Ten Brides for Ten Hot Guys

by Donna Fasano

  “Sure.” She had to give it to Stefano. He was a generous and understanding boss who put his employees’ welfare ahead of the work’s demands.

  “Ashley.” A note of warning froze her steps. “Our deal holds until the blueprints are completely finished as you specified.”

  And then?

  Chapter 10

  The week of hard work had ended the day before and the whole team had celebrated at a nightclub on the beach. After a fun-filled evening with multiple ouzo drinks, bouzouki music, and syrtaki dances, Ashley enjoyed the ride to her hotel in Stefano’s shiny Ferrari. “Pretty car. Where did you hide it?” She carefully patted the dashboard.

  He chuckled at the admiration in her tone. “In the garage. Next to the company limo. Would you like me to show you...” But Ashley had laid her head on his shoulder and drifted off.

  “You’re home, sleeping beauty,” he said a moment later and walked her to her room. “Have a good night’s sleep. After all the ouzo we drank, you’re going to need it to avoid a hangover in the morning.” He smiled as she swayed against his side. “No meetings tomorrow. A day off for everyone.”

  “You’re always the perfect boss. No, not boss. Only colleague.” She groaned, her tongue heavy, not cooperating with her slow thoughts. “Stay...with you. I mean with me.”

  “Not tonight, sweetheart.” He laughed and kissed her soundly on the lips. He was fair with everyone. Except with her. She squinted at him. Why hadn’t he kissed her the right way? His old way? Had he already forgotten their wild lovemaking? Maybe he’d already lost interest?

  “Good night.” Disappointed by his detached behavior, she slammed the door in his face. Blood pounded furiously against her forehead. She changed and sprawled onto her bed.

  Sure enough the next morning, she nursed a bad headache with two cups of the strongest Greek coffee and a croissant brought by room service, followed by a long shower.

  The phone rang as she finished dressing. Grandpa’s jovial voice greeted her.

  “Yes, we worked all last week.” Ashley announced after a few questions about the old man’s health.

  “We? Who’s we? Was Kostapoulos present?” There was an edge to his voice.

  “Sometimes, yes. The whole team assigned to the project, architects, graphic designers, contractors, decorators, secretaries. About twenty people.” Enough people to fill the room and obscure the surface of her special table with laptops, folders, blueprints, and Styrofoam cups.

  “So you were never on your own with Kostapoulos?”

  Good thing her grandfather couldn’t see the heat reddening her cheeks. “Not a single minute.” At least not during the last week. She’d done her best to avoid dangerous tête-à-tête, and Stefano respected their deal.

  “When did you have the time to discuss things with Kostapoulos and give him your opinion?”

  “Don’t worry, Grandpa, I checked all the reports, made the changes I wanted, and handed him a typed and signed report.”

  “Hmm, you’re always the perfect lawyer.”

  “I try, Grandpa.”

  “Honey, you need to loosen up. I mean after work.”

  “I know you want me to find a special Greek man who’ll love me unconditionally. Unfortunately, they don’t make them like that anymore.”

  “Keep looking, sweetie. After work.”

  Give it to her grandfather to believe in dreams, in spite of the harsh reality. “Bye, now. Oh, before I forget, what do you want me to do with the suitcase of letters you made me bring to Greece?”

  “Ah, Elena’s letters.” A heavy sigh filled the line. “Take them to the Pink Villa. I want you to read all the letters. Mine and hers.”

  “But I don’t read Greek.”

  “They’re written in English. Elena learned it in her uppity school for rich girls, and I picked up several languages while working on the docks with foreign sailors, and later in America of course. We didn’t want the people around her to understand what we wrote. Show them to her grandson. I want him to see for himself how I loved and respected his grandmother. Maybe then, he’ll stop hating me.”

  “Grandpa, Stefano doesn’t hate you anymore.”

  “Stefano?” Shock jolted his voice an octave higher. “Is that what you call him now?”

  “Uh.” She rubbed her chin, not ready to confess feelings that would probably disappoint her grandfather. “Well, we’re all on a first name basis here. You know, like co-workers.”

  “No problem. I understand, sweetie.” To her relief he didn’t admonish her for getting chummy with his former enemy. “Anyway, take the letters to the Pink Villa and read them with Stefano. One from me, one from Elena. Alternate them. Choose a couple to frame for the future museum.”

  “Good idea.” She’d bet Stefano wouldn’t be interested in wasting time on reading old letters.

  “Now that the first phase is finished aren’t you going to celebrate?”

  “We did last night.”

  “Good, good. Bye, now.” Her grandfather’s voice sounded happy. The old house was really dear to his heart.

  “Bye. I’ll be on my way to your villa.”

  As soon as she hung up, she checked her purse for the Pink Villa’s keys and her camera. Today was a day off, according to Stefano. While everyone—especially Stefano—thought her asleep or resting, it might not be a bad idea to thoroughly examine the villa she’d hardly surveyed on her first day in Mykonos. The first time she’d visited, she hadn’t found the courage to brave the wild vegetation surrounding the old building like a ruthless invader. She’d just stood inside the gate, snapping a few pictures.

  Dragging the carry-on filled with Elena’s letters out of the hotel, Ashley hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of the Pink Villa. Twenty minutes later, the taxi stopped and the driver carried her small suitcase to the wrought-iron gate. “Careful, kyria. House old. Many cactuses.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be careful.” Not ready to scratch her bare legs on the thorns, she draped her beach towel over her clothes and carefully trudged through the neglected front yard. Heels digging in the mud, she navigated her way through weeds and shrubs, her hands pressing the towel against her skirt and legs to protect the linen material from vicious shredding. In front of the wooden door, she sighed with relief and rummaged in her purse for the key. Bracing herself for the worst, she opened the door, wondering what sort of dilapidation would greet her.

  Surprise rooted her in place in the tiny entry hall. In spite of the musty smell, the neatness of the villa contrasted with the rioting disorder of the yard. Leaving the door ajar, Ashley slowly padded into the living room and paused, somehow afraid to disturb the ghosts of the past. Two old-fashioned armchairs flanked a faded burgundy couch and a sailor chest completed the modest furnishing.

  Proceeding with her exploration, she surveyed a small bedroom with a double bed, a night table, and a dresser adorned with a green onyx lamp, and then entered a second room furnished with a table and two chairs. A basket full of U.S. stamped blue envelopes with her grandfather’s writing sat on the table next to a large notepad, a stack of unused white envelopes, and a roll of local stamps.

  A golden frame with a painting showing a lovely girl, probably in her late teens, hung on the wall, the only decoration in the house. Ashley focused on the pretty face, stunned by the happiness radiating from the beautiful blue eyes and the incredible joy in the smile—the smile of a woman in love.

  Like an indiscreet Peeping Tom, Ashley lowered her gaze from the picture her grandfather had painted. She recognized his style and the model that had posed for a similar painting hanging in his Boston office. But the beautiful model was gone—had stopped existing years ago, morphing into an old woman.

  Her heart heavy as if she’d lost a friend she’d just met, Ashley retreated to the living room, and reverently skimmed the wood of the sailor chest. Holding the heavy lid with both hands, she opened it to reveal a multitude of blue sheets of paper all folded in half and arranged in nea
t packets tied with red ribbons, with a few scented bags scattered around. Small cards tucked inside each packet indicated the time frame of the letters. Elena was a very organized person. Leaning over the gaping chest, Ashley read 1961-1970, 1971-1980,...

  So this was the place that had witnessed an incredible love story—the type she’d secretly dreamed about, but would probably never live. Awe clogged her throat as she pictured two young lovers snuggling and kissing on the sofa. She knelt in front of the open coffer and reached for a packet of letters covered with her grandfather’s handwriting. Without hesitation, she inhaled the smell of old paper and tinge of lavender, and pressed it against her cheek.

  Had Elena smiled or cried when she read her lover’s words? Envy pierced Ashley’s heart. She’d never received a love letter. Fingers shaking, she slipped a sheet out of the ribbons and fiddled with the missive. Would she have the gut to read it?

  “Don’t.” The male voice scared the bejeebers out of her. “You have no right.”

  “Stefano.” Startled, she dropped the letter. “I wasn’t—”

  “Really? You weren’t going to read it? Just smell it and caress it.” His sarcastic tone grated on her nerves.

  She shrugged. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Same thing you are. Surveying the place to be ready for our next meeting. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to come? I would have picked you up this morning.”

  Her nervous movements stilled and she braced herself against his attempt at kindness. He’d been so eager to leave her alone last night. “There was no need to bring you out of your way.”

  “You know I would have been happy to do it.” The scowl on his forehead lent a stern expression to his face. He kept studying her, and then shook his head. “Were you really going to read this letter?” He pointed an accusing finger at the chest. “A letter addressed to another woman, years ago?”

  “Huh.” He’d caught her red-handed, holding a personal letter addressed to his own grandmother. She lowered her gaze toward the mass of papers in the chest. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Care to explain?” Looming above her, with his feet-apart stance and his high stature, he crossed his arms and arched an arrogant eyebrow.

  Dang, she was still on her knees, in front of the wooden coffer, but also at his feet, looking as guilty as sin, with her cheeks probably redder than ripe beets. The temperature in the little house turned ten degrees higher. A hiss escaped her. Cursing her tight skirt and high heels, she tried to straighten up. He stretched a hand to help her. She ignored it and leaned back on the sofa to scramble up.

  “My grandfather called me this morning. You see, he had me bring this carry-on all the way from Boston. It contains the letters of his dear Elena. Grandpa instructed me to take them to the Pink Villa and read them. He insisted you should read them too.” She unzipped the piece of luggage and waved to the piles of envelopes cluttering the carry-on. “Unfortunately, he’s not organized like your grandmother.”

  Stefano’s gaze flipped from the carry-on to the chest. Disbelief widened his eyes, soon replaced by worry, and then denial. “You can’t expect me to read my grandmother’s love letters. Letters not even addressed to my own grandfather.”

  “There must be beautiful stories in here.” With a hopeful smile, she reached into the carry-on and took an envelope.

  “Ashley, don’t. It would be sacrilege to expose their secrets. Their past belongs to them.”

  “Grandpa wants me to read one of his and then one of hers, and pass them to you as I read them. Knowing how much he loved his Elena, he wouldn’t have asked me to do it, if he thought it would have upset her.”

  “This is ridiculous. Call him again.”

  She understood his reluctance and punched her grandfather’s number. “Grandpa, Elena’s grandson is here with me at the Pink Villa.”

  “Wonderful.” The old man’s voice resonated loud and clear. Stefano smiled and Ashley frowned.

  “Oh well, I don’t understand what’s so wonderful. I thought—”

  “Let me talk to him, little one. I’ll tell him one of his grandmother’s last wishes.”

  With a sigh, Ashley handed the phone to Stefano who politely greeted her grandfather in Greek, and finally said in English. “If you say so, sir. I’ll read my Yaya’s letters and yours. Thank you, sir. I can’t wait to see you here.”

  It was Ashley’s turn to shake her head. Greek men knew how to confuse her. Both Stefano and her grandfather often didn’t act as expected. “Well?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, but we’ll do as our grandparents wanted.” He glanced at the carry-on. “These are in such a mess. How about sorting my Yaya’s letters by date before reading them?”

  He hoisted the carry-on onto the burgundy couch. They settled on either side and began digging through the mess. “Throw the envelopes on the floor. We’ll pick them up later.” They stacked the letters on the coffer, forming neat piles by decades, and then organizing them by years.

  Two hours later, Stefano moved the piles back into the carry-on and set it open on the floor, next to the chest. “Here is the first packet of Yorgho’s letters.”

  Ashley picked her first letter to read. “This is the one he wrote after he left.” A long declaration of undying love, words of hope, dreams of happiness filled the pages and squeezed her heart.

  Would she ever meet a man who could love her with such fervor? Maybe Stefano would be able to learn a thing or two on how to be loyal to the woman of his heart. If only she could be that woman. Wishful thinking.

  “Here, your turn.” She handed him the blue sheet, and took Elena’s first letter.

  “Oh, my God, this is so sad.” She reached for another of Elena’s letters, and then a third and a fourth. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she wiped them with the back of her hand. “Life sucks. How could her father treat her like that?”

  Without a word, Stefano read the letters Ashley gave him. Together, they relived the sad separation of the young lovers; Elena’s cries of desperation; Yorgho’s threat to come back and snatch her away; the young woman’s resignation when she found herself pregnant; her love for her unborn child. “I can’t believe they forced her to marry another man when she loved Yorgho so much.” Ashley reached for a tissue and blew her nose.

  Stefano didn’t comment but she could see that he, too, was shaken. When she read about Elena’s miscarriage and Yorgho’s terrible pain at losing their baby, Ashley couldn’t contain her sobbing.

  “Don’t cry, please. It’s in the past.” Stefano gathered her in his arms and held her against him, gently stroking her hair.

  “You see, he never abandoned her as you all accused him of.”

  “We owe him a public apology.” At least, Stefano didn’t shy about admitting his mistakes. “Sweetheart, it’s three in the afternoon. I’ll order gyro for a late lunch here. Or we can go to the Athena to spend the afternoon. It was my original plan for today.”

  “I don’t want to go on your yacht again.”

  “I was hoping to erase the bad memories of your first time there.” His sad smile matched the mood of the moment and made her sigh.

  “Bad memories?” How could he label the most beautiful night of her life bad memories? Her heart heavy, she dropped her gaze to the chest. Why couldn’t he be more like the young Yorgho who adored his Elena?

  “Isn’t that the reason you don’t want to step on my Athena? Because you’re convinced I tricked you?”

  “You’ve already told me you regretted tricking me. I believed you.” She moved out of his arms and stood. “But I just can’t step on that boat again.” A new flow of tears wet her face. The emotion they’d just shared had melted her usual poise.

  “Ashley, what’s going on?” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him and nuzzled her neck.

  “Please, enough.”

  “Why? A week ago we made a deal to keep our feelings in check until after the first phase is over.
Now is the happy time to resume the little scene we started on the table. Remember?” he whispered against her ear.

  “You don’t have to force yourself.”

  “What?” He turned her around to face him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Last night you couldn’t wait to dump me in my room. Alone.”

  “Damn it, you were tired, sleepy, and drunk. I wasn’t going to take advantage of you in that pitiful shape.”

  “Oh.” How had she forgotten he could be a perfect gentleman and even control his passion?

  His eyebrows arched. A slow smile replaced his serious expression. “Did you really resent me for leaving you alone last night?”

  “And now, you want to erase the memories we have on the Love Boat?”

  “Love Boat, it is.” His smile broadened. “Kookla mou, you just made me a very happy man.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “You’ve just convinced me that you didn’t resent our first night on the yacht. I loved it too, in spite of my remorse for hiding the truth about my identity.” He gave her a strange look, his eyes shining with tenderness.

  Was she fooling herself? Could Stefano be her special Greek?

  His smile faded, but the fire of his gaze ignited a stronger one in her insides. When his mouth came closer, she put two fingers on his lips and chuckled. “If we start kissing, we won’t be done for a long time.”

  “You can bet on it.”

  “Order something easy to eat while we continue reading.”

  She pulled him next to her on the couch. He stretched an arm around her shoulders, and she snuggled against his side, wishing that the love story they were reading would rub on them —with a better ending.

  Chapter 11

  They had hardly stopped their reading to eat the gyro sandwiches and drink a cup of coffee. Stefano caught his breath, dazzled by the sweetness of Ashley’s smile. He’d spent a good part of last night trying to understand her shifts of mood from calculating lawyer to passionate lover. Who was the real Ashley? The aggressive attorney who attacked him in court or the warm woman who had writhed in his arms?