Now he didn't know what he felt.
Not fury certainly. Somewhere over the course of his stay in the cottage he'd seen real affection between his father and Julietta. As hard as it was to fathom, they actually acted like they loved each other. If he hadn't believed it before, he certainly did after seeing Stavros's white face when he got off the plane that afternoon and then overhearing his father's conversation with his wife.
That was no man talking to a trophy. That was a man in love.
But if seeing that his father really cared for Julietta had reconciled Nikos to his father's second marriage, it hadn't stopped the hurt.
What about his own mother? If Stavros actually had the capacity to love, why hadn't he loved her?
Of course Nikos wouldn't ask.
He hadn't seen his father since right after the old man's heart attack. Seeing Stavros with tubes and bags and monitors all around him had made Nikos ill. He'd felt himself get light-headed and, though assured by the nurse that his father was holding his own, Nikos couldn't stay.
"Better if I don't," he'd told Mari when she asked the next day if he was coming to the hospital with them. "Give him another one just to see me there."
She hadn't argued with him, which pretty much proved she felt the same way. She came back later and told him that things were looking good.
"He's stable. It was a mild attack, and his being in the hospital when it happened helped a lot."
Every day he'd improved—or so Nikos heard. He never went back.
Today, of course, he did. When Mari called and said the baby had been born, that Georgiana Elizabeth Costanides was alive and well and snuggled in her mother's arms, he'd known great relief. He'd been glad to take Alex, to stand outside the nursery and hold the little boy up so they could both look at the child in the pink blanket-lined bassinette.
"What do you think of your sister?"
The quiet, raspy Greek-accented voice behind Nikos almost caused him to drop Alex. He turned, holding the boy like a shield.
"Papa!" Alex crowed, and wriggled to get down, to run and embrace the man who leaned on a walker and looked at them both.
Reluctantly, slowly, Nikos let him down, then watched as the boy skirted the walker, then slowed down and carefully put his arms around his father's legs. One of Stavros's hands left the walker to touch Alex's hair, to stroke its softness. His gaze dropped, too. And then he raised it again.
"Nikos?"
There was something hard and huge in Nikos's throat. It took him a moment to get the word past it, but finally he managed. "Congratulations."
And then he turned away.
Mari found him at the far end of the parking lot.
He was standing with his back to the hospital, staring off into space, but she doubted if he was seeing anything.
She had witnessed the encounter between him and his father from the end of the hall. She'd seen the emotions as they had flickered across his face one by one. Surprise. Hurt. Need. Resignation. And then she'd seen him turn and walk away.
She'd wanted to run after him then. But she'd had to wait to be sure that Stavros could manage Alex. And by the time she'd finally got father and younger son settled in and visiting in Julietta's room, Nikos was long gone.
"Sit down," Stavros had commanded her when she moved restlessly about.
But Mari couldn't. She prowled the hallway, went to the waiting room, then came back. Even then she couldn't settle. In desperation she looked out the window—and that's when she saw him.
"I've got to go," she said. And, not caring what any of them thought, she hurried out.
"Mari?" she heard Julietta's concerned voice follow her.
"Miss Lewis!" Stavros's peremptory tone clearly expected her to stop.
But Mari didn't stop. Not until she was within ten feet of Nikos, facing his back. Then she did. She stopped, panicked.
It was practically the first time she'd spoken to him since they'd made love. They'd shared a few necessary sentences since—but none had to do with what had happened between them.
Now didn't seem exactly like the time to talk, either. But maybe it was time for something other than talk. Sometimes, she told the parents she worked with, talk didn't say what needed to be said.
Now, Mari suspected, was one of those times.
So, gearing up her courage, unsure what kind of a reception she was going to get, she came up behind him. "Nikos?"
He stiffened, then turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers. It was all still there—the hurt, the confusion, the pain, the resignation. But, for just an instant, she saw something else—something more. Something, she dared think, for her.
She opened her arms and stepped forward, sliding them around him, pressing against him. She didn't kiss him. She only held him. / love you, she told him silently—with her arms and her body and her warmth. This wasn't the passion she'd found with Nikos from the first moment. This was something deeper and something far more precious.
It was love.
She felt a tremor run through him. He stood stone-still. A statue. Not even breathing. And then she felt the weight as he laid his head against her hair. His arms came around her, too. His hands locked against her back, holding them together. He drew a long shuddering breath. First one, then another.
"I love you." She said the words now. She pulled back just a little, enough to look up into his eyes. "I love you," she repeated.
His gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted to meet hers again. "I know," he said, his voice ragged. "I know you do."
He made a reservation for London that afternoon. He would leave the following morning. He told Mari what he'd done that afternoon when she brought Alex home for dinner.
"You're leaving?" She stared at him in disbelief.
He hardened his heart against it. It was better this way, he assured himself. Yes, she loved him. But that didn't matter. When had love ever brought anything but pain? Look what it had done to his mother, after all.
He didn't want to hurt her the way his father had hurt his mother. He was sparing Mari pain.
If he was honest, of course, he had to admit he was sparing himself pain, too.
"I need to get back," he said implacably, ignoring the expression on her face. "I have a life there. A job. It's where I belong. I only stayed because of Alex. You know that. But Alex will be all right now. The baby's here. Julietta's fine. In a few days even Stavros will be home. No one will need me." He was glad Alex was playing in the other room. At least this time his little brother couldn't contradict him.
And Mari wouldn't. He knew that.
He knew, despite the pain he saw in her eyes, that she would let him go. It was the right thing for both of them. She could do far better than him. Ultimately she would understand that.
And he?
He would be fine. He would be fine. He would say it until it came true.
"I'm going in the morning," he told her. "I have to go."
He wouldn't do it. She didn't believe him.
He couldn't walk away from her so easily, she told herself. He couldn't just turn his back. He loved her, too! She knew he did.
But she couldn't insist. It was for him to say the words. They would mean nothing if she had to drag them out of him.
Say it, she begged silently. Say you love me.
But he didn't say anything at all.
He would see reason, Mari told herself. She pasted on as cheerful a smile as she could manage and, after supper, took Alex back to the hospital to see his parents and his new baby sister. They brought helium balloons, one for each, and Alex carried them proudly to each room.
They took Georgiana's to the nursery first. While Alex watched, the nurse tied the pink and silver foil bobbing heart to her bassinette.
"So she can see it when she looks up," Alex explained to Mari. He studied his sister through the glass.
"She is looking better," he decided. "The first time I saw her, she looked pretty much like a monkey."
Mar
i hid a smile. "She'll get better," she promised.
Alex nodded sagely. "That's what Nikos says."
Mari couldn't count the number of times over the last few days that Alex had quoted his brother. Nikos was clearly a hero in the little boy's eyes. Alex would miss Nikos. He couldn't leave Alex, could he?
They took Julietta her balloon next Alex's mother was very much herself now that she'd had some rest and was past the stress of labor. She looked much more relaxed today. And she was thrilled with the balloon Alex gave her, tying it to the rail at the foot of her bed, saying, "So I can see it all the time."
"Just like Georgie," he said happily, hopping from one foot to the other. "Mari 'n' me brought Georgie one, too. An' this one's for my daddy." He jiggled the one with the happy face on it.
"Wonderful," Julietta said. "He'll be so happy to get it. Georgiana and I are going to get to come home tomorrow, and Daddy's going to have to stay here all alone."
"How come?" Alex asked.
"Because he needs a few more days' rest," Julietta told him.
Alex's lower lip jutted out. "But he's okay?" he insisted.
Julietta patted the bed and Alex scrambled up next to her, snuggling in. "He's okay, darling. He'll be fine." She gave him a quick hug. The bedside phone rang and she picked it up. Her eyes lit up.
"He's right here," she said. "Yes. Good idea. Are you sure you can walk that far? All right then." She hung up. "That was Daddy," she told Alex. "He's coming to visit, and he wants to know if you'll meet him by the nursery. You can take him his balloon."
Alex beamed and hopped off the bed, running to the door.
"Walk," his mother called after him.
He slowed, but not much.
Julietta smiled. "He's going to keep things lively," she said, shaking her head. "I wish you were going to be staying to help me with him."
Mari felt as if the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. "I'm not?" She shouldn't have said the words. They weren't professional. If Julietta didn't want her, she had no right to question it
Julietta's brow furrowed. "Well, I assumed you'd be going with Nikos when he goes...wherever he goes. We saw you two," she added, with a tip of her head toward the window, "when you were in the parking lot. We thought..."
Yes, Mari had thought, too. Or maybe hoped was the truer word.
Now she shook her head. "No. Nikos is leaving. Tomorrow morning."
"What!"
Mari shrugged. "He has to go."
"You love him." Julietta had no doubt about that. Of course, she'd seen them together and, during the last few days of her pregnancy, she'd had nothing to do but watch—and think.
Mari knew there was no point in denying it. "He's still leaving," she said.
"He loves you, too."
She wouldn't argue that, either, though she suspected Nikos might. "I don't think he wants to love anyone." She looked at Julietta, tried to smile, to sound brave and determined, but there was such compassion and commiseration in Julietta's eyes that Mari couldn't look for long. Her gaze slid away.
"Oh, Nikos," Julietta murmured sadly. She shook her head and looked at Mari again. "Oh, my dear."
A smart woman in possession of the common sense God gave her would not have spent the night in Nikos Costanides's bed.
Mari was a smart woman with a lot of common sense. She didn't go to Nikos. But she couldn't say no when he came to her.
Alex had fallen asleep on the way home from the hospital. He'd bounced out to the car, chattering animatedly about how much his daddy liked the balloon and how good it was going to be to have his mother and Georgie home tomorrow.
"An' pretty soon my daddy, too," he'd said happily. "And then we'll all be together."
And the next thing she knew he was sound asleep in the seat. She parked close to the house and was carrying him up the walk when Nikos opened the door.
Wordlessly he came and lifted Alex from her arms. He carried the little boy with the ease of a father as he strode along the hallway to his brother's bedroom and put Alex into his bed.
Mari took the child's shoes off, then covered him with the duvet, leaving his shorts and T-shirt on. If he woke later she could get him into pajamas, but she didn't think he would. It had been a busy day. He was tired. She bent and kissed him, then stepped back.
Nikos dropped down to his knees by the bed and looked at his little brother. One hand came out and smoothed Alex's hair. A knuckle brushed his petal-soft cheek. Then Nikos, too, pressed a light kiss on his forehead, and got up and followed Mari out of the room.
It was his goodbye to his brother, and she knew it.
If she'd had any hope that he would stay, she lost it then. If he couldn't face Alex and tell him he was leaving, if he couldn't look his brother in the eye and say goodbye, then she knew he was really and truly going.
Maybe that was why she let him come to her that night. So she'd have one more memory to drag out in a lifetime of regret. She hadn't had long with Nikos Costanides. She needed all the memories she could get.
She dared to hope that he needed them, too. His desperation as they made love told her without his having to say anything that he did. If their first night's loving had been strong and urgent and powerful, it was nothing compared to this one.
It was all those things—and gentle besides. His touches were tender, his kisses urgent. His hands made her whimper and reach for him and writhe. She did her share of loving him, too. She had a lifetime of love to teach him in just one night. She molded his face with her hands, memorizing the strong cheekbones, the firm line of his jaw, the sharpness of his nose. She studied his lips, traced them with her fingertip and then her tongue. She kissed his lashes, ran her fingers through his hair, kissed his chest, his navel, let her mouth dip below.
He sucked in a ragged breath and dragged her up the length of his body. "Enough," he muttered as he fitted them together.
But though they loved all night, Mari never got enough.
She didn't think Nikos did, either. His hands were still stroking her, petting her, holding her, as his body spooned around her and they slept
She was asleep when he left.
It was all right not to wake her and say goodbye. They'd said goodbye all night long. They'd loved...and loved...and loved. Words couldn't have said anything more.
It was better this way.
Better this way. The words echoed in his mind, a mantra that he said over and over, all the way to the airport. He was doing what he wanted to do. What he needed to do. What was better for her—and for him. He was doing the right thing.
Still, once he got to the airport, he wanted to get on his way! He didn't understand why they had to make him be there two hours before the international flight. Once he was there, he was ready to go. If he was leaving, he wanted to be gone, damn it, gone.
He paced the terminal, scowled out the window, slumped in a chair, then got back up, irritated, distracted, and stared out the window some more.
"Nikos?" The voice was low, raspy, familiar, Greek. Totally out of place.
He spun around.
His father stood right behind him, leaning on a cane, breathing in short shallow breaths, his forehead damp from exertion, his face pale.
"What the hell—?" Nikos shook his head. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in the hospital!"
"I checked myself out."
"Why? Do you have a death wish, for God's sake!" Nikos grabbed his father's arm and towed him to a chair and sat him down. He didn't sit down beside him. He stood, glowering, his own heart beating double time.
"Sit," Stavros commanded. He patted the chair next to him.
"I don't want to sit. I'm going to be sitting for six hours!"
Stavros looked up, straight into Nikos's eyes. "Sit."
A muscle ticked in Nikos's temple. He ground his teeth. He rocked back on his heels. He glared at his father. He sat.
"Good." Stavros nodded and took a slow breath. "I come to tell you a story."
> "A story?" Nikos was incredulous. "You checked yourself out of the hospital and drove two and a half hours to tell me a story?"
"Thomas drove," Stavros admitted. "I tell you a story."
"So tell me, damn it! Then go home and get back to bed. You're going to die if you don't! You don't want to die. You've got little kids to take care of."
"You would take care of them," Stavros said confidently. He looked at Nikos, his expression almost serene.
Nikos's jaw worked. "You're so sure of that, are you?"
"I am." A faint smile touched Stavros's face. "I saw you with Alex."
Nikos looked away. "He's a good kid," he muttered.
"He is like his brother was."
"Was being the operative word."
"Is," Stavros corrected himself.
Nikos looked at him sharply. "Revising your opinion, are you?"
"Yes." There was no apology. Just a statement of fact. He wouldn't have been Stavros, of course, if he had said he was sorry. Still, Nikos felt a small stab of satisfaction.
"I tell you the story," Stavros said. He looked straight ahead out the window, watching planes on the runway while he spoke. "It is about a young man with big ideas. It is about a woman he fell in love with. It is about me— and your mother."
Nikos stared. He didn't speak. He wasn't sure he heard correctly. Was his father saying that he'd loved Angelika?
"The marriage was arranged," he protested.
"Agreed to. Not arranged," Stavros said. "She was to marry someone else. Someone of her own class and background. Not a young upstart like me. A real Greek. Not an immigrant who left his country behind. That is what her father said." The older man shook his head. "I comfort myself sometimes thinking that it wouldn't have been any different if she'd married him. But I don't know."
"What the hell are you talking about?" None of this made any sense to Nikos. "Are you saying you took her away from another man?"
"I loved her," Stavros said simply. "She loved me. She would not marry him. She refused. She wanted me, she told her father. She wouldn't marry anyone else. Angelika could be very persuasive," he added ruefully. "I know."
Nikos knew, too. His mother had always been able to bend him to her will. Not by force but by the warmth and sweetness of her character. But that his father had loved her? He didn't know what to think.
The Playboy and the Nanny Page 14
