Single for the Summer: The perfect feel-good romantic comedy set on a Greek island

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘You created a fake Greek boyfriend?’

  Andras could see she was struggling. It was as if there was something she wanted to tell him, but sharing it was going to cause her pain. He could not imagine what it was. But, as much as he wanted to know, he was not prepared to push her now. And, really, it was not his business.

  She smiled at him. ‘Now, Andras, that was your idea, not mine.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, holding his hands up and smiling back.

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t a more appropriate match,’ she told him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well,’ Tess said, picking up the bottle of wine and pouring some into her glass, then a little in a spare glass for him. ‘Imagine if your mother’s Internet search had discovered I was a virginal, Greek-cooking enthusiast who spends her weekends tending her garden.’

  Andras shook his head. ‘If she found out that she would know this was not real.’

  ‘No?’ Tess said, looking at him quizzically.

  ‘No,’ he replied, leaning forward a little. ‘That is not the sort of woman I have an interest in, and Mama knows that.’

  ‘So, what sort of woman do you have an interest in?’ Tess asked.

  She took a sip of her wine but her eyes didn’t leave his and he felt something stir inside him. In truth, Tess was exactly his type in every single way and that was just starting to scare him more than the thought of being set up with Marietta.

  ‘My mother is a strong woman,’ he began.

  ‘You’re looking for someone just like your mother!’ Tess exclaimed.

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘No, that is not what I meant.’

  ‘Then …’

  ‘My mother thinks that to be strong you must be in charge,’ he elaborated. ‘But to me, strength does not mean forcing or bullying. Strength is something that comes from the soul.’ He watched her expression. She was watching him intently, those sapphire-coloured eyes studying his.

  ‘Is that right?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘I think so. I think some people are born with inner strength but for others … well, I think it comes from surviving. From going through times where you did not feel you were strong but something made you hold on and regrow, and then you knew you would make sure you did not feel that way again.’

  ‘No expectation on your shoulders,’ Tess added.

  ‘Well, I think there will always be some kind of expectation from somewhere,’ he answered. ‘Because you cannot change other people, especially people like my mother.’

  ‘But if there’s no one in your life then you can’t let anyone down,’ Tess blurted out.

  He baulked. ‘What?’

  What had she just said? Tess shifted on her seat. This was again tiptoeing ever closer to a truth she didn’t visit. She had to regroup.

  ‘Nothing. I just mean, you know, you not dating, not getting involved … there’s no handholding, breakfast-making expectations to live up to.’ She topped up her wine glass again, even though there was no need. ‘Anyway, we are digressing. You were telling me what you look for in a woman.’

  ‘I think the conversation began because you were apologising for not being a virginal gardener.’ He smiled. Those thick, luscious lips widening to show pristine teeth.

  ‘I make no apologies for that.’

  ‘Good,’ Andras answered. ‘I am glad.’ He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. It took half a second before she realised what had happened and she was stuck between shifting her hand away and holding on tight.

  He let her go and her hand was left there, looking awkward between the salt and pepper cellars. She drew it back.

  ‘Let me take you out,’ Andras said.

  ‘I am out,’ Tess replied, fingers going to her hair.

  ‘After dinner. Late. When my restaurant is closed.’

  Her insides squeezed together involuntarily. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

  ‘I want to,’ he replied. ‘I know this great club. I haven’t been there for so long. We can dance. We can just forget all this wedding and family stuff.’ He smiled. ‘Let me show you how much fun Greece can be.’

  Tess opened her mouth not really knowing what was going to come out of it. The more she looked at him the more she was thinking about all the sorts of fun they could have minus their clothes. Cheap thrills and no expectation other than total physical satisfaction.

  ‘What’s this about fun?’

  Sonya’s reappearance at the table stopped Tess saying anything at all. Now she concentrated on trying to read her friend’s expression. What had happened with Joey? Had there been tears? Was that a smile?

  ‘To apologise, for the behaviour of my mother, I would like to take you out tonight,’ Andras said, standing up and moving the chair for Sonya to retake her seat.

  ‘We don’t have to go,’ Tess said immediately. ‘I told Andras there was no need for an apology.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t we want to go?’ Sonya asked, sitting down and picking up her wine. ‘I haven’t been dancing in ages and, what’s good enough for Joey at Maxim’s – despite him telling me for years he doesn’t like nightclubs …’ There was a bit of a lip wobble.

  ‘Well, I don’t know. I just thought …’ What had she thought? That the more time she spent with this man, the more she craved the entire male catalogue of Hooked Up? She shook her head as if trying to eradicate the feeling. ‘We can go if you want to.’

  ‘Great,’ Andras said. ‘My friend Fotis will drive us in his truck. Meet me at the restaurant at midnight.’

  He had made it sound like an assignation with a secret agent. A dirty, sexy secret agent. Where was the wine waiter? Her glass had been empty for what felt like hours.

  ‘A truck,’ Sonya said. ‘Another something to get my leg over.’

  ‘I must get back,’ Andras said, making to leave. ‘Oh.’ He turned back to the table, looking directly at Tess. ‘You are still thinking of a company name for the clients with wine bars?’

  She nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

  He smiled then. ‘It is probably not the right kind of thing, but I was thinking … Black Velvet.’

  It was like time had stopped and tumbleweed was about to come rolling across the floor. It was simple. It was smooth and suave, dark and enticing. She was already imagining a swirl of ribbon writing and an elegant glass in the branding. How had he done that? She was supposed to be the marketing guru!

  ‘That’s it!’ Sonya exclaimed. ‘That’s the name!’

  Tess swallowed, a little overawed but in absolutely no doubt that Sonya was right.

  Forty-four

  Passion Nightclub, Kassiopi

  ‘No one mentioned anything about it being a foam party!’ Sonya shrieked over the thumping beat of a Calvin Harris track.

  Tess laughed. Her friend’s red hair and half her face were coated with surf-like bubbles as they danced in the very middle of this compact sweatbox of a nightclub. It was good though. Like Andras had promised.

  They had clambered into Fotis’s truck just after midnight and it really had been a proper truck. Squeezed into the cab, a line of truck-driving trophies fixed to the dashboard, the very crazy, somewhere-near-twenty-stone Fotis had bounced them over the mountain to the village of Kassiopi. Even in the dark it was picturesque. Fishing boats and larger tourist vessels bobbed on the water in the harbour, glowing lamps lit the whole area and above them, on the hillside, were the ruins of a fortress, Greek flag still flying from its crumbling walls. Only the pumping disco sounds from Passion Nightclub stirred the darkness. It was just set back from the harbour and, as it was the only nightclub here, it was packed.

  And now she was in the thick of the crowd, caught up in the group euphoria that came from hot, sunshine days, the holiday spirit and the accompanying ouzo served in shot glasses. This was better than any club she had been to in London. The vibe was so relaxed, everyone carefree and just enjoying the music. However, Andras, his dark hair damp, tendrils licking over
his forehead, his shirt wet and slightly see-through where the froth had soaked it, was not adding to the chilled theme. His moves were melting her like a Magnum ice cream left out in the sun. She knew he was a good dancer from his Greek display the very first night they met but there it was for a crowd, here it was just him having fun and letting go. And if there was one thing Greek men seemed to do, it was let go. This was no conservative-side-stepping-back-and-forth-wondering-who-was-judging-you-dancing. This was every-single-sinew-working-like-Beyoncé-dancing. And it was hot!

  ‘So, Sonya!’ Tess called, turning away from Andras, stepping closer to her gyrating friend and dipping her head to her ear. ‘Are you going to try calling Joey again?’

  Sonya shook her head. ‘Not tonight.’

  She supposed that was the best idea. After twenty-three attempts to get him to pick up before dessert at the White House, maybe a little time-distance and sleeping on it was the best idea.

  ‘Sonya! You dance with me!’ Fotis had appeared in their circle, a big grin on his face, perspiration slicking his hair. He was so tall and so round, it was like dancing next to a circus strongman.

  ‘I won’t leave you,’ Tess murmured.

  ‘You will,’ Sonya said. ‘I’ll have another one of those Path Shooters.’

  ‘Alley Shooters,’ Tess corrected.

  ‘Yes! Ow, tennis elbow!’ Sonya said, as Fotis took her hand and shot her arm up into the air as the strobes started to flash.

  Tess shimmied her way through the dancing throng to the bar area, positioning herself to wait for attention. The amount of wine she had consumed with dinner, plus aperitifs before they left Georgiou’s and now two shots down, she was starting to feel a little buzzed.

  ‘Hi.’

  The Eastern-European accent made her turn her head and she smiled at the twenty-something, blond-haired guy on her right. ‘Hi.’

  ‘My name is Stefan,’ he greeted.

  ‘Hello,’ Tess answered, waving in an attempt to attract a member of the bar staff.

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tess answered. ‘The music is very loud. I can’t hear you.’

  He put a meaty hand on her arm. ‘What is your name?’ he repeated, leaning in close. He smelled of sweat, beer and gyros. It wasn’t a good mix.

  ‘Patricia,’ she said. That had tripped off the tongue.

  ‘Patricia,’ he breathed, more fumes heading her way.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am Stefan.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You would like to dance close to me.’

  It was worrying he hadn’t ended the sentence with a question mark. She shook her head.

  ‘I think you would like this,’ Stefan said. The thick fingers were back on her arm, this time spidering their way up towards her shoulder. She shrugged off the advance and took a step away, waving a twenty-euro note at anyone behind the bar who was going to deliver alcohol.

  ‘Come on,’ Stefan said. ‘Come and dance with me.’

  This time there was nothing subtle about his moves. He lunged forward, body blocking her, hands primed to rove.

  Tess stood her ground. ‘You touch me again and the only thing you will be dancing with is a medical professional.’

  He stayed where he was, so close his perspiring body was almost touching hers. She needed him to back off now. She wasn’t sure she remembered whether you went for the balls or the windpipe first in self-defence.

  And then, suddenly, Stefan was tipping back, moving away from her like he was being forklifted. A few people gasped, drinks spilled and it took a second for Tess to catch up with what was going on. Andras had Stefan by the shirt and was manhandling him towards the exit, just as one of her favourite Zara Larsson tracks came on.

  She muttered apologies to clubbers as she hurried through the writhing bodies in a bid to catch up. Then, as she got closer to the entrance she fell out of the revelling crowd just in time to see Andras pushing Stefan towards the doormen, yelling something unintelligible. Was that Greek? English? She couldn’t tell. But when he turned around she was shocked by just how furious Andras looked. Hair a little displaced, shoulders wide, he moved towards her.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  His voice was thick with anxiety. It took a second to respond. ‘No,’ she answered, swallowing as his tone affected her. Then fight mode kicked in. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he questioned loudly. ‘That guy, he was bothering you. If I hadn’t come over he—’

  ‘If you hadn’t come over!’ Tess snorted. ‘I’m quite capable of looking after myself!’

  ‘It did not seem that way.’

  Suddenly she was overcome by just how hot she was. The club atmosphere began to close in on her skin, a wave of humidity rolling over her. She eyed the doors and took a step forward. ‘I’m going to get some fresh air.’

  ‘You can’t,’ Andras said, grabbing her hand.

  ‘I can do whatever I want,’ Tess stated.

  ‘The guy has just been thrown out of the club. He will be out there. He will be waiting for a taxi …’

  She tutted and brushed past him, heading for the doors.

  Forty-five

  Andras’s whole body was racing as he followed Tess to the door. When he had seen that man touching her, leaning in so close, looking like he wanted to … well, he had felt enraged. Completely and utterly furious and unable to do anything to control his immediate, base reaction. Those feelings were persisting and, for some reason, he couldn’t ignore them.

  ‘Tess,’ he called, going through the door behind her as she pushed her way outside.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she answered, stepping out onto the road and making for the paved path that led to the harbour. ‘Just a bit hot and needing five minutes.’ She stopped walking once she had reached the very edge and stood, looking out over the boats, the lights from Limani bar across the water casting a rainbow reflection on the surface of the sea. He wanted to touch her hair. He wanted to smooth his hands down her arms and wipe every trace of that man from her. Instead he put his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stood alongside her.

  ‘The things your mother and Marietta found out about me on the Internet, they’re all true,’ Tess suddenly spoke.

  He didn’t answer straightaway. He had come to know that sometimes, to get more from Tess, you needed to wait a little, let her settle with her own words.

  ‘The longest I ever stay with anyone is six weeks.’

  He watched her shoulders roll, as if letting that information go had lightened her whole being. She sighed, her head turning slightly towards him. Still he remained quiet.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ Tess asked, turning a little more.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ Andras whispered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘Something. Anything.’ She threw her arms up in the air. ‘I suppose … I want you to know what sort of person I am.’ She nodded then. ‘Yes, I want you to know that my life is my work. I love my work. And I date lots of men because I can and … I don’t care what anyone thinks about that.’ She sniffed as if it was a final conclusion.

  ‘But you wish me to comment on this?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, seeing as you seemed to feel the need to attack a man for talking to me, I just thought you needed a sharp reminder that we are not a real love-struck couple who met on a sun-drenched beach back in the spring.’

  She was right, of course. He had overstepped the mark, crossed the boundaries and what was worst of all, he didn’t want to acknowledge exactly why.

  ‘I do not need any reminder,’ he answered.

  ‘No?’ Tess shot back.

  ‘No,’ he replied.

  She was looking at him now, those cobalt eyes latched onto his, her chin showing defiance, her button nose giving off cute, her lips set to sexy …

  He caught her mouth up in his, feeling that same sweet, ero
tic taste he had first experienced in his own restaurant in front of everyone he knew. He should stop. He should pull back. He should not have his hands in her hair, smoothing her jawline as he brushed the strands away from her face. Her hands were on him too now, one smoothing over his shoulder, slipping beneath the wet material of his shirt, the other tracing a fingertip path down the back of his neck. His whole body was on fire, craving to get closer to her …

  ‘You have to have sex with me, Andras,’ Tess whispered. ‘That’s what we have to do.’ She kissed his lips again. ‘That’s all we have to do.’

  Just the thought of very slowly sliding down the zip at the back of that figure-hugging dress she was wearing was making him hard. She was beautiful. She was strong and opinionated. She was full of attitude, and life.

  ‘Touch me,’ she begged. The need in her voice was pushing all his buttons. He snaked a hand over her breast, then began sliding over the flat of her stomach reaching lower.

  ‘We just need to do this,’ Tess whispered. ‘And then … we can both move on.’

  It was like someone had turned on a searchlight. The dark, soft-lit harbour night, jasmine on the breeze, had suddenly turned into Interrogation Room 101 for him. He let her go, slipping out of her embrace, and putting his hands firmly back in his pockets.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Tess asked, her lips shaping into a pout.

  ‘This isn’t right,’ he answered.

  ‘It was feeling more than right from where I was standing.’ She folded her arms across her chest.

  As much as his body was telling him he really needed this sexual workout, something else was telling him this was not the path to travel.

  ‘Why are you looking like that?’ Tess inquired.

  What did he say? Did he lie? Did he tell the truth? Which one would scare her more? Which one scared him less?

  ‘I had to react to the man in the club,’ he said. ‘What if there was someone from my village in there? We are supposed to be dating.’ He looked at her then, to gauge her reaction.