It's All Greek to Me

  “You would assume correctly.”

  Patricia’s mouth twisted as she brought the opened bottle and a glass into a sunny living room. Harry looked around and acknowledged that she was right to do what she was about to do.

  “You have a cute apartment. Did you decorate it yourself?”

  Patricia shot her a glare that should have at least stunned Harry. “Of course I did. Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but I really am not in the mood to play nice, so why don’t you get off your chest whatever you came to say, and we’ll move on.”

  “I came to apologize for what I said at the tea. I don’t know why it upset you so much, but it did, and I feel bad about that. So I’m sorry.”

  Patricia sat down, taking a big swig of the wine while Harry stood awkwardly, unsure whether she should sit or just leave.

  “So you say you’re sorry, and it’s supposed to make it all good again?”

  “I don’t know what else I can do,” Harry said, feeling at a loss. “Obviously, I touched on a sensitive area.”

  Patricia closed her eyes for a moment, then poured herself another glass of wine, and gestured toward the door. “All right, you apologized. Now get the hell out of here.”

  Harry was silent for a moment, then nodded and started for the door.

  “No, wait a minute. Oh, Christ, this is ridiculous. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you in my house. I don’t want to see you in that stupid dress, standing there feeling sorry for me.”

  Harry turned around slowly. She knew the sound of pain when she heard it, and although she had no love for this woman, she would never forgive herself if she just walked off and left another person in pain that had its origins in her actions.

  “My dress,” she said, smoothing a hand down over her giant belly, “is extremely cute. I ordered it online. It’s from New York.” The dress was cute—the empire bodice was navy blue and white stripe, while the flowing skirt was in matching navy. It was very sailor-like, and Harry had fallen in love with it when she saw it online. “And as for feeling sorry for you, I’m not, but mostly because I have no idea why you were so upset about what I said, unless you’re infertile, and thus my comment was unusually cruel.”

  Patricia swore, standing up, the wineglass still in her hands. “I loved Iakovos, you know.”

  Harry stood very still. “Then I do feel sorry for you. I can’t imagine anything worse than loving him, but not being loved in return.”

  Patricia’s face twisted into a cruel mask. “You think you’re so different from me, don’t you? You think he won’t get tired of you, too, in the end? Oh yes, you were right there, damn you. He got tired of me; he said that we no longer had anything to offer each other. God damn it, I was going to dump him, and he dumped me first.” She sat back down, poured more wine, and tossed it back.

  “If you loved him, why did you want to break up with him?” Harry asked slowly.

  “Because I didn’t love him.” She ran her hand through her perfect blond hair. “Oh god, just shut up and sit down. I can’t stand looking at you.”

  Harry sat down in a straight-backed chair as Patricia stomped off to the kitchen. She returned in a minute with a tall glass of orange juice that she shoved into Harry’s hands. She wasn’t terribly fond of orange juice, but sipped at it to be polite as Patricia poured herself another glass of wine.

  “Just so we understand each other,” Harry said after a minute of silence, “you’re not going to make me jealous of your previous relationship with Iakovos.”

  “Because you’re so perfect for him?” Patricia sneered. “Because you think he won’t get tired of you like he did me?”

  “Yes,” Harry said. “Because he loves me, and I believe that love is not just infatuation.”

  “Maybe you are perfect,” Patricia said, her face twisting again. “Maybe he is. I hope he is.”

  “You hope he’s happy with me?”

  “Yes. Because then when I take him away from you, it’ll be that much more satisfying.” Her smile was glittering, as cruel as the sun is bright. “You don’t think I can do it, do you? I can. I know what he likes. I know what drives him wild. I know what he wants from a woman, and I can give it to him. I have given it to him. I kept him by my side for two years, longer than any other woman, longer than you. If I wanted him again, I could take him away from you. And do you know what? I’ve just decided I want him again.”

  Harry stood up slowly, looking down at the beautiful, bitter blond woman. “I don’t play games when it comes to Iakovos,” she finally said, her heart heavy. “So I’m not going to tell you to go ahead and try. I love him. I know he loves me. We’re getting married in three days, and having twins in less than two months. If you want to spend your time and energy trying to destroy that, then that’s what you’ll do. But you have to ask yourself if what you’ll destroy is my relationship with him, or your own soul.”

  Patricia swore, and Harry went to the front door again, intending to wash her hands of the woman. As she reached for the door, Patricia made a horrible moaning, gasping noise. “I’m not infertile. I had a daughter. She was killed.”

  Goose bumps crawled up Harry’s back as she turned around. Patricia’s face was a mask of indifference, but her fingers were white around the stem of the wineglass.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Patricia made a gesture with the glass, then splashed more wine into it, her hand shaking. “It was six years ago. She would have been ten this year.”

  Harry returned to her chair, not wanting to ask what had happened, but curious nonetheless.

  Patricia took a long, shuddering breath. “My husband fought me for custody when we divorced. He told the judge that a workaholic wasn’t any sort of mother for Penny. When the judge didn’t agree and gave me custody, my husband . . .”

  Harry had a horrible feeling of what was coming. She wanted to comfort Patricia, but there was an air of tense fragility about her.

  “He grabbed her and ran. Right into the side of a commuter train. The bastard.”

  The last word was spat out as Patricia’s face crumpled.

  Harry moved awkwardly to the couch, her arms around the now sobbing Patricia, her own eyes streaming in sympathy.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she kept saying, wishing there was something she could do.

  In time Patricia pulled away, mopping at her face with a couple of tissues.

  “Don’t think this changes anything,” she said in a low, ugly voice. “I don’t like you. I plan on taking Iakovos from you.”

  “No, you won’t,” Harry said, sliding forward on the couch so she could hoist herself up.

  “Shows what you know,” Patricia said, blowing her nose with more tissues.

  “You won’t because you know how precious life is, and you would never take away my babies’ father.”

  Patricia’s jaw worked, but she said nothing, just looked away. “Leave me alone. Just take your fat body away and leave me alone.”

  Harry went to the door for a third time, looking back to say slowly, “I want to hire you. I want you to redecorate our apartment before my babies come. I know you’re expensive, and busy, but I want you to do this. I think you are very talented, and I know that you’ll help me transform our apartment into a home.”

  “You just don’t hear anything I say, do you?” Patricia said, her face red.

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Harry said, giving her a long look. “I also hear what you’re not saying. If you can come to lunch tomorrow, I’ll show you around the apartment and we can talk about redecorating.”

  “I’m very familiar with the apartment,” Patricia threw at her head as she pulled open the door and walked through it. “And there’s no way in hell I’m going to do anything but take from you the man I once loved.”

  Harry stopped by Iakovos’ office on the way home. He was standing in the hall outside his office, talking with Dmitri. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her
face in his neck to breathe in his scent.

  “Hold me,” she said.

  He did.

  Dmitri made an excuse and left. Harry stood holding on to Iakovos, allowing his love to wash away all the pain that seemed to cover her in sorrow. After a few minutes, she looked up at him. “I’ve asked Patricia to redecorate our apartment.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “She said she’s going to take you from me. I told her I trusted you. Don’t prove me wrong.”

  He said nothing as she left.

  The following day, promptly at noon, the doorman buzzed to say that Patricia was waiting downstairs.

  “All right, let’s get this done as quickly as possible,” Patricia said a few minutes later as Harry held open the door for her.

  “Lunch on the patio in ten minutes, please, Mrs. Avrabos,” Harry told the housekeeper.

  “Yes, kyria,” the woman said, her eyes flicking between Harry and Patricia.

  “This is the living room, as you probably remember,” Harry said, waving toward the room in question. Patricia whipped out both a digital camera and a notepad. She took a few pictures, then made a few quick notes.

  “The bedrooms are down this way. Elena’s you won’t need to touch—she’s happy with it. Theo’s should probably be left alone, as well. This is our room.”

  “I remember that one, darling,” Patricia said with a toss of her head as she entered the room. “Hmm. I see not much has changed. Iakovos still favors the right side of the bed.”

  Harry was determined to keep her temper. “You’ll have to work around the bed. It’s custom-made to Iakovos’ specifications. But other than that, I’m open to change. The dressing room could use some freshening up as well. I really do not like the bathroom at all—it’s too grimly modern, so if you could warm that up, I’d be grateful.”

  Patricia snorted.

  “The room next to ours will be the nursery. I don’t have anything in there yet, so I’d like it to be one of the first rooms you work on.”

  “You don’t have your nursery in order?” Patricia looked like she couldn’t believe her ears.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to—I just hate shopping. I was going to order everything online, but it’s kind of difficult to navigate through online Greek stores. And I have a book due, and . . . well, it’s just been delayed.”

  Patricia made a disgusted sound.

  “The offices are down this hall,” Harry said, walking back through the living room to the other side of the apartment. “My office needs work. It’s too dark. This is Iakovos’ office, but he said he’d like it left the way it is. This one next to it is Dmitri’s. He’s willing to have you make changes, so long as you let him see the desk first. He evidently is quite picky about desks. Oh, and he said no floral designs. Over here is the theater. The electronics are fine, but if you could find more comfortable seating, I’d be grateful. The two guest rooms need full makeovers. The kitchen is this way.”

  Patricia continued to take pictures and make notes. By the time they were done touring the kitchen, formal dining room, and housekeeper’s rooms, Harry was more than ready to sit down.

  “I see Mrs. Avrabos has lunch ready. Shall we?”

  “But of course, Lady Bountiful.”

  Harry bit her tongue, determined to get through this if it killed her. As she took her seat, however, she couldn’t help but notice the housekeeper’s glare pointed at Patricia.

  “Old biddy,” Patricia muttered as the housekeeper served lunch and left.

  “I take it you don’t like her?” Harry asked as she helped herself to salad and moussaka, unable to keep from adding, “She doesn’t seem very happy to have you here.”

  “No, I’m sure she’s not.” Patricia smiled, and Harry knew a big zinger was coming. “Not since she caught Iakovos and me making love in the kitchen that time.”

  Harry looked at her. “I give that about a six-point-five. Not enough to really piss me off, but adequate enough that I will think about it the next time I’m in the kitchen.”

  To her surprise, Patricia gave a bark of laughter. “All right, since you are so determined to do this, let us play designer and client. What do you want me to make of this place?”

  “I want it to be a home.”

  Patricia shot her a fiery look.

  “Have you seen Iakovos’ house? Oh, I’m sure you have.”

  “Yes, I have,” Patricia responded with a tight smile.

  “Well, that’s what I mean by a home. That house is beautifully decorated. It feels warm, and real, like people live there, not automatons.”

  “I’m glad you think so. I worked hard on that house.”

  Harry bit back an exclamation. “You decorated it? The house on the island?”

  “Yes. It’s how Iakovos and I met.”

  She digested this information. “Well, you did a beautiful job . . . er . . . you didn’t do this apartment, did you?”

  “No.” Patricia’s lip curled. “You can’t blame me for this place.”

  “Well, then you must know the sort of thing I want. You know the colors Iakovos likes—those are fine with me. And you know the style of what I want.”

  “Yes, I think I know what you want. You want me to make a home for you and your children, so you can be happy here with the man I love.”

  Harry just wanted to throw the pitcher of lemonade at her. “Oh, for god’s sake, Patricia! Can’t we be civilized about this?”

  “By all means, let’s be civilized,” Patricia snarled. “We’re two women who are both intent on having the same man, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be pals.”

  Harry had had enough; finally she’d had enough. “Stop it, Patricia, just stop it!” She slammed down her glass of lemonade. “You don’t want Iakovos!”

  “Who says I don’t?”

  “I say you don’t. Do you know what I’d do if Iakovos told me he didn’t think our relationship had anything to offer either of us anymore? I’d fight, Patricia. I’d fight like hell to make sure that it did. I’d fight to keep his love, and I’d fight and fight, and go on fighting until I had his love again. I sure as hell wouldn’t walk away from him. You don’t do that to someone you love.”

  Patricia sat stiff as a board, her face red, her gaze on the distance.

  “So let’s have a little understanding, you and me,” Harry continued. “You can pretend whatever you want. You can tell me about every single one of your intimate moments with Iakovos. You can threaten me and do your damnedest to piss me off, but if you do, it’ll only be to make yourself feel better. It won’t have any effect on me.”

  Patricia got up and walked away without another word.

  Harry stood up slowly, catching the eye of Mrs. Avrabos, who stood in the living room, looking out onto the patio.

  “Oh, that went well, don’t you think?” she said, wanting to cry.

  Mrs. Avrabos nodded her head. “Yes, kyria, that went well. It went very well.”

  CHAPTER 21

  His wedding day dawned stormy, dark, and with the threat of oversetting the entire event. He should have known that such an important event would never go the way it should when it concerned his turbulent sea goddess.

  “Sweetheart, you’re going to have to get up or you won’t make it to the wedding,” he told Harry two hours after he had risen to see what sort of wind damage had been done to his house. The waves pounded with ferocity on his little island, spray flying up from the rocks to splatter against the windows.

  Harry rolled over from where she’d finally gotten comfortable on a number of pillows. “Oh, stuff the wedding.”

  “Is it too much for you?” he asked, wondering if he’d pushed her into something she wasn’t ready for yet.

  “Is what too much for me? Help me up.” He put an arm around her and helped her to her feet. She wore that damned nightgown again, the one he hated, but she had, the last few weeks, been overcome with shyness around him, and had insisted on wearing it to bed.

&
nbsp; “The wedding?”

  She paused on the way to the bathroom, tossing him a smile over her shoulder. “No, I’m just being cranky. Although, good god, look at those storm clouds. I just hope the boat from town can make it over, or we won’t have Elena and the mayor.”

  “They’ll be here.”

  An hour later the boat did make it over, but he had been watching the skies, worried that perhaps the sea was celebrating their marriage a little too vigorously. He went down to meet the launch expecting to see Dmitri, Elena, and the mayor—who would be performing the ceremony—but the two additional people huddled into the cabin gave him a moment’s pause.

  “Theo,” he said as the other three made a dash for the house.

  His brother stood before him for a moment before turning around and holding out his hand.

  “You didn’t think I’d miss your wedding, did you, darling?”

  Iakovos swore under his breath as Patricia emerged from the cabin to give him an arch smile. “Did Harry invite you?”

  “She’s here as my guest,” Theo said, with a challenging look.

  Just what he needed—something to upset his bride on the day that was supposed to be one of her best.

  “You’re both welcome, then,” he said through his teeth, glancing up in surprise at the sky as lightning flashed across the clouds, followed by a rumble of thunder.

  “Looks like you’re having all sorts of bad omens. Doesn’t a storm for a wedding mean it’s doomed?” Patricia asked as she hurried with them to the house.

  “Perhaps for anyone else it might, but not for us,” Iakovos said, feeling cheerful about that at least. Harry, he knew, loved storms almost as much as he did. “The ceremony will be in half an hour in the music room.”

  “Should I go offer my help to the bride?” Patricia asked, a thin smile on her face.

  Iakovos knew what was going on between Harry and her, and had enough sense to stay out of their battle to establish a working relationship. Unless Patricia gave him reason to, he wouldn’t interfere. “If you think she would benefit from it, then by all means, do so. She’s in our bedroom.”

  He went off to greet the mayor properly before tending to his other duties. After getting a report about a few windows broken in one of the bungalows, checking with Spyros regarding the house, and listening to Rosalia complain about Patricia’s presence, he spent a few minutes alone with an excited Elena, who had just come from seeing Harry.