His Greek Wedding Night Debt

by Michelle Smart

  Not waiting for a reply, he strolled out of the cramped living room and took the two steps to the door he’d opened earlier when looking for a dining room.

  There was no lock on the door, he noted before spotting the bath filled with water and the few straggling bubbles that had yet to evaporate.

  Sitting on the bath’s edge, Theo covered his face and took the ten breaths he needed to regain his equilibrium. It was a trick his mother had taught him in childhood when she’d determined his temper would get him into trouble if he didn’t learn to curb it, and he credited it with helping him through the worst of the nightmare days after his parents’ death. It was a trick he’d employed again when Helena had left him.

  By the time he’d reached number ten, the angst knotting in his stomach had eased and he could examine her poky bathroom without wanting to sweep all her stuff onto the floor and crush it under his feet.

  But there wasn’t much to sweep and crush even if he wanted to. The small wall cabinet contained a handful of cosmetics, make-up remover, day cream, night cream and a spare tube of toothpaste.

  There was no discernible reason why the sparsity of her possessions should make him feel so cramped inside.

  There was no discernible reason why Helena’s tiny flat as a whole should make him feel so disquieted. How she chose to live was none of his business. That she’d suffered financially these last few years was none of his business either.

  Leaving the bathroom, he went back to the living room.

  Helena was still curled up on the armchair, hugging a cushion. She didn’t look at him.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ he informed her.

  That made her look. There was a vulnerability to her stare that threatened to constrict his throat but he fought through it successfully before it could take root.

  He picked up his coat from the back of the sofa and shrugged his arms into it. ‘My PA will be in touch tomorrow about the contract and to make the arrangements.’

  She pushed her glasses up her nose with a trembling hand and turned her face away. ‘’Bye, then.’

  ‘Kalinikta, agapi mou.’

  Theo walked the narrow hallway, doing up the buttons of his overcoat as he went. When he reached the front door, soft footsteps followed in his wake.

  Helena stood behind him. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked.

  He closed the gap between them and stared at the upturned face. The beautiful face he’d fallen in love with all those years ago... Incredibly, time had only made it more exquisite. He stroked a finger along a high cheekbone, relishing the tiny quiver she wasn’t quick enough to disguise. ‘You promised to design me a house for my peninsula,’ he murmured. And then he leaned down to whisper into her ear. ‘And you still owe me a wedding night.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WHEN THE JET touched down on the Agon runway, Helena squeezed her eyes shut. If she didn’t look out of the window she could pretend she was still in London and that the nightmare she’d just flown into wasn’t real.

  The last leg of her journey to the island went as smoothly as the first leg had. She was escorted off Theo’s private plane and whisked into an ultra-sleek, ultra-expensive car, which in turn whisked her to the harbour, where she was escorted onto an ultra-sleek and ultra-expensive yacht. Before she even had time to blink, the yacht was slicing through the Mediterranean.

  An hour after they set sail, land appeared on the horizon.

  Sidiro. The most magical island in the world.

  Heart thumping and memories assailing her, Helena sucked in a large breath and was glad of her phone vibrating, distracting her. She had two messages. The first was from her mother, wishing her luck. They’d managed only a short get-together at a coffee shop since Theo had waltzed into Helena’s flat. She’d confided everything to her, reassuring her mother that she had nothing to be sorry about—if she hadn’t given him Helena’s address he would have got it another way. Privately, Helena had come to the conclusion that getting her address from her mother had been a fishing expedition for Theo. Her mother, her eyes sad, had made her promise to be careful. In return, Helena had made her promise to think, again, about leaving her father. She didn’t hold out much hope but she had to try. She’d given her mother a key to her flat the day she moved in, hoping that one day she would use it. Her hopes had so far been forlorn.

  The other message was from Stanley, asking how the journey had gone. His kindness squeezed her heart, as it always did. How different would her life be—would she be—if she’d grown up with a man like Stanley as a father? To have a father whose only objective in parenting was his child’s well-being and happiness rather than someone whose only objective was to mould his child as he’d moulded his wife into his version of perfection?

  But it was as pointless wishing for a different father as it was wishing to erase other aspects of her past.

  Three weeks of maniacal planning for this had allowed her to shove from her mind exactly where she was going. Whenever a snapshot of her time on Sidiro had flitted into her mind she’d simply taken a deep breath to counteract the lance of pain and blinked the memory away.

  An isolated, horseshoe-shaped, hilly island that would be fortunate to be named in the top one hundred Greek islands by the general public and even then only for its cheese, Sidiro was a tiny dot on the map with a population barely touching two thousand. The majority of said population were involved in the business of tending goats and making and exporting cheese.

  However, Sidiro had a secret. Its isolation, along with its pristine white sandy beaches, iron-filled rocks that glowed orange under the sun and from which the island got its name, turquoise waters and spectacular sunsets, had seen it become a mecca for wealthy but discerning party-lovers who found the raucous nightlife of Europe’s more notorious nightspots unsavoury. For two months each summer, rich, young, beautiful people sailed across the globe to party in their own secret paradise. One of those partygoers and a founder of this party scene was none other than Theo Nikolaidis, whose mother had been born on the island.

  Just a few weeks after they’d met, Theo had taken Helena to Sidiro for a long weekend that had stretched to a month.

  It had been on this paradise that he’d first mentioned his dream of turning the three-kilometre-square peninsula off Sidiro’s eastern tip, long cut off from Sidiro itself and reached by a five-minute boat ride or a very long swim, into a home to raise a family. The peninsula had many years ago been abandoned by his mother’s family, who’d moved to Agon in search of better opportunities, but the now derelict land itself remained in the family.

  She remembered exploring the peninsula with him. He’d taken her to an old abandoned shepherd’s hut nestled in the most perfect spot, giving a spectacular view of the Mediterranean and shelter from the worst of the elements. This was the spot, Theo had decreed, where they would build their home and raise their family.

  More memories flooded her and, to Helena’s distress, hot tears stung the backs of her eyes.

  How could the afternoon sun blaze so brightly in the perfect blue sky? It should be hidden by thick, dark grey clouds like the ones that had hung over her these past three weeks.

  It felt as if she were sailing into a long-forgotten dream.

  She supposed that technically that was what she was doing. Once, she had shared the same dream for them. Dreams, she now knew, were whispers and impressions. Dreams were not real. They had no substance.

  The peninsula had a small harbour and that was where Helena’s first sailing adventure in three years came to an end. There was a flurry of activity as her cases and work equipment were loaded onto a golf cart, the only vehicular transport allowed on the island other than taxis and deliveries from the twice-weekly ferry. As she watched her possessions disappear from view, a growing speck in the distance caused the hairs on the nape of her neck to lift.

  Heart rising up her throat,
she kept her gaze fixed on the approaching scooter.

  Theo brought the scooter to a halt with a flourish and grinned. He’d watched Helena’s arrival from the hilltop with a mixture of emotions coursing through his blood. The strongest had been understandable satisfaction, followed closely by unfathomable bitterness. He’d never told her that his grandmother, thrilled at the thought of her only grandson making a life on the island of her birth, had signed over the deeds for the peninsula to him as a wedding present. He’d wanted to surprise Helena with it on their wedding day.

  His grandmother was delighted he was finally building on it. She’d adored Helena and had been devastated when she’d jilted him, something else he would never forgive Helena for.

  But he didn’t want to learn about forgiveness. He wanted that most American concept of closure.

  He had not anticipated how greatly seeing Helena again would affect him. Not on an emotional level, of course, but on a physical level, as if inhaling her perfume had retuned his senses to a greater pitch that heightened his every waking moment. He felt like the man he’d been before the jilting and it felt great. There was a zing in his veins, a strut in his walk, a greater appetite for food and stimulation whilst his boredom threshold had increased and he’d had to fight his own mind not to keep wandering off track. Theo employed a great team who were perfectly capable of keeping his many and varied businesses and interests going for a short while without him, but when he was present they looked to him for leadership. He’d had to drink a lot of caffeine to keep himself sharp and stop his wandering mind going off on too many tangents. But really, it was too delicious to imagine Helena going stir crazy as she made the arrangements needed for her trip back into his life.

  He knew how badly she’d wanted to say no to the commission and keep the door slammed on him for good.

  A flash of their final argument suddenly played in his head. It had come on the heels of a lunch with her parents, a lunch that was supposed to be the last meal they shared before separating for the night to avoid the bad luck that plagued newlyweds foolish enough to see each other before exchanging their vows. If he caught so much as a glimpse of Helena after the sun rose and before they stood before the bishop, they would be cursed with a plague of locusts or some other such nonsense. It was a tradition he’d been willing to honour because Helena had wanted it.

  She’d returned to the house with him to get her overnight bag and, he’d thought, for a few minutes of privacy before they separated for the night. Her wedding dress had been sent directly to the hotel Helena and her family were staying at that night. Theo had booked the whole top floor for them.

  Instead of the loving words and promises he’d anticipated, she’d turned on him about an innocuous comment he’d made to her father about babies. Theo had taught Helena to argue in their time together and to begin with he’d enjoyed watching his usually possessed fiancée unravel.

  ‘You want me to quit work! You want me barefoot and pregnant in a kitchen...’

  The imagery had provoked a burst of wild laughter from him. Helena? In a kitchen? As if that would ever happen, pregnant or otherwise.

  ‘You think that’s funny?’ she’d shrieked. ‘None of this is funny! I thought you were supportive of my career.’

  ‘I am!’ he’d shouted back, blissfully unaware that it was his relationship as well as his fiancée unravelling around him. Hadn’t he framed that first picture of the palace he’d so admired? Hadn’t he told her he wanted her to design their home when the peninsula became his? Hadn’t he found all the information needed so she could finish her masters in Greece? Hadn’t he found the perfect firm at which to do her final year’s placement in Agon? How much more supportive could he be?

  ‘Then why tell my father that as soon as I get my qualifications, you’ll have me pregnant and under your watch all the time? I heard you!’

  ‘Of course you heard me—I winked at you when I said it. I was joking,’ he reiterated for the fourth time. ‘It was a clumsy effort to bond with your father. I wish I hadn’t bothered.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t bothered too. Many a true word is said in jest and that was a jest too far. I’m not ready for children.’

  ‘You said you wanted them!’

  ‘And maybe I will in the future, but not yet. I’m too young, there’s too much I want to—’

  ‘So it’s all about you, is it? What about the plans we’ve already made?’

  ‘The plans you’ve made, you mean! You keep steamrollering me—’

  ‘I consult you on everything—’

  ‘After the fact! You only hear what you want to hear. When I said I wanted children I never said I wanted them straight away.’

  ‘Not straight away, matia mou,’ he’d pounced, spotting the opening needed to placate her, ‘but once you have your qualifications.’ See how reasonable he could be? ‘We can enjoy each other for two more years and then we can—’

  ‘And then I can be under your thumb and under your control.’

  The rest of the argument was a blur in his mind but he remembered with utter clarity the moment she’d pulled her engagement ring off her finger and thrown it at him.

  ‘I thought you were different,’ Helena had screamed. She’d been unreachable. He remembered the colour of her face, the wildness in her eyes... ‘But you’re not. You’re just like my father and I will not marry a man who wants to control me and make decisions for me. You can shove this engagement where the sun doesn’t shine. I quit! And do not follow me. I never want to see you again!’

  He’d laughed at her. He’d even shut the car door that had driven her away and waved her off for good measure. Not for a second had he thought she was serious. He’d expected her to stew for a few hours then come to her senses. He’d carried her engagement ring in his pocket to the cathedral, ready to slip it back into its rightful place when she joined him at the altar.

  He’d never dreamt that the throwing of her ring at his chest would be the last direct contact between them in three years.

  The most enjoyable part of these past few weeks had been lying in his bed at night knowing that Helena had been lying in her bed thinking about him. Whether she liked it or not, he’d gatecrashed his way back into her thoughts and thrown her orderly life into the chaos she so detested.

  Now she wouldn’t be able to leave until he said so. Now Theo was the one who held the power, and he intended to have as much fun as he could extract from it.

  He looked her up and down, taking in the sensible, businesslike knee-length skirt and scrupulously buttoned black shirt that must be boiling her alive. He smiled. Poor Helena—she’d obviously dressed like a governess to repel him, but it didn’t matter what she wore, she would always look good enough to eat. Just remembering her taste sent a charge careering through his veins. What he wouldn’t give to peel those goody-goody clothes off and rediscover the creamy-textured golden skin and all her other hidden surprises.

  ‘Good trip?’ he asked when he’d feasted his eyes on her for long enough.

  Eyes narrowing and cheeks burning under the weight of his blatant approval, she shrugged. ‘It could have been worse.’

  He laughed at this understatement and patted the space behind him. ‘You know what to do.’

  Her face darkened further. ‘I’m not riding on that thing.’

  ‘You never minded before.’

  ‘I was young and stupid then,’ she retorted.

  ‘Maturity is an overrated quality.’

  ‘If you say so. I’m not getting on it without a helmet.’

  He suppressed another burst of laughter that he’d correctly anticipated that particular argument from her. ‘There’s one in the box.’

  ‘Are there leathers for me to change into?’

  ‘There’s no traffic and the scooter whines if I push it to more than twenty kilometres an hour.’

  �
��I’ll take that as a no, then.’ She sniffed and folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’ll wait for the golf buggy to come back.’

  He shook his head regretfully. ‘It isn’t coming back.’

  Her eyes narrowed into slits. ‘Fine. I’ll walk.’

  He looked at her feet. ‘In those shoes?’ Helena was wearing a pair of black heels that were about as useful and appropriate for walking distances as an ice cube.

  Her chin jutted. ‘Yes.’

  He let her obstinacy hang for a moment before pointing at the white dwelling with the blue roof far in the distance on the hilltop. ‘That’s where you need to walk to.’

  Her eyes widened a fraction but she managed a brittle smile. ‘That’s fine. I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want a ride?’

  ‘Perfectly sure.’

  ‘Okay. Enjoy your walk.’ Thus saying, he turned the engine back on and did a U-turn on the single track.

  ‘You should wear a helmet,’ Helena suddenly shouted at his retreating form. ‘Mind you, if you were to fall, it might knock some sense into your thick head.’

  His laughter as he rode away swirled into the dust his acceleration created.

  Cursing under her breath, Helena put one foot in front of the other and followed the trail left by Theo’s scooter.

  If she’d known she was going to have to walk she’d have grabbed her trainers from her suitcase before it was whipped away. She’d have taken her sunhat too and applied more sunscreen.

  It was late afternoon but the sun still blazed down. She could feel its rays penetrating her scalp and thought what an excellent start to her stay sunstroke would be.

  Minutes later she’d folded her skirt up at the waist, undone the top three buttons of her shirt, tied the bottom into a knot around her belly and rolled the sleeves up, yet she still felt as if she’d been placed in a boil-in-the-bag.

  She was still cursing both her own stubbornness and Theo’s deviousness under her shortening breath ten minutes later when she heard the scooter’s distinctive engine nearing.