowly, trading stories between bites, and discussing the glorious country they were rapidly approaching. Stelios was talking excitedly about his childhood in Greece, visiting villages with his mother, and sampling exotic new foods. He described the rich gardens he had seen, and told her how it felt to run over the grass-covered hills. Midway through these stories, Zoey began to wish the plane would fly even faster than it already was. In reality, one or two more hours had passed before the intercom system came alive again.

  “Passengers are advised to find your seats and fasten your safety belts. We’re getting ready to descend. We will be landing on the east coast of Chios, in the Aegean Sea. For those of you who haven’t experienced it in a while, allow me to warn you that the descent will feel a little weird, but I want to stress that you’re in no danger, and it will all be over quite soon.”

  “I’m struggling to make myself believe that,” Stelios remarked, instinctively taking Zoey’s hand. He was careful to be more gentle this time, and Zoey appreciated not having her fingers gripped in a vise.

  “Well, it’s perfectly true,” she said encouragingly. “This is the last little bit that we have to deal with, and then we’ll be off to meet your grandparents. Do they live on the mainland or one of the islands?”

  “The mainland,” Stelios answered, but he didn’t elaborate.

  Stelios felt as if he were falling and the floor had suddenly decided to go on strike. His instinct was to drive his heels into the floor, but he knew that wouldn’t halt the sensation. So he did what Zoey was telling him to do, and tried to focus his mind on the temple that stood in the center of his little man-made island. At first, no clear image would form, or rather, no clear image that he wanted to see. But gradually, he marshaled his will, and as Zoey whispered encouragement in his ear, he was able to picture the scene, and slowly, very slowly, a sense of calm claimed his body.

  “That’s it, Stelios. I knew you could do it,” Zoey was saying. “Now I want you to see those beautiful olive trees. Their gnarled limbs are reaching into the sky like children reaching out to their mothers…”

  Zoey kept up her guided imagery until the plane touched down smoothly and began to taxi down the runway.

  The moment the plane touched down, Stelios seemed to come alive. His eyes lit up, and he looked at Zoey, patting her hand gently.

  “I wouldn’t be here without you, Zo’. One of these days, I’m going to thank you for that properly.”

  “You’ve done that already, just by being in my life,” Zoey replied, and as she did so the plane came to a halt.

  “Thank you for choosing the Skylander for all your travel needs,” Fulton boomed over the intercom. “We’d like to be the first to welcome you to Greece. The boarding ramp is now in place. Please exit the plane in an orderly fashion, and have an excellent day.”

  “He really went through the whole routine, didn’t he?” Zoey remarked, grinning.

  “Fulton likes to devote himself completely to everything he does, but I think he’s also doing it to help me feel better. I’ve employed a lot of people in my time, but he is really more than an employee to me. In the years I’ve known him, he’s become someone I am proud to call my friend.”

  “You’re lucky to have someone like that in your life,” Zoey replied.

  “No, I’m thankful I have Fulton. I’m lucky to have you.”

  On that note, the lovers moved to the front of the cabin and descended the boarding ramp with eager steps. Zoey was sure that she would feel a new thrill the moment her feet touched Grecian soil, but she had only gone four steps away from the plane when all thought of the wonders of Greece was knocked right out of her. For a full minute, she stood as still as if she had been turned to salt, paralyzed by the kind of shock people experience once in a lifetime.

  The plane was sitting on a long runway that cut a path through seemingly endless fields of emerald grass. There were no buildings or roads of any kind nearby. Besides the plane and a few olive trees, there was nothing to block the view of the horizon. Wildflowers dotted the landscape, and birds sailed to and fro, singing to the sun as they went. Far off in the distance was a breathtaking mountain range, its stunning peaks bathed in the light of the sun. Taken together, it was a master stroke of nature; the kind of jaw-dropping beauty that inspires legends and songs.

  But it wasn’t this halcyon scene that had caught Zoey’s attention. It was a thing that, at first, looked as if it didn’t belong there at all. It was a billboard. A rather large, but otherwise ordinary, billboard. There was nothing special about it in the least. Compared to the beauty surrounding it, it should hardly have been noticed, but this one had captivated Zoey instantly.

  It was one of Melinda’s advertisements. The ones she had made without anyone’s permission, to promote the fact that Zoey and Stelios were seeing each other as a Melinda Forde success story. The picture was the same: Zoey and Stelios smiling serenely beside each other, with Melinda’s silver logo overhead. But unlike the others, this billboard had a caption, and it was that fact that so affected Zoey when she stepped off the plane. It read:

  “Zoey and Stelios, successfully matched by Melinda Forde Singles, are to be married.”

  When Zoey could move again, she turned round and received a second shock. Stelios was down on one knee in the grass, holding an open jewel box, which contained a glittering ring. It was gold, with a tiny emerald set on each side of the massive diamond in the center.

  “I lied,” Stelios admitted. “This is my little secret.”

  Zoey couldn’t speak. She could barely believe what seemed to be happening.

  “Meeting you, Zoey, has been without doubt the most fulfilling experience of my life. More than anyone, you’ve been my strength through every dark hour. You’ve helped me to achieve things that I thought were impossible. The way I feel when we’re together is indescribable, and I want you by my side for all of eternity. I will never meet a woman who is wiser, funnier, or more beautiful than you are, Zoey. You’ve done so much for me already, but I have one more favor to ask you. Zoey Amelia Forde, will you marry me?”

  For a moment, there was silence. The birds ceased their chirping, and not one sound could be heard from the plane and its crew.

  The air crackled with tension as Zoey struggled to master her voice and tears cascaded down her cheeks. Then she bent down to the grass and embraced her lover, hugging and kissing him with all the joy in her heart.

  “Yes,” she breathed at last. “Yes, Stelios. I’ll marry you!”

  The billionaire whooped for joy, and lifted her into the air, holding her close as if his life depended on it.

  Suddenly, there came a smattering of applause, and the couple turned to see Fulton and the crew of the Skylander shouting out their congratulations

  Slowly, the billionaire took the ring out of its jewel box. He held Zoey’s right hand aloft and slipped the ring onto her finger.

  The crowd erupted in cheers as the two of them kissed with the kind of eagerness usually reserved for moments without six spectators watching and cheering one’s every move.

  Zoey beamed as they stood arm in arm, surrounded by nature, sure in the knowledge that whatever lay ahead, they were ready to face it, and were bound to triumph—because there was nothing that they couldn’t do together.

  Holly Rayner

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  Thank you so much for reading. As promised, here are the first few chapters of my previous book, The Sheikh’s Secret Princess

  ONE

  Anita

  It was all Anita could do to keep herself from skipping on the way to work. The late spring Houston sun beat down on her, and a trickle of sweat trickled down her neck as she walked towards her family’s restaurant, but she hardly felt uncomfortable. Her mood was too light.

  Today was a good day. The
best. The last of her grades had come in and it was official: the college education she’d fought for, squeezing in study between shifts at the restaurant, was finally complete.

  The night ahead would be a busy one; Fridays always were. Normally, she dreaded them; being run off her feet by this request or that one, and trying to keep a huge number of orders straight when every table was packed wasn’t exactly her idea of a perfect start to the weekend.

  Today was different. Today, nothing could ruin her mood. The hectic night at the restaurant would only be a reminder of how lucky she and Fadi were that Fadi’s Place was in such high demand. But as she entered the building and was greeted by the suspiciously empty hostess’ station, she found her theory put to the test.

  Anita’s almond-shaped green eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of one of their regular hostesses. Maybe she just missed them, she thought. Maybe they had just stepped aside for a minute or two, and they’d be back.

  But there was no trace of them.

  The skip vanished from Anita’s step as she strode towards the kitchen, past busy servers and busboys all preparing for the rush ahead.

  “Fadi!” she called out, waiting for the call back so that she could locate her father in the crowded kitchen.

  “Anita!” came the reply, from the far left corner, many hot pans and billowing steam clouds away.

  Fadi had answered in the same harassed tone as she had called to him, and the annoyed desperation in his voice made her smile in spite of herself.

  Carefully and quickly, she wound her way through the kitchen. It would be dangerous for someone else to so casually wander through at this speed, but she knew this kitchen as well as she knew her own room. After all, she’d essentially grown up in it.

  When she got back to where Fadi was preparing a huge dish in advance of the night’s rush, she put on her best annoyed face.

  “Tell me it’s not what I think it is,” she said. Maybe a bit dramatic, she thought, but it got her point across.

  Fadi played dumb. “What can it be? What vexes you so?”

  She shot him a no-nonsense stare. “Neither of the hostesses can come in? Really?”

  He shrugged, and fished out a tasting spoon. “What can I say? There must be something going around. It’s unfortunate, really. But here, try this.”

  He held the spoon up to her lips, as though she was a child again and he was making her eat her food. She wanted to refuse, but it smelled amazing, and she found her mind changed for her.

  She tasted the dish: a meaty, saucy curry with rice and chickpeas sprinkled liberally throughout. Her eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure as she ate it.

  “That’s incredible,” she said. But she couldn’t let herself be derailed. “But Fadi, really… can’t one of the other waitresses cover it? I know you’re particular about who greets the guests first, but…” She could see from his stony expression that she was making no more headway in the conversation than the last eight times they’d had it, so she changed tactic. “And what if I refuse?”

  His expression went from stony to exaggerated outrage in a split second. “Refuse? Refuse?!”

  In spite of herself, Anita began smiling at the familiar caricature her father was putting on.

  “Well, then I’ll send you back to Al-Dali!”

  Anita tried to stifle her smile at the familiar words. “But Fadi,” she said, “I cannot swim!”

  He slipped a tasting spoon of his own into the dish and tasted it. He nodded, satisfied with his work, before continuing their little ritual.

  “Then I will buy you a boat!”

  “But Fadi,” Anita replied, “I cannot row!”

  This time, there was no delay. “Then I will buy you a plane!”

  “But Fadi…” Anita began.

  The words that should have come next were on the tip of Anita’s tongue. I cannot fly! But she felt like mixing things up. She let herself break out into a wide smile. “If you had enough money to buy me a plane, you’d be able to afford to hire more workers so I didn’t have to both hostess and waitress tonight!”

  Fadi laughed. Anita appreciated the way his laugh filled the kitchen. He’d been head chef since he first opened the restaurant, back when Anita was too young to remember, and his great, booming laugh bouncing off the stoves and prep tables had always been one of her favorite sounds.

  “There’s something different about you today, child,” he said.

  Anita had a brief twinge at the way he called her “child.” It seemed inappropriate, on today of all days. But she didn’t correct him, only nodded.

  “Right! Of course!” he said, and then looked at her expectantly. “Have you gotten all your grades back?”

  She nodded, as the large, apron-clad man stepped back from the pot and walked around to hug her. “All A’s,” she said, before correcting herself: “Well, one B, but I swear that professor had it in for me from the start.”

  “Oh Anita,” she heard Fadi’s voice close to her ear. “Today, of all days, I am so proud of the daughter I’m blessed with.”

  Anita basked in his approval, but it was only a few more seconds before the moment was over, and the chef was back about his tasks.

  “Now, you’d better get ready!” he said, putting out a huge ladle to stir the dish he was preparing. “Tonight’s going to be a busy one!”

  He wasn’t wrong. Anita wasn’t the only one, it seemed, who was glad to be done with classes for the year. Their usual bustling Friday crowd was supplemented by dozens of spur-of-the-moment celebrators, and Anita found herself rushed off her feet trying to keep track of manning the hostess stand with every new group’s arrival, as well as looking after the tables she couldn’t convince the other waitresses to take off her hands.

  But as long as nothing went wrong, she knew from experience, she would manage to get through. Usually, nothing did, but tonight of all nights, it seemed, they were in for something different. They were down to what was usually the very last rush of arrivals for the night when a large party of men entered, most of them wearing traditional Middle-Eastern clothing.

  Anita’s heart sunk. The men didn’t have a reservation. Even if she hadn’t already taken a look at the reservation book and made note of all of the large parties due to arrive that night, she’d have known it: there were no tables available that would seat even half this number.

  She strode resolutely towards the hostess stand, clearing her throat for the tense conversation that she was inevitably about to have. As she did, she saw one of the men in traditional attire walking up to greet her. Anita gave him an acknowledging smile, and he gave her an overly wide one in return, and she had the passing thought that they were like knights, greeting each other before a joust.

  “Good evening, miss,” he said. There was something about the way he said the word “miss” that Anita didn’t like, but she let it pass—if she got annoyed at every condescending thing a customer said to her, she wouldn’t be long for the hospitality world.

  “It’s certainly a busy one, sir,” she replied, as calmly as she could and with as big a smile as she could muster. “Do you have a reservation?”

  The man lost steam for a second, when faced with her smiling, ready-to-refuse demeanor, which Anita took as a personal victory. But it was only for an instant, then he gathered his self-importance around him like a cloud, and blustered through it.

  “We don’t, but I’m sure that you can find someone who has finished enjoying their dinner for the night,” he said. As he spoke, he subtly slipped two hundred-dollar bills across the stand towards her.

  Anita caught her breath, but tried not to show how impressive the size of his attempted bribe was to her. She redoubled her smile, and slid the bills back towards him.

  “Sir,” she said, “here in the United States, it is only customary to tip waitresses at the end of the meal. Also, we are not in the habit of rushing anyone through their evening. But if you could wait—”

  She tried to get her sen
tence out, but the man interrupted her. He did it quietly, so that the rest of his party wouldn’t hear, but the furious urgency of his words made Anita unintentionally lean back from the hostess stand.

  “Do you know who that is?” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the only member of the party wearing a suit rather than traditional garb. “That is Sheikh Hakim al Kamal bin Masfari, heir to the throne of Az Kajir. And you should thank your lucky stars that he wishes to eat at your restaurant. So I suggest,” he looked down at her nametag, “Anita, that you see that he has a table at which to do so.”

  She didn’t answer right away. She just stared at him with a placid smile, trying to show him that his words had no effect. Inside, her heart was pounding.