Some of them. Tom shrugged and fought a smile. “Anything else?”
Nico’s gaze dropped to Tom’s left hand, which he took in his own dinner-plate-size paw and lifted to his face, pointing at the empty ring finger. “Why not?”
He understood the question, and all its implications. He couldn’t shrug it off. That would have been disrespectful.
“I haven’t…” But he had. He’d met a wonderful woman with light in her eyes and good in her heart.
His heart stuttered as they reached the western slope, with its direct view out to the Aegean Sea, nothing breaking the endless blue but the mountains of Crete on the horizon. There was an ancient willow where he and Sophia once had a picnic, and she’d told him it was her secret childhood hideaway.
And now it was the gravesite she shared with their unborn child.
As they neared the gnarled tree, Nico stopped and put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Alone or with me?”
He started to answer the way he’d answered for the past five years…but then swallowed the word he’d had tattooed on his arm. “With you,” he replied.
Together, they walked to the willow that wept over Sophia’s grave. It was marked with two Greek Orthodox crosses, and someone had put fresh flowers there within the last day or two.
Tom dropped to the grass, staring at the cluster of purple bougainvillea until it all blurred before his eyes. Tears came swift and hard, choking him. He remembered his wife, her laugh, her heart, her many plans to be the best mother in the world. He closed his eyes and whispered, “I miss you, Soph.”
A breeze rustled the willow tree, but Sophia’s father stood stone silent.
Tom took a deep breath and pushed up to stand, studying the light on the violet blossoms and the shadow made by the cross. Suddenly, he reached for his phone, tapping it so he could take a picture.
“Ahh.” Nico leaned in, looking at the screen with interest. “Now I understand.”
The phone screen was filled with the last picture he’d taken—Gussie and Tom wrapped in a sheet on a balcony in Nice. Her eyes danced, her skin glowed, and her smile nearly blinded him.
Nico launched a bushy brow. “This is why.” The older man nodded several times, slowly and with such great knowledge. “You need…” He searched for the English word, but it clearly eluded him. “Permission,” he finally said.
Did he? Is that why he’d traveled to Greece and driven across treacherous terrain to this ancient village? To get Nico Karras’s permission to love again?
Maybe it was.
Nico put his hands on Tom’s shoulders and flattened him with a hard look. “Here is what you do.”
Tom nodded and waited for the sage counsel that could only come from a man whose ancestors went back to Alexander the Great, who worked the land, raised five children, and pressed oil from olives. A man who knew what was what. Whatever he said, Tom would do.
“Cut your hair.”
He fought a laugh. It was so Nico, and Sophia would have loved that.
“Do not sleep alone.”
Okay, but would she have loved that? Tom stayed perfectly still. This wasn’t about who he slept with—it was about forever family.
Then Nico lifted his arm and pointed to the Greek letters on his arm. “God did not intend for you to be alone, Thomas. And neither did Sophia. Of this, I am certain.”
“But what if…what if…” What if he was the reason for all this loss?
“Life is a series of ‘what ifs,’ young man. If you let that kind of fear rule you, you aren’t living. Sophia wanted you to live—and love—again.”
“You don’t know that.”
Nico’s eyes grew fierce. “She died in my arms,” Nico said. “I know that. And if you’d have come to me, I would have told you.” He pulled Tom into his chest again. “Now, please go make children, make money, make laughter, and make your Greek family happy.”
Peace and contentment washed over him. And happiness. So much happiness. This had been what he’d needed to do all along. Of course, Gussie knew that.
After the embrace, Tom lifted his phone to take a picture of the grave, but Nico stopped him, pushing the phone away to prevent the shot.
“That.” He pointed over Tom’s shoulder. “That is your picture. The portokali sky.”
He turned, stunned by the richness of the orange sunset, an aching, brilliant, heart-stopping palette. Yes, he needed to get this picture…for Gussie.
He snapped it and put his arm around Nico, and the two men walked side by side back to the house.
On the stone porch, Christa waited. “Thomas?” They always called him that here. He was used to it. “I have some…things. Sophia’s. For you. Yes?”
She was asking if he was ready to see them, of course. “Yes,” he agreed.
He drank a toast with Nico, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, until Christa returned with a small ceramic box painted with classic Greek cobalt blue. He wasn’t sure what she had, but he accepted the box with a smile.
Immediately, Nico stood, poured Tom another shot, and left with no more than a touch on his shoulder.
Alone, he opened the lid and saw Sophia’s engagement and wedding rings, tied together with a white satin ribbon that he suspected had been on her bouquet. He lifted the rings, swallowed hard, and studied the diamonds that had made her so happy.
These were his to give away, of course. He set the rings aside, knowing already that he would give them to Christa to keep in her family. There were some pictures of Tom and Sophia together, and several of her progressing pregnancy. He glanced at them quickly, unable to linger.
Underneath all that, some mail, unopened. A doctor’s bill, insurance papers, a credit card statement. All pretty…old. Those bills were long paid, that credit card closed.
He set them to the side, but a letter in between slipped out and fell to the ground. Reaching over to retrieve it, his gaze fell on the return address and his heart quite literally stopped for a moment.
Ruth Whitman.
A letter from his sister? To Sophia? He turned it over, realizing that it had never been opened. He peered at the date and realized it must have arrived within days of Sophia’s death. Written, no doubt, before that.
Why would Ruthie write to a sister-in-law she’d never met?
He tore open the envelope and pulled out the single page covered in flowing handwriting, his eyes falling on the greeting “Dear Sister.” He took a deep breath, sipped the shot of whiskey, and smoothed the page on the table to read.
I can call you that, I hope! I am writing to you because I’ve decided to come and visit with my daughter and we want to surprise Tommy! If it would be easier to email or talk by phone, my number and email are at the bottom of this letter.
Sophia, I know my brother and I haven’t been all that close, but I really want that to change now that he has you. I’ve always believed that if he could find someone special and he understood what love is, he might forgive me for thinking I was in it all those years ago when I got pregnant. And once you two have this baby, I am certain he will understand why I kept her, and how I love her.
In fact, I recently met with an attorney who recommended I update my Last Will & Testament. (What a thought, huh?) I still have Tommy listed as the person to take Alex if anything ever happens to me. I didn’t change it, though, and I hope that’s okay with you.
I almost did. I thought about it, but, you know, I think Tommy was the best brother in the world and he will make an unbelievable father. And if anything ever happens to me, God forbid, there is no one I’d want raising my daughter except my wonderful brother.
Anyway, that’s not going to happen! Long lives ahead and lots more babies for both of us, right? Please call me or email me after you get this and we can start the arrangements for my SURPRISE trip! Can’t wait!
Love xxxxoooxxx (kisses and hugs in America)
Ruthie
He sat staring at her words, her name, her kisses and hugs, for a long
time. Mostly, though, he reread the same sentence over and over again, unable to ignore the irony that while he’d come to say his good-byes to Sophia, the message that he got in return came from his sister.
There is no one I’d want raising my daughter except my wonderful brother.
And then, he knew exactly what his next flight and destination had to be. Home. Family. Forever.
No, no, not yet. He had to make one more stop in Cyprus first.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Fritos? For lunch, Alex?”
Alex made a face at Gussie, but put the bag back on the shelf, sliding down to the protein bar section of the Super Min.
“You can eat a regular lunch at the camp,” Gussie said. “You’re a junior counselor, not a camper.”
“I know, but I get so busy with the little ones, especially that adorable one, Dylan. He has to spell everything he E-A-T-S.”
Gussie laughed, remembering Alex’s stories of the little boy at the Casa Blanca Kids Club who loved to spell. Having Alex work at the resort children’s camp had been a huge blessing, giving her a way to make friends and get acclimated after they’d returned from Boston a few weeks ago.
“I can’t believe I only have one more week, then school starts.” She chose a few different protein bars. “It’s going to be so different this year.”
“Middle school is different,” Gussie agreed as they walked to the counter. “It’s a slightly lower-level hell.”
They headed to the cash register, but instead of her usual open examination followed by judgment, the Super Min’s owner didn’t lift her head from the magazine she was reading.
“Hello, Charity,” Gussie said as they laid their purchases on the counter.
She held up her finger. “Wait, wait. I’m busy reading all about you right now, Miss Au Naturel.” Finally, she peered over her readers, a mix of amusement and amazement in her gray eyes. “Color me stunned that you singlehandedly made a major corporation change its entire advertising campaign.”
“What?”
Charity twirled the magazine around as Alex sidled up to the counter to see it, too.
“Oh my gosh, Gussie. Look!”
The two-story spread had a bold headline: LaVie Launches ‘Beauty Isn’t Perfect’ Campaign.
The first thing Gussie saw was the bright green and blue logo of LaVie water, but then her eyes moved to the woman in the picture, striding along a city street. The brunette wore a sunny summer dress, snazzy heels, and the most gorgeous smile. She held a bottle of LaVie in one hand, but her other arm, resting over a sleek blue clutch, ended at the elbow, the result of an accident or birth defect. Under her, the words: Beauty Isn’t Perfect…But Your Water Can Be.
“Would you get a load of that crap?” Charity choked. “I guess it means I can charge more for that stuff now.”
Alex and Gussie pressed together to read while Charity’s red nail pointed to a sidebar in the corner. It featured the now-familiar shot of Gussie on a Cannes street, the wind gust showing her bald spot as clearly as the label on the water bottle in her hand.
“You’re a regular Heidi Klum,” Charity said. “Only, you know, not.”
Gussie read the sidebar, which explained that she’d only been doing a test shot, but “the bald girl” had gone viral, and the positive public reaction had prompted LaVie’s revised campaign strategy.
“Does it say anything about the photographer?” Gussie asked, unable to hide how much she wanted to know something—anything—about Tom. He’d texted a few times since Nice, to check on Alex and the trip to Boston, but nothing personal, nothing real, nothing that reflected the feelings they’d had. Still had, in Gussie’s case.
“The long-haired hippie?” Charity asked.
Alex pointed to a few paragraphs about the world-famous photographer chosen for the campaign to capture the beauty of “every” woman, even those society dismisses as flawed.
“I suppose you want me to give you that magazine for free now,” Charity said.
“Nope.” Gussie threw it on the counter, getting a flashback of another time and another person who’d tossed a magazine right there. “It’s not in our family budget.”
“You’re not a family.”
This time, they both glared at her. “News flash, Happy Face.” Gussie snapped her fingers with a sassy wave. “Families come in all shapes and sizes.” She wrapped an arm around Alex. “Including this one.”
Charity’s eyes tapered and then, unexpectedly, softened. Wordlessly, she grabbed the magazine and stuffed it in their bag. “Don’t expect it ever again,” she said gruffly. “That one’s for all the ugly gals you give hope to.”
As always, Gussie wasn’t sure whether to laugh or sigh, but Alex beamed at her. “Thank you, Charity. And you give hope to all the bullies in the world.”
Cracking up, Gussie and Alex left for the parking lot.
“Speaking of families,” Alex said. “Any word from Luke?”
“He called last night.” Gussie climbed into the driver’s seat, thinking of the blissful, tearful, awesome days they’d all shared up in Boston. “He’s nailed down that construction job and he’ll be here this weekend to start. Isn’t that awesome? He’s really coming to Mimosa Key.”
“How long will he be here?”
“I don’t know,” Gussie said. But since they’d never been closer, she hoped a good, long time.
“Will he be here in time for Willow’s wedding?” Alex asked.
“Maybe.”
“That’d be nice. I wish…” Alex suddenly reached over and turned on the car radio.
Gussie snapped it off. “You wish your uncle was going to be here.”
“Of course not.”
“Alex, I know what you were going to say. You miss him.”
“Miss isn’t exactly the word,” she admitted. “But he did kind of grow on me.”
“Welcome to the club.”
Alex grew silent, as she often did when the subject of Tom came up. It was easier for both of them to pretend he’d never existed, but, of course, that wasn’t feasible. He’d come back, eventually. But neither of them knew what that would mean, if anything.
Tamping down a cocktail of uncertainty and disappointment, Gussie pulled through the gates of Casa Blanca and drove to the far end of the parking lot to the outdoor camp check-in.
“Oh, look, there’s the speller,” Alex said as she gathered her stuff. “Dylan Ivory.”
“Did you know his dad is Nate Ivory of the Ivory Glass billions?” Gussie asked.
“He’s one of those billionaires?” Alex’s eyes grew wide. “Wonder if he has any friends for you.”
Gussie smiled, a burst of affection for Alex exploding in her heart. “He has plenty of friends, all rich. They’re building a baseball stadium over on the east side of Barefoot Bay. But…” She had to be honest, since that had been her M.O. with Alex from the start. “I’m not interested.”
“You miss him, too, don’t you?”
And got direct questions in response. “Lesson number one, little grasshopper. Don’t fall in love with a guy who has ‘I want to be alone for the rest of my life so stay far away from me’ tattooed on his arm.”
Alex patted her hand. “I knew you were in love with him.”
Dang it! Had she said that? She barely admitted that to herself, except on lonely nights when she cried herself to sleep. Before she could answer, Alex was out of the car, saying hello to campers while Dylan Ivory danced around her singing, “H-E-L-L-O!”
Gussie took one second to enjoy the scene, then drove to park in the employee area. Willow was taking the week off to spend time with her parents, who were in town for the wedding, and Ari had a meeting on the mainland with a vendor, so Gussie skipped the office stop and headed straight to the bridal dressing room to get some things in order for this weekend.
Inside, the room was dim and cool, normally a sanctuary from the hustle and bustle of the resort. She stood perfectly still for a moment, closing he
r eyes to picture what would take place here in a few days, but found herself thinking about what had taken place in this room about a month ago.
TJ DeMille had gotten under her wig and under her shirt and under her skin.
“Ugh! Get over him already. Think about Willow.”
Following that self-imposed order, she went to the gown closet to retrieve the dress and hang it for some last-minute tweaks by Willow’s mother, Ona, who’d designed it exclusively for her daughter.
After draping the wedding gown on the dress form, she went back into the closet and lifted the veil off the mold and carried it out, holding the lace-trimmed tulle like precious cargo. She paused at the mirror, stopping at the very spot where Tom had removed her makeup and wig. After that, she’d never put a wig on again. And she’d toned down the makeup, too.
No more masks for Gussie McBain.
Why bother hiding behind wigs and makeup now that the whole world had seen her and, apparently, judged her acceptable? The world…but not the one man she wanted.
She pulled her hair forward over her shoulders in a way she rarely wore it because the style left her scar out in the open. But if she were getting married, this was how she’d wear it.
And she’d cover the spot with a veil.
Lifting the gossamer netting, she slipped it on, taking a moment to admire the vision, but suddenly she felt unstable. Knocked over by the sensation of longing, of desire, of envy even, for every woman who’d ever had this moment for real.
What would it feel like to be loved that much?
She spread the veil over her shoulders, lifted her chin to a better angle, and then—
Click.
She spun around at the sound.
Click.
There was no one there, but the distinct sound of a camera. A chill tiptoed up her spine, lodging at the base of her neck, sending a spray of goose bumps over her arm.
Click. Click. Click. A man with a camera stepped out from behind the oversize cheval mirror. “What are you—”
He lowered the camera to show his face. Not a man…the man.
“—doing here?” The question ended with a hitch of disbelief and joy and love.