by Holly Greene
Spring in Skiathos
Escape to the Islands
Holly Greene
Contents
Copyright
Escape to the Islands Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Spring in Sicily
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
About the Author
Also by Holly Greene
Copyright © Little Blue Books 2016
The right of the author to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Escape to the Islands Series
Spring in Skiathos
Summer in Santorini
Autumn in Crete
Winter in Rhodes
Holly Greene Amazon Page
1
Heading home from her office for the weekend, Joanna Nelson got her colleague’s attention and tossed him a memory disk with the author interview he needed.
He caught it and promptly pantomimed worshipping her. I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy.
A stranger observing the exchange would assume Joanna was the boss and Liam was the understudy. Or at the very least, that they were equals at Herod Publishing in NYC.
But both of these assumptions would be wrong.
Liam was a senior editor of New York City’s most prestigious publishing house and had been for the past twelve years, but his days were quickly getting numbered.
Not because of ineptitude but because he was losing touch.
When collaborating on a piece, he insisted on using Microsoft Word instead of Google Docs, Dropbox all but bamboozled him, and he couldn’t be baby-stepped into loading attachments sent to him via email.
“Where does it go when I download it?” he’d complain to Joanna. “What’s the point of all this magic if you can’t find it?” Her boss was a walking and talking anachronism. A caveman pretending to be a hipster.
They were both up for review the coming week, and it was widely assumed Joanna was going to get his job.
She wasn’t worried about Liam though. He was likely just going to be moved into a horizontal position with less responsibilities, staying nearby to give advice whenever it was needed. By the time people stopped asking him questions he’d probably retire.
Joanna smiled and waved goodbye.
“Yeah, Donna, I know Harry’s interested,” she said to her close friend on the phone as she walked out. “He’s practically stalking me on Facebook. But I’ve been with Peter for over a year now, you know that.”
“You’re like some elusive Mediterranean goddess,” her friend replied. “None of the boys care about who you say you’re with. Not when they get a glimpse of those legs and the bounce of your ebony locks.”
“Well, I care. I’m with Peter.”
Joanna maneuvered through the revolving door out onto Park Avenue, and was immediately bombarded with sirens, honking horns, and the rattle of construction work.
It was early spring and New York was restless as always.
“Have I been egging him on? I didn’t mean to. I just thought he was interesting. That’s why I talked to him at that party.”
“No, that’s just who he is. And you have that effect on every guy you meet Jo. Anyway,” Donna said segueing into a different subject, “any plans for the weekend? Want to go skinny dipping or rock climbing for old time’s sake?”
Joanna laughed. “Nah, I don’t do that stuff anymore, but there’s something I am about to do that’s out of my comfort zone. I’m pretty nervous about it, actually.” She took a deep breath, guessing what her friend would say. “Peter’s been asking me to move in with him since our six month anniversary. And well...this Wednesday marks one year since our first date.”
Joanna’s dark curly hair whipped to the side as a Porsche drove by.
“No, don’t tell me you’re—”
“I’m going to tell him I want to give it a shot. I think I’m ready.”
She hailed a cab as she waited for her friend to respond. A bright yellow taxi amongst a sea of shiny metallic movement pulled over and she got in. Inside the air was warm but smelled of menthol.
“West Twenty-third and Tenth, please,” Joanna said to the driver. He nodded and turned back to the wheel, his eyes glancing down quickly to check her out.
“What brought this on?” Donna asked.
“I don’t know. A lot of things. It’s just— I think it’s time to be a grownup. I think it’s time to start doing all of the things I always said I would do. Marry a guy with a decent job. Settle down. Have a kid or two - ”
“Wha—have a kid? Have you talked about getting married to Peter? You two have actually had this conversation?”
They stopped at a light and a homeless man stared at her and started shouting something inaudible over the taxi-driver’s radio.
“Joanna?” Donna prompted.
She pulled her mind back.“I’m sorry, yeah. A few times. Peter wants to marry me, I know that.”
“He’s proposed?”
“Well, no. He’s just talked about it. About what kind of apartment he wants to buy. About where he thinks our kids should go to school. About the kind of life he wants and the life he can give me.”
“Wow.” Donna hesitated. “How … romantic.”
“No, no, it’s not like that,” Joanna explained smiling a little. “He’s just very matter of fact about things, and I like that. There’s no guessing with him. I know exactly the kind of man he is and what he wants. And we want the same things. That’s important, don’t you think?”
“So I assume he’s finally mentioned the L word then?”
Joanna sighed inwardly and thought about lying, but this was Donna she was talking to. She’d known her since she was a freshman at NYU. This was the girl who went and bought her a pack of cigarettes and a 6-pack a couple of years back when her mother died so she could cry all week and properly curse the heavens.
She couldn’t lie to her.
“No, but I know he does love me. He’s just not good at that kind of—”
“Do me a favor, Jo. Get him to say it before you agree to move in with him. If after a year, the guy can’t tell you he loves you, he doesn’t deserve you.”
Joanna was silent.
“How do you get a man to tell you he loves you?” she asked.
“You don’t. A real man knows how to say it - and when.”
Joanna saw the Brooklyn Bridge for a brief moment before her cab turned right onto 23rd.
I guess it’s time to cross that bridge, she thought, feeling more nervous than she expected.
2
“I told him,” Peter was saying amidst a mouthful of steak as he and Joanna sat in the trendy
Brooklyn restaurant, “I told him he’s got to come down ten, maybe even twenty percent if he wants to sell, but I don’t think he’s listening. Guy has it in his mind he’s going to make three or four million dollars off of it, but he’s not going to come anywhere close. Not in this market. The poor have gotten poorer, and the rich are hoarding everything they have in Panama. They’re not investing in overpriced apartments— even ones that overlook Central Park.”
Joanna managed a smile to indicate to her boyfriend that she was listening, but she was still thinking about her conversation with Donna.
“So what is he hoping to sell it for?” she asked, pushing her hair over her shoulder and crossing her legs.
Peter shook his head and chuckled. “He thinks he’s going to get twelve million, which is a joke. His only hope is finding a Chinese investor, but they’re not known for overpaying. They like deals. I mean, who doesn’t?”
Joanna sipped her wine and looked closely at her boyfriend.
At 29 his hair was already thinning. She had never really noticed until he started cropping it shorter, which he started doing recently. At least he wasn’t being weird and trying to comb it over.
As her mother, Ruth used to say: “Embrace what you have. There isn’t just one way to be sexy.”
But Peter’s looks weren’t what attracted Joanna to him. Thin and wiry body, he had the build and look of a long distance runner who spent his evenings looking down microscopes.
So why was she attracted to him?
Well, he was direct. He was confident. When they first met he was able to look Joanna directly in the eye and have a conversation with her without ogling over her breasts. It sent the message that he was disciplined, and that if he was talking to her it was because he wanted to.
Sex wasn’t the only thing on his mind, and to Joanna this was a refreshing first.
Was the sex interstellar? No. And that was the other thing about Peter. Nothing about him went off the charts, but he was above average in every category that mattered. A steady, unwavering horizontal line.
If Joanna was asked to come up with something about him that really bothered her, she wouldn’t be able to find a single thing.
He was pleasant.
He was safe.
He was...
Donna’s words floated back into her brain. “If he can’t tell you he loves you, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked. “You seem distant this evening. Do you not like the food? I heard nothing but good things about this place. The chef has gotten two Michelins, and he’s only like twenty-two. A food prodigy.”
“No, no, the food’s great. I like what you ordered. Thank you.”
Peter frowned. He was anxious.
Joanna took a big gulp of wine and asked straight out. “Peter, do you love me?”
His head shot back as if he’d been slapped, and Joanna waited. She didn’t want to soften the question by filling the silence.
“Joanna, you know I care about you a lot,” he responded matter-of-factly. “We’ve talked about marriage one day. Having kids. Surely you know how I feel.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I think I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level.”
Peter relaxed and smiled, openly chewing his food when he said, “Really? You’re ready to move in with me?”
“Yes, but I’m only going to move in with you if I know—”
“Joanna, you’re exactly the kind of woman I’ve always wanted. You’re beautiful. You’re intelligent. Together we’re a power couple. We’re unstoppable. Of course I love you.”
Joanna smiled.
Of course.
“I love you, too, Peter.”
He put his fork and knife down and reached across the table for her hand. His palm felt dry and cold. He squeezed quickly and went back to his meal.
Joanna sipped her wine.
He had said it.
But had he?
Much later, Joanna’s phone vibrated on the nightstand at Peter’s place.
She glanced at the number. 30-2427-555-6795
Well, that’s a lot of numbers. With a foggy brain, she sent the caller to voicemail and went back to sleep.
Whoever it was didn’t need to speak with her in the middle of the night.
Whatever it was could wait.
3
The following morning, Peter dropped her back at her apartment a little before lunch. Saturdays were a busy day in New York real estate, as many clients weren’t free to look at apartments until the weekend.
Joanna dropped her things onto the counter, kicked her heels off, and started up some coffee. Her apartment was small even by New York standards, but the one thing it had going for it was a balcony that overlooked the Hudson River.
She slid the door open and welcomed in the cool, constant breeze off the bay. She was about to sit down when Donna called.
“Spill,” her friend demanded. “How’d it go? Did the bastard say it?”
“He said it,” Joanna replied, smiling. “And he’s a not a bastard. Be nice.”
“Whatever. How’d it come up? Tell me everything.”
Joanna told her about their dinner date and what Peter had said.
“So you had to ask him? That’s kind of forcing his hand, don’t you think?”
“You don’t know Peter. I do. He wouldn’t lie to me to just placate me. How it happened is how it needed to happen. He’s going to start saying it more and more now I’m sure.”
“And will you say it back?”
“Of course I will. Will you stop it? I know what I like. This isn’t about the past. It’s about the future.”
“Just keep your apartment, OK?”
“What? He works in real estate, remember.”
“So what? Just keep it to be safe. You never know, he might turn into a controlling jerk when you move in.”
“Bye, Donna,” Joanna said and hung up.
Yes, she could be annoying sometimes but she also knew Donna was being a good friend by voicing all of the doubts and uncertainties she wouldn’t allow herself to actively think about.
Once again her phone rang. It was the long number again from the early hours of this morning. She had completely forgotten about it. She thought about sending it to voicemail again so she could soak in fully the spring morning air, but decided at the last moment to answer.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello,” a male voice said in a heavy European accent. Joanna couldn’t place which one. “Am I speaking with …” he paused, “Miss Joanna Nelson?”
Frowning, she told him he was.
“Good, good. My name is Nick Artinos. I represent your father.”
Joanna laughed. Her father? She had never met the guy - didn’t even know his name or what he looked like. “My father?” she repeated.
“Nai, yes.”
Joanna’s heart pulsed in her throat for a moment and she sat down.
“Is this a joke? You’re joking, right?”
“No, it’s not a joke. No joke.”
“ I don’t know anything about my father, and I doubt he knows anything about me. What is this about? Who are you?”
“I’m your father’s lawyer. He did know about you, Miss Joanna, but I’m sad to say he passed away a couple of weeks ago. I represent him in his death. He’s left his daughter, he’s left you an inheritance. Here in Skiathos.”
Joanna’s brain whirled as she tried to process this.
“Skiathos?”
“Ellada. Greece, Miss Joanna. Skiathos is in Greece. It’s where your father’s from. It’s where… well, it’s where your family’s from.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. She knew from her mother that she was the result of an ill-advised vacation romance in Europe some thirty years before but …
“How soon can you get here, Miss Joanna?” the lawyer asked.
“I— is this for real? I can’t possibly go there. I’ve got a job. An important one. I�
�m very busy.” Then she added in a whisper. “What did he leave me?”
“That I’m afraid I cannot tell you,” the lawyer replied. “You must come to Skiathos to find out. That is one of the conditions.”
4
“My mother never told me much,” Joanna said later that afternoon. Peter had come over and they were sitting on her balcony.
She hadn’t managed to change out of the clothes she wore the night before. She had spent most of the day outside trying to wrap her brain around the day’s events.
“The only thing I was able to get out of her was that she made a mistake one night while travelling in Europe, and she didn’t even tell me that much until I was in college.”
Her Greek father had left her something. An inheritance.
A man whom she had spent many nights pondering and making up stories about. But if he knew about his daughter - if he cared, why didn’t he contact her before he died?
Peter had his arm around her shoulder and was attempting to console her.
“I mean, I guessed he must have been Mediterranean - Spanish or Italian even. She had red hair. I have black. I tan, she’d burn and burst into a million freckles. But we were a lot alike, so I never really focused too much on our differences. God, I wish I had nagged her more. My friends always jokingly called me a Grecian goddess. I didn’t know they were actually right. About the Greek part I mean.”
She had called Peter because he was supposed to be the person she’d call in these situations, but a hell of a lot of good it was doing her. She wanted to be angry at him for just sitting there and listening, but what else could he do?
There wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do. Not now. Her father had been alive when her mother was dead, could have contacted her, could have formed a bond, but had chosen not to.
Instead he had left it up to a lawyer.
How many nights had she spent wondering who he was?
