Aphrodite's Stand

by Sandra Scott

  APHRODITE’S

  STAND

  SANDRA SCOTT

  APHRODITE’S STAND

  Copyright © 2017 Sandra Scott.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  iUniverse

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.iuniverse.com

  1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  ISBN: 978-1-5320-3464-0 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5320-3466-4 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5320-3465-7 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017917744

  iUniverse rev. date: 11/30/2017

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  Epilogue

  This book is

  dedicated to Mike and Andra.

  Mike inspired me to learn more about Greek culture, and he introduced me to his lovely wife, who gave me permission to use her beautiful name.

  A special acknowledgment to

  Jonelle, LaSchelle, LaTrice, Sonya, Vallerie, and Kenisha,

  the classy women who suffered through my first rough draft of this book, willingly sacrificed their time and withstood abuse of their sagacious senses to be my beta readers, and gave me valuable input for the finished product.

  Last but certainly not least, I dedicate this book to my heavenly Father; his son, Jesus Christ; and the Holy Spirit, to whom all the honor and glory is given.

  In remembrance of

  Herman Scott, Nathan Scott, and Johnny Felder Jr.

  Gone but never forgotten.

  Also for Sharron,

  a busy wife, mother, and caregiver who is also one of my editors, a spiritual sister, and the dearest friend anyone could ever have.

  I cherish you.

  What is that which most seek yet are unwilling to embrace once it is found?

  The truth.

  Jesus responded, “All who love the truth recognize that what I say is true.”

  “What is truth?” Pilate asked.

  —John 18:37–38

  PROLOGUE

  They say the first step on any journey ultimately leads to one’s doom.

  Did “they” actually say that, or is it something you just conjured up? Andra Williams chewed her bottom lip and then caught herself before she wreaked havoc on her perfectly applied lip gloss. Shoot, I don’t know.

  She looked around. Are you sure about this?

  The question piggybacked on other nagging thoughts, and with each passing second, her uncertainty increased. Desperate, she searched her mind’s tumultuous depths, trying to find anything that resembled a reasonable answer. To her dismay, she couldn’t.

  She swallowed the nervous hiccup that followed on the heels of her accelerated breathing. It’s not too late. You can turn around and—

  “Andra, did you hear me?”

  The female spoke quietly yet delivered her words with icicle sharpness. Each pierced Andra’s ear canal like a shard of glass. Racine, her younger sister, leaned in closer, her rigid mouth projecting a fine mist that sprinkled Andra’s earlobe.

  “Sis, are you sure about this?”

  Racine’s question startled her—not so much because of its claustrophobic proximity but because it echoed her own thoughts.

  Andra hated when Racine read her mind.

  Am I? she thought. Am I sure?

  The truth was—no, she wasn’t sure.

  Andra’s pulse sped up, competing with her rapid breathing, the combination pushing her toward hyperventilation. Frantic, she performed a nosedive into the miniature white roses she held and breathed deeply. She then went the extra mile by mouthing a prayer, hoping the combination would anesthetize her nerves.

  It didn’t.

  “Please think about this, Andra,” Racine pleaded, her previous ire replaced by a quiet desperation. “Hey, daydreamer, are you listening to me?”

  The roses trembled. Light perspiration popped across her forehead, but she dared not wipe it, for fear of messing up her makeup.

  Andra swallowed a whimper, while stifling the urge to bite into perfectly manicured fingernails. Beside her, Racine shifted on impatient feet, waiting for an answer to a question that, quite frankly, Andra considered a rhetorical one. She was determined to assert her right as the older sister, so she chose not to respond.

  This was her day; she wasn’t about to let the brat ruin it.

  Laying imaginary odds on a bet she knew she’d win, Andra anticipated more doomsday whispers from her sister. Nope, not gonna have it! Discreetly, she applied an elbow to Racine’s ribs. Her nervousness temporarily forgotten, she choked back a giggle at Racine’s “Oomph!”

  “Boy, you’d better be glad …” Racine grumbled, nursing her bruised side.

  Glad about what? Andra wondered. I could only imagine!

  Flashing a victory smile Racine’s way, she looked to her right.

  Jayson.

  A classical face displayed a high, aristocratic forehead and cream-colored skin that glowed beneath a headful of thick black hair. Jayson’s eyes—Oh, his eyes!—were arresting. They were the color of rich, swirling chocolate, re
ady to spill into the blackest of midnight.

  Jayson’s looks, manner, and stature were reminiscent of his country’s legendary Greek gods—and he was only moments away from being all hers.

  That’s a good thing, right?

  His dark irises shone brightly with a hunger that left Andra breathless. Soon her anxiety gave way to an animalistic desire, and she glanced away. However, seconds later, her eyes magnetically returned. Shivering with delight, she surrendered to his captive stare.

  “You look beautiful,” he mouthed.

  His stare intensified. A different rhythm now drove her heartbeat, its tempo flowing into her ear and throat canals to simulate a deaf-and-dumb state.

  From what seemed a great distance, she heard Jayson’s response to the question asked of him.

  “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

  This is such a major step, girl, Andra thought.

  A humongous one. Andra imagined telepathic agreement from Racine, who now stood perfectly rigid. This is nuts! You have no right to do this to the family.

  Yes, Andra knew it was crazy—the craziest thing she’d ever done in her characteristically sane, if not monotonous, life. Yet because it was so crazy, maybe it couldn’t be anything but right?

  At the sound of her name, her eyes locked onto the officiating minister’s kind face.

  “Do you take this man, Jayson Theonopilus, as your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “You mean awfully wedded, don’t you?” Racine mocked for Andra’s ears alone.

  Andra Williams, what do you know about love? Do you really want to do this?

  “Yes,” she said with 95 percent surety. “I do.”

  Separating her fingers, Andra presented her hand to Jayson. His face sober, he reached forth with his own—so pale in contrast to hers—and tenderly slipped on a diamond-arrayed platinum wedding band. He maneuvered it halfway up and stopped. With an exaggerated frown, he struggled to push it past her knuckle.

  “Quit playing,” she said, attempting to keep a straight face.

  Grinning, he winked and finished shifting the ring into place.

  She next placed a matching band on his left ring finger.

  Beside her, Racine sighed heavily.

  The minister concluded the intimate ceremony by pronouncing them husband and wife.

  She finally exhaled; her lips parting as she waited for Jayson to claim them.

  I’m a twenty-six-year-old virgin, Andra thought. After tonight, I can retire that title for good.

  His well-sculptured hands pulled her in. As their lips touched, she sighed in both ecstasy and agony.

  Jayson was Greek. Andra was black.

  What have we gotten ourselves into?

  As their kiss deepened, the force behind it pushed aside her sister’s vehement objections while hardly leaving any breathing room for her own doubts.

  She could hear giggly oohs and aahs across the sanctuary.

  “Jeez!” Racine rattled her bridesmaid bouquet as if ready to pitch it at them. “Get a room, why don’t you?”

  “Oh, we will,” Andra said against her husband, causing him to pull back with laughter. “Gladly.”

  “Family and friends, let us celebrate.” The minister smiled, prompting Andra and Jayson to face those gathered inside the small chapel. “I’d like to introduce to you for the rest of their lives Mr. and Dr. Jayson Theonopilus.”

  Was she sure?

  Glancing at her wedding rings, Andra looked up to stare at a room filled with grinning faces. Bravely, she reciprocated with a shaky smile.

  She guessed that question didn’t matter much anymore.

  1

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard overseas flight 2638 to Athens, Greece. This will be a full flight, so please store your items in the overhead bins, and then take your seats as quickly as possible. We suggest you try to position your carry-ons efficiently in order to accommodate all passengers. Once again, I repeat: this will be a full flight. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  The intercom voice continued its drone, commending everyone for choosing that particular airline and assuring the boarding passengers they would have a wonderful and safe flight.

  Obediently, Andra lifted her black medical bag and, with fumbling hands, attempted to efficiently maneuver the case into the overhead compartment.

  “Pardon me, miss.”

  A male passenger pivoted sideways in the aisle to avoid coming into contact with her bottom but still managed to brush against it anyway. She threw a sizzling glare over her shoulder, and as the man intercepted it, he produced a lopsided grin as an apology. Then, as if tipping an imaginary hat in gratitude for the impromptu contact, he continued his stroll toward the restroom a few rows down.

  Her hands curling into fists, Andra thought, Jackass. Then she willed her fingers to uncurl. Peasant girl, put that on a slow burn.

  Exhaling, she mentally made way for genteel Lady Andra; it was she who refused to get off her queenly throne, chase the prick down the aisle, and belt him one. Still, before she had a chance to settle into true sovereign mode, jostling from another passenger forced Her Ladyship to abdicate the throne and gladly return it to peasant Andra.

  She swore under her breath. Not caring anymore if her black bag took up more room than necessary, she shoved it into the bin’s corner and plopped herself down in her window seat. Suddenly, a boarding passenger wearing a white shirt tickled Andra’s peripheral vision. Its appearance pushed her anger to the side, making way for guilt. Thoughts of future patients traipsing with familiar regularity through her hospital’s ER, knowing she would be absent, made her feel like a mother hen who had deliberately abandoned her baby chicks.

  Sighing heavily, Andra reclined. Closing her eyes, she recalled her trek to the chief of medicine’s office to request a leave of absence. The hospital’s well-scrubbed corridors gleamed almost too brightly as she meandered along them, her hands stuffed inside her white smock’s pockets, her head down. It took more than the usual travel time to make it there, and upon her arrival, she shifted on nervous feet before the chief’s massive desk, feeling like a high-schooler called into the principal’s office.

  That day, Dr. Sherman graciously gave his approval for an indefinite leave of absence. Despite his agreement, she sensed the elder gentleman’s disappointment at her request, which forced her to accept his consent with an awkward thank-you and a quick exodus from his office.

  She sighed. Her memory of that visit piled on even more guilt than before.

  “Excuse me, miss. Is there anything I can do for you before we take off?” The man’s voice, slightly effeminate, was delightfully agreeable. “Anything at all?”

  Blinking, Andra took in a friendly face lit with pale anticipation. His sandy hair, although cut neatly enough, fell over his light brown eyes. Liking him instantly, she read his name tag.

  “Thank you, Keven. I’m fine.”

  Returning her smile, his eyes immediately rose to the open overhead bin. Excited, he pointed to her black medical bag.

  “Is that yours? Are you a real honest-to-goodness doctor?”

  Andra laughed. Using her pointer finger, she drew on her chest. “Cross my heart.”

  “And hope to die,” Keven said, finishing with a childlike flourish. He then glanced around and leaned forward to whisper, “But not on our airline, of course.”

  “Of course,” Andra said, laughing.

  He straightened, resting a pale hand on the headrest belonging to Jayson’s empty seat. “Doctor, if you don’t mind, I’d like to tell the other attendants about you. We’re always on the lookout for, for instance, physicians, policemen, or even pilots who’re traveling with us. You never know when we might need one.”

  “Okay by me.”

  “Good,” Keven said, nodding professionally. “Now, if there’s anything you n
eed, just let me know.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I will.”

  As the eager-to-please attendant moved on to greet other passengers, Andra diverted her attention to the small, round window and the activity on the tarmac beyond.

  A slow-moving tram pulled to a jerky stop just as three baggage personnel jumped off. With a brisk efficiency manufactured by routine, they unloaded luggage from the flat cargo bed, transferring each into the airplane’s belly as if racing against an invisible stopwatch. Studying the quickness with which they worked, she made a game of searching for her matching maroon cases.

  Unable to spot them, Andra gave up and faced forward. A coldness deep inside made her frame shiver as her mind involuntarily traveled back to the day Jayson had placed the dreaded international call that had introduced her to his Greek family.

  She harbored mixed feelings about the overseas conversation. Her lips produced a smile at the memory of speaking with Jayson’s father, Georigios Theonopilus; his tone had proven friendly, sporting a warm, charming accent.

  Her smile disappeared.

  Then there was Stefano Theonopilus.

  In contrast to his winsome father, Jayson’s older brother was cold and reticent.

  Andra shuddered as she replayed her conversation with him. While Jayson had stood close by, his face glowing with unaware delight, she’d forced Lady Andra onto center stage to put on a performance that would’ve rivaled any Oscar-winning act. She believed Lady A had done a fantastic job, despite Stefano’s bouts of unfriendly silence.

  Once the excruciating call had ended, she’d wanted to put the whole thing into rational perspective, but she found it difficult. From the day she and Jayson had tied the knot, an embryo of dread had planted itself inside her emotional womb, where it slowly grew, until finally, she’d given birth to out-and-out terror the moment she’d hung up from speaking with Stefano Theonopilus.