The Giannakis Bride (17 page)

She paused and tilted her head, listening. “And it would seem,” she finished, “that they have done just that. I’ll bring coffee for three, and a decanter of
Morello
cherry liqueur.
Dimitrios
enjoys it once in a while, as a change from
Metaxa
.”

Brianna realized then that silence reigned outside, and the only sound was the inner thudding of her heart.

He brushed one hand against the other. It was done.

He should have felt vindicated. Purged. He didn’t.

Grimacing, he turned back to the house. To the villa he’d built as a monument to his success. Twilight dusted its walls. Lights streamed from the windows, warm and yellow. But he felt only the coldness of another in a long list of empty victories. At the end of the day, what did any of them matter compared to a home, a wife, a healthy child. A family living in harmony and bound together by love. Ordinary, everyday pleasures which most people took for granted, but which he had never known.

The front door opened and the woman who’d been both mother, mentor and servant to him for the last nine years stepped out. “Coffee’s waiting,” she said, as if nothing untoward had occurred.

When he didn’t reply, she came down the steps to stand next to him. “No point in brooding,
Dimitrios
. You did what had to be done. He left you with no choice. Now it’s over.”

“Yes,” he said, but he’d seen the horror in Brianna’s eyes before she took his mother away, and knew it wasn’t quite over, not yet. “Where are they?”

“Waiting for you in the sitting room.”

He nodded and touched her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re on my side, Erika.”

She slapped at his hand with rough affection. “Which other side is there, dolt? Get inside and speak with your women.”

He found Brianna standing at the window, her fingers drumming lightly on the sill, her face unreadable. His mother huddled in the corner of one of the two settees facing each other in front of the fireplace, and she…

She was only fifty-eight, but underneath the expensive clothes, the stylish hairdo, and all that estheticians and cosmetics could do to preserve the illusion of youth, she looked old, beaten down, afraid, and he felt a pang of guilt that he’d stood by and done nothing to help her until now.

“He’s gone and he won’t be back, Mother,” he told her, advancing into the room.

She regarded him anxiously. “Is he all right?”

“He didn’t leave with a smile on his face, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I must go to him.”

“No, you must not. You must stay here.”

“Overnight, you mean?”

“For as many nights as it takes him to come to his senses.” He helped himself to one of the demitasses on the library table and drained it in one gulp. Erika had made
metrios
, medium-sweet coffee, and for once he was glad of the sugar. He needed something to chase away the sour taste in his mouth.

“
Dimitrios
is right,” Brianna said, coming forward. “At least here you’ll be safe.”

“Safe?” Hermione stared at them as though they were both certifiably insane. “
Mihalis
would never hit me. He’s never lifted a hand against me in his life.”

“Abuse doesn’t have to be a physical thing, Mother,”
Dimitrios
said wearily. “There are other, more subtle ways to wear a person down.”

She raised a few more feeble objections—she’d be putting them out, his father would be worried, she had no change of clothes, no makeup, not even a toothbrush. But in the end he overcame her objections and she allowed Erika to take her upstairs.

“Well,” he said, as the door closed behind them and left him alone with Brianna, “no broken bones or blood, as you can see.”

“Your shirt’s torn,” she said frostily.

He shrugged. “Shirts can be replaced.”

“And husbands, fathers?” Her light-blue eyes bored into him, laser beams of disgust. “Are they disposable items, too?”

“I didn’t kill or maim him, if that’s what’s worrying you, Brianna. I kicked him out. Sent him packing with his tail between his legs. His pride’s badly dented, he’s a little dusty, and his suit won’t be fit to wear again, but he’s in one piece otherwise.”

“I see. And do you settle all your differences with your fists?”

“What the hell would you have had me do?” he inquired irascibly. “Stand idly by and let him terrorize my mother? Insult you—again?”

“Of course not. But couldn’t you have reasoned with him? Did you have to be so violent?”

“Yes,” he said. “I did. Because reason is only effective if the other party’s willing to listen. And my father hears only his own voice. And because there comes a time when a man has to take a stand. For me, that time came tonight. He invaded my home. He threatened my household staff. He intimidated you and my mother. He behaved like a thug. Don’t ask me to reason with a man like that.”

“You could have called the police.”

“And give him the satisfaction of thinking I couldn’t deal with him myself?” Frustrated, he shook his head and, lifting the decanter of cherry liqueur parked on the tray next to the coffee cups, poured himself a hefty measure. “No, Brianna, this was between him and me, no one else.”

“What if he charges you with assault?”

“His pride won’t let him.”

“Like father, like son,” she muttered, her lovely mouth set in obstinate disapproval.

He downed his drink and poured another. He was tired and spattered with food. His body felt as if it had gone ten rounds with a sumo wrestler. His right hand was bruised, the knuckles scraped raw. “I don’t have to defend myself to you, Brianna.”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed loftily. “You can get drunk, instead. Excuse me for not wanting to stand here and watch.”

She went to stalk past him, but he caught her and swung her round to face him, his fingers spanning her slender wrist in an iron grip. “Don’t you dare walk out on me again.”

She glared at him, outraged. “Don’t you dare manhandle me. Ever!”

Aghast, ashamed, he released her and raised both hands in surrender. “Forgive me. I’m not at my best right now. Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit of brawling.”

She sighed and lowered her gaze. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she said. “You were in an impossible situation. Most men would probably have reacted as you did.”

“The point is, I’m not most men. I’m his son. That he’s finally been called to account for his actions is something only I could accomplish. It’s the old law of the jungle, Brianna. A case of the aging lion accepting someone younger and more powerful has taken over as king.”

“You really believe he understands that?”

Dimitrios
thought of the last look his father had turned on him, before he crawled into his car and was driven away. He’d seen a lurking respect in those black, indomitable eyes; a certain sick satisfaction, even, as though he’d finally proved to himself and the rest of the world that the man he professed to hate was worthy of being called his son. “Yes, I do. For all his faults,
Mihalis
is no fool. He knows when he’s beaten.”

“How do you suppose he found out where your mother was?”

“Most likely from the chauffeur who drove him here. He was the same man who brought my mother, and was waiting in the same car to take her and my father home again. His staff are as much under his thumb as she is.”

“You never did explain how you persuaded her to break rank and visit you.”

“I told her if she really wanted to reestablish a connection with me and my family, my door was open. She asked when would be a good time to stop by, I invited her to dinner tonight, and she came.”

“Simple as that?”

He didn’t tell her Hermione had burst into tears when she heard his voice, or that it wasn’t until then that he realized how much he loved her despite everything. That was something he himself had yet to digest. “Not quite. I was as surprised as you when she actually showed up. I thought she’d lose her nerve at the last minute.”

“She must have known your father would find out, sooner or later.”

“That was a risk she chose to take. I didn’t browbeat her into it, and I didn’t beg. That’s not my style.”

She chewed her lips thoughtfully. “So, what are you going to do about her now? She won’t stay here, if that’s what you’re hoping. She believes her place is with her husband, no matter how he treats her. He’s what she’s used to. She’d be lost without him.”

“I agree. But the dust needs to settle first.” He raked his fingers through his hair and dislodged a sliver of olive. “Look, can we table this discussion until tomorrow? I need a shower in the worst way.”

She let out an exclamation and peered at his damaged hand. “You need a first-aid kit more! If there was no blood involved in your little fracas with your father, what do you call this?”

“It’s nothing. A scratch, that’s all. We scuffled, and I…connected with the verandah wall by mistake.”

“Right!” She rolled her eyes scornfully. “Go take your shower, for pity’s sake. You’re bleeding all over the rug.”

“Will I see you later? We’ve had hardly any alone time today. I haven’t even told you how lovely you look.”

“You were so busy being the attentive host, I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“How could I not have noticed, when you left every other woman in the shade?” He let his gaze drift over her in leisurely appreciation, amazed as always by her matchless elegance and beauty. “The dress, the hat, the shoes….” He made a circle of his forefinger and thumb. “Perfection!”

“I’m not wearing the hat now.”

“I noticed. And if I have my way, you soon won’t be wearing the dress or shoes, either.”

“Forget it,” she said, rolling her lovely eyes. “You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

But half an hour later, just as he’d finished shaving and went to leave his bathroom, he heard the quiet click of his bedroom door opening. Hastily slinging a towel around his hips, he went to investigate and by the light of a reading lamp next to the bed, caught Brianna tiptoeing toward the nightstand. She’d changed into a flame-colored robe cinched tightly at the waist, and loosened her hair so that it floated in a dark cloud around her shoulders, and her feet were bare.

“Ahem,” he murmured.

The very picture of wide-eyed guilt, she spun around. “Oh,” she said, and gulped when she saw his state of undress. “I did knock, but when you didn’t answer, I thought you might still be in the shower.”

“No. I’m done.”

“Yes…well…” She averted her gaze. “I brought you this. I thought you might need it. Your hand looked…pretty badly swollen.”

She thrust an ice pack at him, tugged the tie belt at her waist a little tighter and actually blushed when she saw his smile. He was tempted to tell her his hand wasn’t the only thing swelling up. Points south of his waist weren’t exactly hibernating, either. But she was so clearly agitated, he didn’t have the heart to tease her.

She was shy, he realized, charmed. Uncertain of her welcome. This beautiful, spirited creature, the envy of women the world over and surely desired by any man who didn’t have both feet in the grave, wasn’t nearly as self-assured as she’d like him to think.

“
Efharisto
,” he said gravely. “That was kind of you.”

“You’re welcome.” She shifted from one foot to the other and cast a longing glance at the door. “Well then, I’ll be going.”

“Please don’t,” he said, and ghosting a hand down her spine, drew her to him and touched his mouth to hers.

She wilted against him like a flower left too long without water, and let out a sigh. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“Your mother’s asleep in a room just down the hall.”

“If we’re very quiet, we probably won’t wake her.”

“Oh, it’s not that,
Dimitrios
, and you know it.”

“What is it, then,
calli
mou
?”

“I’m here because I couldn’t stay away,” she admitted forlornly, “even though I keep telling myself that jumping into bed together won’t resolve the problems we face. I’m the one who insisted last night was a mistake, yet here I am, ready to repeat it. It’s wrong. We need to get to know each other properly all over again, and only then…”

“Hush,” he said, and kissed her a second time, dipping his tongue fleetingly into her sweet mouth. “This is getting to know each other properly all over again.”

“I’d really like to believe that.”

“What’s stopping you, Brianna? What is it about me, about us, that you don’t trust? Is it that I’ve asked you to marry me, but haven’t yet put a ring on your finger?”

“No!”

“Because I intend to remedy that this week. I’d have done it sooner, but I’ve had a few things on my mind.”

“I don’t care about a ring!”

“Are you afraid I’ll turn into my father and browbeat you into wifely submission?”

She almost smiled. “That’s the least of my worries.”