A Tale of Two Cousins (A Papaioannou Novel Book 3)

by Katie MacAlister

  “Hello,” Maggie said graciously to the woman who held the door open for us, then cast an expectant glance at me.

  I stared stonily back at her, hoping she’d realize that I would draw the line at introducing her to what was probably a housekeeper. She glared at me.

  I lifted my chin.

  “You’d better not ruin this,” she whispered to me, then beamed at the woman and, with her head held high, did her exaggerated hip-walk into the room.

  I pushed aside the hurt caused by her comment. She was no doubt just a bit salty because she didn’t want to stop playing princess, and knew the charade would be over once the interview was done.

  “Hi,” I told the woman, setting down Valentino and holding out a hand. She shook it gravely, her eyebrows raised at the cat. “My name is Thyra.”

  “I am Mrs. Avrabos,” the woman said, her gaze still on the cat, who eyed her in return. After a moment’s thought, he head bonked her ankle, and strolled in.

  “Sorry about the head bonk. I hope you’re not allergic to cats. He’s very chill, and seems to have exceptionally nice manners. Much nicer manners than some people I could name, but I suppose that’s really more than you wanted to know. Is Dmitri here?”

  “Dmitri?” Her eyebrows rose even higher as she gave me a quick once-over. “Not yet, no, but Kyrie Papaioannou is home.”

  “OK.” I took a deep breath. I disliked meeting new people as a rule, more or less turning into a big tongue-tied oaf when called upon to interact with people who were powerful. And rich. And, according to Dmitri, really good-looking. “I can do this. It’s just people. The worst they can do is yell at me.”

  Mrs. Avrabos gave me a long look, then gestured behind me. “They are waiting for you on the patio. You will go, yes?”

  “Yes,” I said with another deep breath, then turned and walked through a spacious living room filled with blue-and-green furniture, inviting-looking couches and chairs, with the sort of thick carpeting that you sink into when you walk on it. I made a mental note that, at all cost, I would keep Valentino off the carpet, and passed through a bank of wide glass doors that had been thrown open to a patio area, which—since this was a penthouse—had a mind-blowing view of Athens.

  “—and of course, we are delighted to be in such a lovely city,” Maggie was saying when I approached where she stood facing a tall woman who was heavily pregnant. “Ah, here is my assistant. Thyra will be happy to do the honors, since most people like to be formally presented to me.”

  She steadfastly ignored my attempts to catch her gaze. I looked past her to the woman, studying her to see if Dmitri had told her the truth about me. The woman held her mouth closed tightly, like she was biting her lip, but her eyes brimmed with humor.

  Dammit, he’d told her who I was.

  “Thyra!” Maggie whispered with added emphasis, her eyes filled with meaning. I opened my mouth to just say it, say the words she wanted, but irritating though she was, I didn’t want her making a fool of herself. And she’d be doing just that.

  “THYRA!” This time, the word was accompanied by a pinch on my arm.

  “I’m sorry,” I started to say, planning on adding, “I don’t want you to be embarrassed,” but at that moment, a man strolled out of the apartment onto the rooftop patio. I assumed he was Dmitri’s cousin despite not having even the slightest resemblance, but then, I mused, Maggie and I didn’t look at all alike. This man was tall, probably a good six inches taller than Dmitri, with dark hair and eyes, and although he was nice to look at, I didn’t think he held a candle to Dmitri. He didn’t have green eyes, or almost dimples, or curly hair, and most of all, his gaze was coolly impersonal when it swept over first Maggie, then me.

  “Thyra—” Maggie said warningly before blasting the man with a smile when he came to a stop next to the pregnant woman, his arm sliding around her.

  “I see the journalist has arrived,” the man said, giving Maggie a quick nod before giving me a slight bow. “It is our honor to meet you, Your Serene Highness.”

  “What?” Maggie asked, disbelief overflowing the word. She stared first at the man, then turned to me, her brows pulling together. “What is going on? Do you know these people?”

  “No, I’ve never met them before,” I said softly, then held out my hand to shake theirs. “My name is Thyra. I don’t use the title, but it is a pleasure to meet you. I assume you are Iakovos and Harry Papaioannou?”

  “That’s us,” the woman said, smiling, her hands resting on her belly. “We really are pleased to meet you. Dmitri swore to me that I’d enjoy talking to you. Oh, hello there! What an adorable cat. We just got a pair of chocolate Labs for our kids, but they’ve been yammering for us to rescue a few of the village cats. Goodness, your kitty wears a harness just like a little dog. How very interesting. It’s very well behaved, not at all like ours. The puppies, that is, not the children. Those are hellions. You must be Thyra’s cousin Maggie, who kindly took over dealing with people so she can be shy and introverted.”

  I shot Harry a grateful glance before introducing Maggie to them.

  Maggie, whose eyes were still narrowed, her mouth held tightly, managed to gather herself together enough to greet the couple. “I didn’t realize we were going to tell everyone who we were,” she said with a pointed look at me.

  I kept my own expression as placid as was possible. “I didn’t intend on doing that; it just turned out that the man I met last night is also the man I was sent here to interview.”

  The look in her eyes promised a discussion in the very near future, but regardless, she turned back to accept a glass of wine that Iakovos offered her, taking a seat next to Harry on a couch that overlooked an infinity pool. Beyond it, the sounds of the city rose, the night air still bearing the warmth of the day, but with slightly cooler breezes picking up to drift past us.

  “I’m afraid Dmitri is held up by traffic,” Iakovos said, holding a chair for me. I took it, feeling uncomfortable, unsure if he was just naturally polite, or if he was being overly so because of what Dmitri had told him. “But he should be here shortly.”

  “I’ve never met a real princess before,” Harry said, studying me. “I thought you guys lived in Monaco, and hung out on yachts and in casinos, and villas in the Caribbean.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’m afraid I don’t much look like one, I’ve never been to Monaco, and I probably can’t even spell Caribbean, let alone have visited it.”

  “I’ve been to the Bahamas,” Maggie said. “It’s very nice. I liked it.”

  She shot me a quick glance as if daring me to deny it.

  “Maggie has seen a lot more of the world than I have,” I said in an attempt to placate her. “That’s one reason why we thought the idea of having her pretend to be me was the answer to my problem—she’s so much more what people think of when they think royalty.”

  She looked pleased, and took a big swig of the wine.

  “I don’t know,” Harry said slowly, her gaze going from me to Maggie. “No disrespect intended, of course, Maggie, but people come in all shapes and sizes, so why shouldn’t princesses?”

  There wasn’t much I could say to that, even if I wasn’t feeling as if everyone was staring at me, judging me for not being at all what a real princess should be, so I just smiled, and wished that Dmitri would arrive.

  I didn’t know why that thought shocked me so much, but it did until I realized that I wanted him there because his presence offered me a sense of comfort that was lacking even with Maggie. Iakovos and Harry carried on a polite, if uninspiring, conversation with Maggie while I tried to tell myself that I would not, under any circumstance, allow myself to fall for Dmitri. We had no future together, absolutely none, and there was no sense in pretending otherwise.

  I really hate it when I’m pragmatic.

  FIVE

  Dmitri heaved a sigh of relief when he finally—after two delays due to accidents, and one caused by construction—strolled into Iakovos’s apartment, his eyes immediately
going to the patio, where he could see Thyra sitting in a chair that was at a distance from the three other people present. He wasn’t an expert on psychology, but he’d done enough wining and dining of potential clients to be fairly conversant with body language, and the way Thyra was sitting with her arms wrapped around herself, her back pressed firmly against the chair, her head angled slightly away from the others, told him everything he needed to know about how well things were going.

  She was clearly miserable.

  The big orange cat with her stood up and strolled over to greet him, nudging his leg with his head until, absently, Dmitri scooped him up and held him while he greeted everyone. “My apologies for being late, but traffic is its usual horrendous nightmare. Harry, you look as radiant as ever.”

  “You only say I’m radiant when I’m pregnant,” she said, giving him a warm smile nonetheless. “It’s a good thing we have so many kids, or I’d never hear it.”

  “Jake,” he said, giving his cousin a swift hug, only slightly impeded by the cat.

  He felt the curious look Thyra cast at him. She was on her feet now, too, and he turned to explain, “Iakovos is Greek for Jacob. He hates the name, so of course, his brother and I use it whenever we can.”

  “You can be replaced, you know,” Iakovos said, sitting back down next to Harry, his arm draped over her shoulders. “You’re not as indispensable as you think you are.”

  “I’m not your assistant any longer,” Dmitri answered with a grin. “You made me a full partner, and only an act of God is going to get me out of your hair now. Thyra, you look charming.”

  The look she gave him was full of mingled wariness and pleasure. It was an odd combination, but that seemed about par for this woman who was filled with contradictions. “It’s nice to see you again. This is my cousin Maggie.”

  “Ah, is it?” he asked, glancing quickly from Thyra to Harry.

  “It’s my fault,” the latter admitted, making a vague gesture toward Maggie. “Blame the pregnancy hormones.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maggie. Thyra has told me how grateful she was that you offered to help her,” Dmitri said, expending some charm on the woman who clearly had ruffled feathers. He lifted her hand and gave it a quick peck. She smiled, fluttering her lashes a little.

  Thyra gazed at him with amazement chased quickly by approval, which almost immediately melted into a little frown when she glanced at Maggie.

  “I hope you all can stay long enough for us to have some dinner,” Harry said when Iakovos gave him a glass of whiskey. “Iakovos has to take an important videoconference call at nine, but I heard of a great new Italian restaurant in town, and we can bring him back a doggie bag.”

  “California?” Dmitri asked his cousin.

  “Reynolds, yes. He’s finally willing to talk about that piece of land in Fiji.”

  “Ah, that’s good news. Unfortunately, Harry, I’m afraid you can’t count on me for dinner.” Dmitri tried to keep the regret out of his voice. “I have ... I’m meeting someone later for drinks.”

  Harry narrowed her eyes on him. “You’ve got a date? Tonight?”

  “With Thyra?” Maggie asked, her voice curiously flat.

  “Alas, no. One of Iakovos’s friends has asked me to meet an old friend of hers.”

  “You’re talking about Patricia, aren’t you?” Harry asked, her nostrils flaring. “She isn’t Yacky’s friend. She’s a work associate. A really annoying one.”

  “Yacky?” he heard Thyra say under her breath.

  “It’s Harry’s equivalent to ‘Jake,’” Dmitri explained to her. “And when he wants to retaliate, he calls her by her proper name, which is Eglantine.”

  Harry glared at Iakovos, who kissed the tip of her nose before asking, “Will the interview take long? Harry will need to eat soon, and if I don’t ensure she’s fed frequently, she threatens to eat the most unhealthy foods she can find in an attempt to hurry the labor.”

  “Oh, certainly,” Thyra said, glancing worriedly at Harry. Dmitri wanted to reassure her that Iakovos was joking, but to be honest, he wanted the damned interview over with as soon as possible, as well. If there was enough time, he fully intended on talking Thyra into having dinner with him. “Let’s see, I have some notes the editor sent me. ... Oh, lord, that’s right.”

  He raised his eyebrows at the apologetic look she sent him. She readjusted the cat, who had jumped into her lap as soon as Dmitri set him down, and, taking a deep breath, said so quickly the words almost ran together, “The editor would like to know what sort of things you’re looking for in a woman, what turns you on, what are deal breakers, and what your ideal woman looks like.”

  “Wow,” Harry said, looking at Iakovos. “Is that the Tiger Beat sort of questions they asked you?”

  “Tiger Beat?” he asked, frowning.

  “It was a teenybopper magazine in the seventies. Think David Cassidy and the Bay City Rollers.”

  “Ah. Yes, unfortunately, I recall being asked similar questions.” He looked at Dmitri. “I didn’t answer them.”

  Dmitri was about to say he would decline to answer them, as well, but one look at Thyra, her head bent as she stared down at a tiny notebook, a pen in her hand poised to write, reminded him that what he thought of as a silly, ridiculous waste of time was a serious matter to her. She was counting on the money from the interview.

  A sudden spurt of rage at the idea that she had to demean herself in such a manner just to earn a living took him by surprise. He wanted to call up her brother and ask him why the hell he wasn’t doing something to help his sister; then he wanted to yell at the editor for the repugnant idea of trading on Thyra’s title just to sell a few magazines.

  Instead of doing any of that, he answered almost as quickly as she had spoken, “I want a woman who is honest, above all, but who also has a good sense of humor, and an appreciation of others. Turn-ons are what I just mentioned—honesty and humor. I like a woman to be real, not what she thinks others want her to be. Turnoffs are people who aren’t comfortable with themselves.” He realized the second the words left his mouth that Thyra had admitted she was socially awkward and an introvert, and quickly added, “That is, I dislike people who try to change themselves to be something they aren’t. Deal breakers are too many to list, and my ideal woman ...”

  She slid him a glance from the corner of her eye. He wanted badly to say he liked brunettes with glasses, and curves that made his mouth water to taste them, but he confined himself to saying simply, “I have no specifics with regards to ethnicity, body type, or hair color.”

  Iakovos shot him a quick look, one eyebrow raised, before his gaze moved to Thyra in lengthy speculation.

  “I know about your company, but perhaps you could tell me what it is you find so intriguing about making buildings that work with the environment instead of against it?” Thyra’s golden gaze was solemn on his, and he knew that was one of her questions, not a prepackaged mindless query submitted by the editor.

  “We only have one planet,” he said slowly, leaning forward to stroke the cat’s head. “And while Iakovos has always been careful that any construction he puts up is as environmentally friendly as possible, I wanted to go a step further. I think it’s important that people who don’t have much are able to live in a home that doesn’t cost them everything they earn just to keep it up. I want to see self-sufficient communities where even the poorest people have a decent home, access to health care and schools, and can raise their families with hope, instead of the prayer of mere survival.”

  “That’s quite the populist philosophy, isn’t it?” Maggie asked, her voice sweet, but it grated on Dmitri nonetheless.

  “Maggie!” Thyra said, staring at her cousin in obvious horror. “That’s rude.”

  “It’s also unfair,” she answered.

  “Unfair how?” Iakovos asked, frowning.

  “You’re talking about third world countries, aren’t you?” Maggie asked Dmitri.

  “Some, yes, but w
e have intentions of building in other areas, as well—”

  “Right, so all the people who have lived for generations as rice farmers or cattle herders or whatever are to have all the advantages, but what about us? What about those of us who can’t catch a break? Don’t we deserve a nice house, and someone to take care of us when we’re sick, and that sort of thing?”

  “Maggie!” Thyra’s glare was truly a thing of beauty to behold, but Dmitri wasn’t about to let her fight his battle. He opened his mouth to set her cousin straight, but he hadn’t counted on just how contrary Thyra could be. She got to her feet and stood over her cousin, saying hurriedly, “You are speaking of underprivileged people who have severely limited opportunities, not people who live in countries where there are a variety of options for self-support. Dmitri is talking about people whose own governments treat them as refuse, disposable and not even human. For you to compare their plight to your own is out of line.”

  Maggie rose, as well. “Pfft. You can spew that liberal crap to Kardom, but it’s bull, and you know it. The second the Beck government gives you the nod, you’ll be living in a palace, with lots of clothes and jewels and cars, and royalty and celebrities falling over themselves to meet you. So you can pretend you’re some sort of Sister Teresa to everyone else, but it doesn’t fool me. I know why you really want Beck to recognize you, and it has nothing to do with helping them.”

  “First of all, it’s Mother Teresa, and second, no, I do not view Beck as a means to an end,” Thyra answered, her face flushed but her eyes stricken. “My family owes them our dedication, and if Chris is unable to fulfill that duty, then I will.”

  Dmitri rescued the notebook from where the cat—clearly put out when Thyra leaped to her feet—was swatting at it.

  “I told Kardom he was crazy for even trying to make you see reason.” Maggie’s lip curled when she glanced over to Dmitri. “I can see your boyfriend doesn’t see anything wrong with the way you think, so I’m going to take myself off to that party I mentioned. The very exclusive one, where people aren’t ashamed to be capitalists.”