It's All Greek to Me

  “If you don’t like the apartment, just tell Iakovos. I’m sure he won’t mind if you redecorate it,” the younger woman said with a shrug.

  “It’s not a matter of making a few changes,” Harry said slowly, finding it difficult to put into words what it was she objected to in the apartment. “It’s just so . . . cold. Impersonal. Everything is chrome and glass and cool lighting, and nothing says home. Surely you must have felt that? You’ve lived here most of your life, haven’t you?”

  “On and off, yes. When I was small, my mother preferred to live at the house in Corinth, but after she died, Papa wouldn’t ever stay there, so we lived mostly here, or later at Iakovos’ island. I think you’re nesting,” Elena said with a wise nod. “I heard pregnant ladies do that.”

  “Possibly.” Harry patted her large belly. “Or it could just be me being silly. Don’t say anything to Iakovos, will you? I don’t want him to think I don’t like his home.”

  Elena murmured her agreement, and Harry put away the problem of the impersonal feeling of the apartment for something much more worrisome.

  Iakovos had a small office in the apartment that he used when he was overloaded with work and wanted to get away from the downtown office. He’d given over one of the bigger rooms to Harry, saying that since it was her primary work space, she should have more room. She sat behind her desk a few days after her conversation with Elena, staring at the paper that Dmitri had dropped onto it.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  He cleared his throat and looked over her shoulder. “I believe it’s a prenuptial agreement.”

  She took a deep breath. “If he thinks he’s going to do this to me, he’s nuts.”

  Dmitri looked uncomfortable. “This really isn’t any of my business, Harry.”

  “It is, too,” she said, snatching the paper and slapping it against his chest. “You’re his assistant. You can just take this right back in to him and tell him I’m not signing it.”

  “Harry—”

  “Not. Signing. It,” she repeated, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

  Dmitri sighed and left her office.

  She glared at the computer screen for a minute, and made a note to add in a character named Jacob whom the heroine of the book accidentally ran over with a forklift.

  Dmitri was back after a few minutes. “I’m sorry. He says you have to sign it.”

  “No.”

  “Harry, please, just sign it,” he pleaded. “He’s already annoyed about the whole thing. Don’t make it worse.”

  “You can tell Mr. High and Mighty Number Five Most Friggin’ Fabulous Bachelor in the Whole Friggin’ Universe that I will not sign that monstrosity. He has to change it.”

  “Change what?” Dmitri asked, looking resigned. “Show me what you want changed.”

  She tapped a line. “That.”

  “The amount of money you are entitled to should you decide to separate or divorce?”

  “Yes. That . . . that . . . gah! Tell him to change it, or else.”

  Dmitri sighed again, and left the room. He was back almost immediately. The figure that was previously written had been scratched off, a new one scrawled in its place, initialed by Iakovos.

  “That bastard!” she yelled, not even bothering to read the figure before snatching up the paper and marching down the hall to his office.

  “Yacky!” she snarled as she flung open the door.

  “Why, Eglantine, what an unexpected pleasure,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair, his fingertips steepled. “What brings your bright and cheering self to my humble presence?”

  “You gigantic rat! How dare you do this to me!” She slammed down the paper and glared at him.

  “What’s this?” he said, just as if he didn’t know, damn his adorable hide. “It looks like a prenuptial agreement.”

  “It’s a travesty!”

  “A generous prenuptial agreement!”

  “It’s barbaric! I won’t have it!”

  “Really?” He put his feet up on the desk and surveyed her down the long length of his body. “I do believe that I offered to forgo the prenup altogether. Would you care to go back to that?”

  “No, I will not! Dammit, you are going to be protected whether you like it or not.”

  “As a matter of fact . . .” he began, bringing his feet down and standing just so he could tower over her. She hated it when he used his height to his advantage. “I don’t like it. I didn’t like it when you first insisted on having a prenup, and I don’t like it now. I mistrusted you once, Harry, for five whole minutes, and I’m not going through that hell again. I know you don’t want my money. I know you’re not going to take me for all I’m worth. I trust you with everything I have. I don’t want or need a prenuptial agreement.”

  “I will not marry you without one!”

  “And I gave you one,” he said, shoving the paper toward her.

  “Yes, you’re giving me half of everything you own!”

  “Seventy percent, I think you’ll find,” he said, smiling.

  She looked back at it, her fury rising at the sight of the scrawled number. “You son of a bitch! I won’t sign it! You’ll give me one percent, or nothing, do you hear me?”

  “Forty,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

  “Two percent!”

  “Forty-five. And that, my little storm cloud, is my final offer.”

  “Well, it’s not mine,” she spat, snatching up the paper and stalking off.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find a lawyer and get him to draw up a real agreement! One that gives me nothing, the way it should be!” She slammed the door, muttering rude things to herself when his laughter rolled out of the room.

  “Yacky,” she said that night as she emerged from the bathroom.

  “Eglantine,” he said, hastily trying to hide something under a pillow.

  Harry smiled to herself, amused by the fact that Iakovos didn’t want her to know that he read her books. More than once she’d caught him reading the latest release, but for some reason she couldn’t figure out, he liked to pretend he had no interest in them. She wondered if it was a matter of male pride, since her books had quite a bit of romantic elements mingled with the suspense. “My lawyer says your lawyer has to stop being mean to me.”

  “How is he being mean?”

  “He says he will personally call you to escort me from his office if I go in there to yell at him again. My lawyer says that’s harassment. Or something.” She took a deep breath. “It could also have been happiness. I don’t quite know because Panoush’s accent is very thick.”

  “I would be happy to tell my lawyer to leave you alone, but you are being unreasonable about this whole thing.”

  She waddled around the bed that was every bit as big as the one in his palace on the sea. “I just want you to be protected.”

  “I know you do, sweetheart. I want the same thing for you.”

  “Then you’ll let me have one percent?”

  “No.” He pulled her close to him. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not giving you a damned prenup at all.”

  “But—”

  “No. It’s not going to matter, because we’re never getting divorced. We’re going to grow old together and you’re going to make me crazy, and I’ll do my best to keep up with you. That’s all.”

  “But—”

  “No!”

  There was something in his eyes that warned her he was at the end of his patience with regard to the subject.

  “What if I suddenly decide I want a sex change, and become a man? You’d be stuck being married to a man, and people would think you were gay.”

  “Then they would think I was gay. We’re still not getting a divorce, and I am through discussing the matter.”

  “All right, then.” She climbed into bed. “If you insist on being completely unreasonable—”

  “I insist.”

  “—then I want to talk about this wedding.”


  “What about it? I thought you were happy with the civil ceremony.”

  “I was. I am. But somehow, it’s gone from just being you and me and Elena, to everyone in the Eastern Hemisphere wondering where their invite is.”

  “Tell them the wedding is private.”

  “I have been, but there’s still a couple of people who I think would be hurt if they weren’t there.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re the bride. The only person I want to be there is you. Everyone else is optional.”

  “Well,” she said, fluffing the pillows behind her. “We have to have Elena, and Dmitri. They’d be very hurt if we didn’t have them. And then there’s your friend Peter and his wife. I liked them.”

  “Good. They liked you.”

  “It sounds like he’d be hurt if they didn’t get to come. You went to school with him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he’s your oldest non-family friend. And then there’s Theo.”

  She looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

  “Theo can come if he wants,” he said, his voice flat.

  “Is he even in Greece?”

  “No.”

  “I think we should give him the date, don’t you? In case he wants to come back for it?”

  “I’ll give him the date.”

  Something was wrong. There was something in his voice that wasn’t at all like Iakovos, but she knew he wouldn’t tell her what it was until he was ready to do so. At least she’d gotten him to promise to tell Theo the date. “Have you ever thought about giving him something . . .” She hesitated, not sure how best to put her concerns. “Something a little less stressful to work on?”

  “Stressful?”

  “Well . . .” She made a vague gesture. “‘Delicate,’ perhaps is a better word.”

  “What are you trying to say, Harry? You don’t think my brother should be working for me?”

  “No, I—”

  “You’re the one who told me I need to learn to delegate more, and I agreed. I put Theo in charge of the Brazilian project because it’s exactly the sort of thing he’s perfect at—wining and dining the Brazilian consortium, charming the wives and being the perfect host.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I don’t tell you how to write your books,” he said with stony finality. “I would hope you’d give me the same consideration. Now, do you want me to rub your back?”

  She looked at the closed expression on his face, and knew that the discussion was over, at least for that moment. After having lived with Iakovos for seven months, she had learned that there were subjects he was willing to let her probe, and others about which he simply wouldn’t entertain discussion. The subject of Theo’s drinking, and the potentially devastating effect it could have on his life, was one of those subjects.

  Harry slid onto her side, going through the nightly tussle when Iakovos wanted her to remove her nightgown, and she refused on the grounds that she was as big as a tanker. By the time he wrestled the nightgown off her, and started stroking her lower back, she decided she’d simply have to tackle the issue of Theo a different way.

  “Now would be the perfect time for you to tell me just how much you love me,” she cooed as he rubbed away all the aches in her lower back, his big hands making long, sweeping strokes that worked magic on the tightness that seemed to spasm after too long on her feet.

  He nuzzled her neck, his chest hair tickling her back as his hands began to roam. One hand cupped her behind, slipping down between her legs while the other slid under her until he found a breast. Gently, because he knew she was sensitive, he caressed it, sending waves of languid pleasure rippling through Harry’s body.

  “Are you up to this tonight?” he murmured, kissing her ear and neck and shoulders, his magical fingers sliding between her thighs to find sensitive flesh.

  “Oh, yes, please,” she said on a sigh, squirming as his fingers danced in her warmth. He rolled her over onto her back, his hair brushing her chin as he kissed a path across her collarbone, dipping even lower to catch a nipple in his mouth and gently, ever so gently, rolling his tongue around the tip.

  She moaned with the feel of his mouth, her hands tracing the muscles of his arms and shoulders as he moved over to pay tribute to her other breast. She felt a momentary qualm as he moved lower, kissing his way down her big belly.

  “I’m as big as a house,” she said, moving restlessly when he rubbed his cheek against the side of her stomach.

  “Yes, you are.”

  She propped herself up on her elbows to glare at him. He crawled up her body with a wicked look in his eye as he lay next to her, one arm around her belly. “Do you have any idea how erotic it is for me to see you lying there, swollen with my children? Do you know what it does to me, here?” He caught her hand and pressed it to his chest, where his heart beat so strong and true. “I know you feel ungainly and awkward, but to my eyes, you are a goddess, a vision of beauty that will give me something I never expected to have, and the only thought that consumes me is to be a part of this miracle the only way I know how.”

  “Oh god, they really need to move you up to the number one spot, because there isn’t a woman in the world who wouldn’t sell her soul to have you,” Harry told him as he rolled her onto her side again, and pulled her leg back a little until it lay over his.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” he whispered into her ear as he slid slowly, oh, so very slowly into her body. “I resigned my spot on the list. I told them my wife wouldn’t let me remain on it any longer.”

  Her body tightened around him as his fingers gently stroked her. He was so tender with her, so gentle it brought tears to her eyes. The last month or so, when she had started to feel so unwieldy, she had offered to give him pleasure with her mouth and hands, but he had gravely declined the offer, saying he preferred to wait until such times as she was ready to receive his attentions, no matter how long that might be.

  She moaned her release as he moved against her, the feeling of his warmth behind her sending her spiraling into a well of absolute pleasure that was made perfect when his voice turned hoarse with his own climax.

  CHAPTER 20

  Harry ran into Patricia the following day at an afternoon tea given by one of the leading socialites in Athens, in aid of a children’s charity. Harry had let herself be talked into attending by Elena, who told her that it was a cause that Iakovos had long supported.

  “Well, if it isn’t the happy homemaker,” Patricia said when she spotted Harry, standing somewhat awkwardly on the fringe of a group of chattering women. Patricia stopped, her face a picture of horror as she gazed at Harry’s belly. “Good god, are you having a litter?”

  Harry was too uncomfortable to put up with any crap from the infinitesimally small blonde. “Thus speaks the woman who doesn’t have a child,” she snapped.

  Patricia’s face froze. “You inhuman bitch,” she growled before pushing past Harry and quickly leaving the tea.

  Harry had a horrible feeling that she’d said something wrong, but she had no idea what. When she returned home shortly thereafter, pleading a very real headache as her excuse to leave, she tackled Elena, who was out next to the pool sunning herself.

  “How’d the tea go?” she asked, looking up from a stack of fashion magazines.

  “It was fine. What do you know about Patricia?” Harry asked, getting right to the point.

  “Patricia? You mean Iakovos’ Patricia?”

  Harry grimaced. “Iakovos’ previous girlfriend, yes. Do you know if she has any children?”

  Elena frowned, slowly shaking her head. “I don’t think she does, no. She never mentioned a child, but I didn’t see her much. She and Iakovos were only together for a little while, you know.”

  “Two years,” Harry said grimly.

  “Well . . . yes, but that’s really not very long.”

  “If she doesn’t have children, why did she get so . . . oh, lord.” She must be infertile. Perhaps she’d been trying
to get pregnant and couldn’t, and then the very pregnant Harry waddled up and snapped at her. “Nice job, Harry.”

  “Are you talking to yourself?” Elena asked, sitting up.

  “No. Yes. Oh, hell.” She went back into the coolness of the apartment, feeling horrible. “Dammit, I’m going to have to apologize.”

  She called Dmitri, being too embarrassed by her bad behavior to admit it to Iakovos. “Dmitri, I’m going to ask you to do something and not only not ask questions about it, but also don’t mention it to Iakovos.”

  “Is it anything illegal?” he asked, the hint of a smile in his voice.

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll do it. What do you need?”

  “I want Patricia’s phone number and the hotel she’s staying at in Athens.”

  “She has an apartment here, actually, assuming you’re talking about the Patricia who does design work for Iakovos.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “All right. Here’s the address.” Harry wrote down the information, thanking him for not telling Iakovos. “I don’t normally like keeping secrets from him, but so long as you’re willing to take responsibility for this, I’ll keep quiet.”

  “I’m not going to do anything to hurt her,” Harry reassured him. “Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Not only am I going to apologize, I’m going to give her some work.”

  She could have sworn Dmitri choked at that news, but as he didn’t say anything more, she hung up, gathered together her purse and her digital camera, and called a cab.

  Forty minutes later she pressed the buzzer outside Patricia’s door, clutching a bottle of local wine.

  Patricia’s expression upon seeing her when she opened the door was not pleasant, but Harry had never shirked a duty when it was necessary.

  “What are you doing here?” Patricia asked.

  “I’m here to apologize.”

  “You can’t come in,” Patricia said stubbornly.

  Harry held out the bottle. “I brought booze.”

  “All right, you can come in, but you can’t stay long.” Patricia snatched the bottle and turned on her heel. Harry followed her into the apartment. “I assume you’re not going to have any of this wine.”