The Giannakis Bride (21 page)

The four-kilometer walk had cleared Brianna’s mind and swept away the anger and confusion. Standing now, a solitary spectator on the fringe of the scene, she knew that this was what she wanted. Not perfection. Not a trouble-free future with no dark clouds. She wanted the security of knowing she could be angry sometimes; of loving deeply enough to forgive; of trusting enough to believe what she and
Dimitrios
shared was strong enough to survive, not because they’d ironed out all their differences, but despite the fact that they didn’t always see eye to eye.

She wanted all the rich flavors, all the subtle textures that made up a marriage. The sweet and the not-so-sweet. The rough and the smooth. She wanted him because without him, she was nothing. She needed him because she loved him. And there in that dusty road, surrounded by strangers, she at last realized what she had to do to keep him. She had to risk it all to have him.

She’d turned to go back the way she’d come, when the screech of brakes split the night. Parents scooped their children out of the path of impending danger and retreated to the safety of their doorways. But the speeding car had stopped at the far end of the road and a tall, familiar figure was climbing out.

A wonderful lightness filled her then, and slowly she started toward him. Then suddenly she was running and so was he, and they met in a breathless meshing of arms and mouths, and she was crying helplessly, and he was telling her he was sorry, that it was all his fault and he should have explained about Poppy sooner and he was nothing but a big, arrogant Greek fool with too much pride and not enough brains, and if she ever took off like that again without telling him where she was going, he’d put her over his knee.

Eventually the tumult passed and they drew apart. He took a deep breath and so did she. “Let’s go home,” he said, surely the sweetest words in the world.

“Yes,” she said. “Please.”

The next second he was carrying her to the car, while everyone in the village clapped and whistled, and the bouzouki music started up again, loud and exuberant.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe. “When I saw you’d gone…Brianna, I once told you I don’t beg, but I’m begging now. Don’t leave me. Don’t give up on us.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I won’t,” she told him, smiling through her tears. “Never again. I was coming back to tell you so, but then you were here and…”

“And I’m never letting you out of my sight again. If you want Poppy, you have to take me, as well. We’re a package deal.”

“And a bargain at half the price. I know that now.”

They sat on the love seat in her room, and the first thing he did was slide the ring back on her finger. “Just to let the rest of the world know you’re taken,” he said, settling back with his arm around her.

After that, they talked far into the small hours of the night, hours longer than they’d ever done before. About how, after they’d made love by the pool after the garden party, he’d almost told her about Poppy not being his biological child, and how later, he was glad he’d kept quiet because he’d tarnished Cecily’s memory enough and he wanted to leave Brianna with some of her illusions intact. About Poppy and what she faced in the coming months. About finally closing the door on the past. About how much they’d both always craved marriage and children and family. And most important of all, about priorities.

“I agree,” he admitted, when she said the wedding should be put on hold. “As long as we’re together, it can wait until everything else is sorted out. Assuming the transplant does go ahead without any complications, Poppy’s facing a lengthy recuperation.”

“There’s also the small matter of you and your father getting past your differences and reaching some sort of truce. This ridiculous feud has gone on long enough, and you have to know how hard it is on your mother. Even though you and she have reconciled, she’s still caught in the middle. Put an end to it,
Dimitrios
, for everyone’s sake. You made your point. He got the message. Can’t you please leave it at that and just sit down with him, man to man, and try to heal the wounds?”

“Hmm.” He eyed her gloomily. “Are you going to make a habit of always being right?”

“Only when it can’t be avoided,” she said, snuggling deeper into the curve of his arm. “
Which’ll
probably be most of the time.”

She felt the laughter rumble deep in his chest. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Just that I love you, I always have, and that will never change.”

“That’s all I ask,” he murmured against her hair, and took her to bed to seal their bargain.

The passion consumed them, as it always had, but in its wake came a new serenity, a sense of absolute certainty that while trouble and sorrow might touch their tomorrow, their love would do more than survive. It would emerge triumphant.

She was where she belonged. At his side.

A cold February rain dripped from the palm trees, but inside the villa walls, fires chased away the chill of the winter afternoon, and the scent of gardenias filled the rooms with summer.

In her bedroom Brianna fixed the coronet of rosebuds more securely in Poppy’s hair, which had grown back thicker and more lustrous than ever after her chemotherapy. “You look adorable, my angel.”

Poppy twirled before the mirror, sending the skirt of her pale-pink flower girl’s dress flaring around her ankles. “I’m not an angel, I’m a princess.”

Brianna exchanged a smiling glance with Hermione. “She’s a miracle.”

“One of many lately,” Hermione replied fondly, “and I give thanks for them every day. You’ve done more than fill my son’s life with love and happiness, Brianna. You’ve given me back my family. I never thought to see the day that
Mihalis
would stand up as best man for
Dimitrios
at his wedding.” She dabbed at her eyes and gave a little laugh. “Dear me, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry today, and look at me. I’m not even waiting for the ceremony to begin before I get started.”

“Don’t,” Brianna begged. “You’ll get me going, too, and we’ve shed enough tears in the past eight months to last us a lifetime.”

Even on this, the happiest day of her life so far, the specter of those dark days after the transplant still haunted her. She still sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, terrified and soaked in sweat, tears streaming down her face, caught again in the nightmare of agony of watching Poppy suffer the nausea, the fever, the pain and debilitating weakness that were part and parcel of the cure.

She’d never forget the suspense of waiting for signs that the new bone marrow had migrated and was beginning to produce normal blood cells. For weeks on end, every time the phone rang, she and
Dimitrios
would freeze, fearing the worst.

The emotional highs and lows, the unending stress, had almost killed them. Yet it had made them stronger, too. “If we can survive this,” he’d often said, “we can survive anything.”

But whoever first said God never closed a door without first opening a window, had it right. One day she’d looked up from her post with
Dimitrios
beside Poppy’s hospital crib, and seen
Mihalis
standing with Hermione on the other side of the observation window, his chin quivering and tears rolling down his face.
Dimitrios
had been a rock until then, but at that, he’d buried his face in his hands and his whole body had shaken with great, heaving sobs.

Heavens, yes. They’d all cried enough tears to fill a lake. They didn’t need more today.

Fortunately, Carter knocked on the door just then, timing his arrival to prevent a complete emotional meltdown. “You’re running late, ladies, and the groom’s growing impatient.”

“We’re ready,” Hermione said, letting him in. “Come along, Poppy, my darling. We’ll go ahead and give Mommy Brianna a moment to collect herself.”

Alone with Carter, Brianna managed a smile. “Thank you for being here, Carter.”

“Try keeping me away! You’re a picture, you know that? And I’m a damn fool to be giving away the best client I ever had. I hope that Greek god you’re so crazy about realizes how lucky he is.”

“We’re both lucky,” she said tremulously. “And you’re a lot more than just my former agent, Carter. You’ve been my best friend for more years than I care to count, and I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

“I do,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Be happy. That’s payment enough for me.”

 
“You’ve got the rings?”

“Right here.” His father patted his pocket, then cleared his throat and stepped closer. “Just wanted to say…well, I’m here and you’re here and…well, that young woman upstairs, she’s all right. You’re both all right, and I’m…well, I’m here. If you need me. Which you probably don’t.”

“I need you, Dad,” he said. “I always have.”

“Huh. Well, it took some doing. You’re a stubborn cuss when you put your mind to it, just like me, but—Stop sweating. You’re making me nervous.”

Dimitrios
buried a grin.

A murmur from the sixty friends and associates filling the hall had him looking up. His mother was coming down the stairs, holding his daughter by the hand, and suddenly he was so choked with emotion he could hardly swallow. The pale, listless little waif he’d worried about and fretted over for so long had turned into a sweetly rounded sprite whose cheeks were as pink as the rosebuds in her hair.

“Cut it out,” his father muttered brokenly. “The men in this family don’t cry in public.”

Behind him, all the people who’d helped him come to this day—Erika and
Alexio
, Noelle and everyone else who’d given his daughter back her life, friends he hadn’t known he had until he needed them and they were there for him—every last one rose from their ribbon-festooned chairs as the harpist tucked in the lee of the curving staircase segued from Debussy’s “Claire de Lune,” to Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.”

And suddenly, there she was, his bride, his Brianna, descending the stairs with the innate grace she brought to everything she did, her hand resting lightly on Carter’s arm, her ivory silk gown billowing around her, her lovely face shadowed by a gossamer veil.

He’d been wrong to think she’d lose her looks with age. Wrong to believe she’d have nothing left. Hers was a beauty carved from love, from compassion and deep generosity of spirit. It would cloak her features with softness, illuminate her from within, when she was old and gray and youth was but a memory. She would always be a beauty. His beauty, his life.

She was closer now, covering the last few meters that separated her from him, carving a graceful path through the rose petals Poppy was flinging enthusiastically before her.

He squared his shoulders and held out his hand. Her fingers closed around his, warm and firm and sure. His father was crying; his mother, too. But Brianna was radiant, her smile for him alone.

He was home at last.