Mikalo's Fate (The Mikalo Chronicles) (20 page)

Yes, the night he had stood in my room. The night I had hugged him. The night I told him to go and give his goodbyes to Nona.

Again, Damen was explaining to Mikalo what had been done and what needed to be done next, Mikalo nodding, the two of them speaking in a mixture of Greek and English, their words often colliding as their hands gestured to the ceiling, the walls, the floor, the beams overhead.

Taking Deni's hand, I left, walking through the front room and outside, the sun pleasantly warm on my shoulders.

"I can't thank you enough," I said, wrapping my arms around her and holding her close.

"No, it's you I need to thank," she said, pulling away. "The sun, the sea, some good hard work, a bit of dirty under the nails, my manicure ruined, by the way, it was exactly what I needed.

"You good?" she then asked.

I nodded.

I was. I really was. Giving this to Mikalo was the perfect balm for whatever lingering disappointment I still felt over the Nuptials That Never Were.

"I'm good," I said.

"So, you're getting hitched in New York?"

I shrugged.

"No idea. We haven't talked about it."

"No," she said with a shake of her head. "Of course not."

She leaned close, her forehead against mine.

"Don't worry," she said with a small grin. "It'll all work out."

Damen and Mikalo strolled through the door, joining us under the sun.

"My Grace," he said, holding me close. "This could not have been more perfect. Thank you so very much."

He pressed his lips to the top of my head.

"Don't thank me," I reminded him. "Thank Nona."

"Yes," Damen agreed. "Thank you, Nona."

"Thank you, Nona" Deni said.

And, his lips still pressed to my hair, the words came soft and small.

"Thank you, Nona."

"I do."

The words came, simple and soft, that deep voice I loved so very much responding with such conviction and love.

The priest looked at me, his mouth moving, his words lost in my half-sleep.

I shook my head, struggling to wake.

It seemed like only moments ago, I had been asleep.

Only moments ago when Mikalo had woken me, insisting I follow him.

Only moments ago when I had walked with him in a daze, the two of us hand in hand as we moved down the hall in the middle of the night, my feet tripping down the stairs in the dark as we made our way to the first floor.

It seemed like only moments ago when I had walked into the gentle light of the priest's room to discover Deni in her nightdress and Damen in his pajama bottoms and a tank top, both of them half-asleep but eagerly waiting for me to arrive.

And now here I stood in my nightgown, Mikalo opposite me in his pajama botttoms, barefoot and bare-chested, the priest in his bathrobe standing between us reciting words I was too sleepy to follow while moonlight spilled through the window to splash the stone floor at our feet.

I was getting married.

"Are you sure?" I had asked Mikalo earlier when I realized what he had planned, what the priest was preparing to do.

He had nodded.

"My Grace," he had said, "I realized a thing as I stood next to my Nona before I said goodbye. She always wanted my happiness. Always, it was, Be happy, my Mikalo. Be happy and be loved.

"Even when she could not understand that my happiness would be different than the happiness she wanted for me, I know in my heart she wanted me to enjoy my life and to love someone with everything in my heart and soul.

"And so I told her as I said this last goodbye that I was to make you my wife and we would live a life of happiness and, if she were here, she would see that happiness and be happy for me.

"Do you see?" he had asked.

I nodded, not sure I was following all those happys and happinesses in my half-sleep. But I got the gist of what he was saying and I agreed.

Nona would want him to be happy and he knew that. And, Mikalo being Mikalo, he was doing what he wanted to do regardless of what anyone else thought.

He was marrying the woman he loved.

In the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep.

Reading my thoughts,

"I could not wait until we got to New York," he had then explained. "And I could not sleep a moment more until you were my wife.

"And so I woke everyone up and now we will be married with those who matter the most to our hearts," he had said with a glance toward Damen and Deni.

I couldn't agree more.

Deni had nodded at me, then, a small smile on her face, happy tears in her eyes.

And now the priest was speaking.

I took a deep breath, determined to shake away my dreams and focus on what was happening here and now.

Any moment I'd be asked to agree and say "I do" and I really needed to be fully awake for that.

I smiled to myself.

In all my years of dreaming of this moment, those rare times when I would dream of a wedding, that is, the lingering stench of my first disaster never far from dashing my hopes, I never once imagined I'd be standing barefoot in a nightgown in the middle of the night on a tiny island in the Aegean Sea, my groom shirtless in pajama bottoms, my Maid of Honor in a nightdress, his Best Man in a tank top, our priest in a bathrobe.

It somehow seemed all too perfect.

It somehow made sense.

I don't think I'd have it any other way.

They were looking at me now, waiting for my response.

The words caught in my throat.

Much like the simple syllable Mikalo needed me to say as he kneeled before me on the kitchen floor weeks and weeks ago, his heart in his hand, his ring on my finger, I couldn't say it. Those two simple words uttered by couples for too many centuries to count stuck in my throat.

Stupid, really.

He needed to hear those two words. I needed to say them. Our love, the journey which had brought us here to this moment, this priceless here and now, deserved that much.

Do I love this man?

Will I take this man in sickness and in health?

For richer for poorer?

Forsaking all others?

Will I spend the rest of my life loving this man with all my heart and all my soul until death do us part?

I took another breath, turned to this man, my Mikalo, who I loved more than words could ever say, and, my eyes on his, his hand in mine, I gave him my love, my soul, my everything, wrapped in the two most beautiful words in the world.

"I do."

Another cheer from the noisy corner of this cafe, Mikalo having bought everyone a second round of drinks.

I sat with Deni, our plates cleared, our table sitting outside in the gentle sun of late afternoon, the town square around us surprisingly alive.

We had come into town on this, one of our last days in Greece.

Mikalo needed to find and thank those men who had given their time, their labor, their materials to bring his stone house to life and make his dreams come true.

Thankfully, that was easy, most of them people he'd known for most of his life, Damen at his side to explain who had done what, the congratulations and thank yous punctuated with laughter and tears, condolences for his loss and whispered words wrapped in warm embraces.

For Mikalo, there was no better way to end this trip home.

For me, it was a lot easier.

Deni and I just needed to get away from the Delis family manse, the news of my midnight marriage to Mikalo going over like a lead balloon with Caugina all but screaming and Silvestro, who had circled back to despising me regardless of whatever kindness I had shown him, glaring at me before leaving the table in a monumental huff.

On the one hand, I thought Who cares? and tried to shake it off.

On the other hand, it was never fun to be trapped at the breakfast table with glares and stares and a very angry sister-in-law yelling obscenities as you drank your orange juice.

So we escaped to town, the shouts of "This will not be!" from a now hoarse Caugina following us as we climbed into the Jeep. And, after the familiar bumpy ride, found ourselves first wandering down to the sea and then seated on sturdy wooden chairs under a pleasant sun, the four of us tucking into large plates of delicious food, drinking delicious wine, and laughing with true abandon at jokes told in heavily accented, broken English, words Deni and I didn't quite understand, but found raucously funny nonetheless, her blonde curls shaking as she laughed.

I think it was the wine.

But soon we'd have to go, the shadows growing long as the sun continued to dip low in the sky.

"Yes, soon," Mikalo agreed when I mentioned it to him. "Soon."

Suddenly, there was music.

The men had found their instruments, my suddenly remembering Mikalo's story of how these men who had made this tiny restaurant their second home would sometimes play while the tourists danced.

It was a sweet, simple tune, the violin slightly off-key, the clarinet sounding reedy and weak, their vigor and sincerity far outmatching their talent.

I found it gorgeous.

Mikalo's hand was in mine, lifting me from my seat, his arm around me as he guided me to the large paved stones of the square.

I glanced back at Deni with a laugh.

"Your wedding dance," she called back, teasing, Damen laughing next to her.

Yes, I realized, it would be our first dance as man and wife.

In a teeny tiny town on an island in the Aegean Sea under the soft rays of a late day sun basking in the gentle breeze from the nearby ocean.

Could it be anymore perfect?

"May I?"

I turned, following the familiar voice.

"Of course," Mikalo said, spinning me into the arms of Radek Byzan.

Surprised, I couldn't help but laugh.

That he, of all people, would be here on this tiny postage stamp-sized bit of land completely floored me.

He smiled.

"My congratulations to the bride," he then said, his lips chastely meeting my cheek.

Ah, yes, the wedding. I had forgotten he was an invited guest.

"Thank you," I said, our bodies slightly swaying to the music.

"I am sorry I was not there to share this with you," he said.

"Well, it was a bit of a surprise and took place very, very early in the day," I replied, teasing him.

"This I've heard," he said with a wink.

Another smile.

"But what is done is now done," he continued, "and I send my most heartfelt congratulations to you both."

"Hard to believe it started not so long ago over a cup of coffee in a coffee shop," I said. "Me with my documents spread out all over the table, he with an interview at Macfarlane, the both of us just falling in love so quickly. So quick.

"And like that, there you go."

He offered a small smile and then lapsed into silence.

After a moment, he spoke.

"It is not so hard to believe if you know the heart."

Another pause and then,

"I shall miss her."

I looked up at him, silently urging him to continue.

Who would he miss? Who?

"Nicia," he then said. "Mikalo's grandmother."

"Nona?"

He nodded.

"Yes, of course," he said with a small laugh. "You would know her as Nona."

Strange. It hadn't even occurred to me that she had a name. And a beautiful one at that. And since the crypt was still being etched, I wouldn't have seen her name there.

She had just always been Nona. Always would be.

Radek, my hand in his, his other arm around my waist as we danced, continued.

"To me she was Nicia and she was my love. My true love.

"Many years ago," he continued, "we met much as you and Mikalo did. Only we were in Athens and it was very strong coffee, not the weak stuff you drink in the States."

I smiled, loving how he teased me.

"I was nothing then, of course, my success still years away. And she, well, she was a famous beauty from a very rich family. A very rich Greek family, and you know how that can be."

With a nod, I agreed.

Oh yes, I knew exactly how that could be.

"And so we met in secret, on a small stone house on a hill, far from her family, far from where any eyes could see. I tried to make a success, one her father would be pleased with, and she said No as many times as she could to all the proposals that came her way, her heart truly belonging to me.