Santorini Sunsets (27 page)

“Come with me,” Blake insisted. “It will only take a minute.”

He led her to a yellow taxi and opened the doors. He handed the driver a wad of euros and climbed into the backseat.

“Where are we going?” Brigit asked, sliding in beside him.

“You'll see.” Blake grinned, clutching the vinyl headrest.

Brigit sat on the hard seat and watched the harbor fade into the distance. The car bumped along the gravel until they reached the village of Oia.

Brigit stepped into the main square and felt the warm sun on her shoulders. There was a white stone church with gold inlaid doors and stained-glass windows. Elegant restaurants had striped awnings and window boxes full of purple hibiscus.

“Oia is the highest village in Santorini,” Blake explained. “It isn't as central as Fira but it has some of the loveliest architecture on the island.”

“I feel like Sophia Loren in
Boy on a Dolphin.
” Brigit smiled. “A waiter in a white dinner jacket will appear carrying frothy blue cocktails with sliced pineapple.”

Blake pulled her close and kissed her softly on the mouth. He tucked her hair behind her ear and grabbed her hand. “Follow me.”

They crossed the cobblestones and entered a whitewashed building perched on the cliff. The wide salon had gold-and-white marble floors and gold silk sofas. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling and ceramic vases were filled with white hibiscus.

“The hotel Katikies is the most exclusive hotel in Santorini,” Blake explained. “It has a rooftop swimming pool and a spa and a Michelin restaurant.”

“Why are we here?” Brigit gazed at the abstract paintings and marble statues.

“This weekend isn't about cruising to Therasia or exploring the ruins at Akrotiri. I don't care about the hot springs or the Pyrgos castle,” Blake began. “The most important thing is that we are in Santorini to begin our life together. Every night I lie in the king-sized bed and wish I was beside you.”

“You do?” Brigit looked up.

“I thought it would be wonderful to rent separate villas so you could enjoy your family and I could be with my groomsmen,” Blake continued. “I don't care if we're not supposed to see each other the day of the wedding. I have to sleep with you tonight.” His face broke into a smile. “So I rented out the whole hotel.”

“You did what?” Brigit gasped.

“I didn't want to bump into families with screaming children or couples on their honeymoon the night before our wedding,” Blake continued. “We have our own masseuse and a choice of three restaurants. If you want to get ready at the villa, you can leave your dress there.” He took her hand. “Will you stay with me here tonight?”

Brigit flashed on the
Los Angeles Times
article and the foundation and flinched. But it could all be worked out if they spent time together. She pictured their legs entangled in cotton sheets and a shiver ran down her spine.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He took her hand and led her down a narrow hallway.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He turned and grinned. “We have to decide if we want to sleep in the Captain's Suite or the Katikies Suite.”

They explored the Captain's Suite with its round white bed and blue-tiled bathroom. They peeked in the Master Suite and saw an orange wool rug and pastel-colored furniture.

Finally they climbed a flight of stairs and opened a lacquered blue door. The suite had a living room with turquoise silk sofas and a marble bar. The ceiling was mosaic tile and the walls were thick white plaster.

Brigit stepped onto the balcony and caught her breath. The sun was a yellow ball and the clouds were ribbons of beige satin. The Aegean glittered like a magic carpet and she could see the whole caldera.

“I like this one.” She turned to Blake.

“You can't decide yet.” He took her hand. “You haven't seen the bedroom.”

Blake led her up a few stairs and opened a wooden door. The bedroom had peach-colored walls and a white marble floor. A canopied bed was covered with a lace bedspread and littered with silk pillows.

Blake pulled her close and kissed her softly on the lips. She inhaled his scent of aftershave and cologne and felt almost dizzy.

He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his loafers. He leaned forward and slipped his hand under her dress.

“Come here,” he whispered. “God, you feel good, I want to stay like this forever.”

“I do too.” She felt his fingers against her skin and gasped.

His fingers slid in deeper and she pressed herself against his chest. The warmth became a hot wetness and she clasped his shoulders. Her body tipped and she cried out and shuddered.

She unzipped her dress and pulled him onto the bed. She opened her legs and drew him on top of her. Blake kissed her mouth and her breasts and her hair. He lowered himself into her and she felt the exquisite heat and sheer pleasure.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I never want to be apart.”

“I love you too,” she said, inhaling his cologne.

He moved faster and she wrapped her arms around his back. He paused and studied her blue eyes and slender cheekbones. Then he picked up speed until the ripples became endless waves and her whole body cracked open.

Brigit listened to Blake's even breathing and tucked herself against his chest. She glanced out the window at the pale blue sky and turquoise ocean. In twenty-four hours they were getting married. She closed her eyes and thought she couldn't wait.

 

Chapter Twenty

S
YDNEY PACED AROUND
the living room and wondered where Francis could be. She had checked every tobacco store and newsagent in Fira. She debated sitting at a café and waiting for him to appear but she could hardly accuse her husband of seeing another woman and selling her grandfather's estate in front of tourists carrying plastic buckets and ice cream cones.

She walked back to the villa and entered the foyer. Daisy was upstairs getting ready and Brigit had gone out. She patted her hair and wished she could go upstairs and take a bath. But she glanced at her watch and knew she had to speak to Francis first.

*   *   *

Now she poured a double scotch and thought she really should be drinking soda water. But if she was going to lose her husband and her family home, she needed a cocktail before she welcomed their closest friends to the rehearsal dinner.

She heard the front door open and turned around.

“I was afraid I'd be late, I had to stand on a cliff to get phone reception.” Francis entered the living room. “The Greek afternoon sun is hotter than when we visited the pyramids in Egypt.” He loosened his collar. “A stone farmhouse in Provence sounds very inviting.”

Sydney pictured the villa in Gordes and flinched. She poured another scotch and handed it to Francis. “I have to talk to you about something.”

“An ice-cold scotch and a cool shower and I'll feel almost human.” Francis glanced at Sydney. “I thought you'd be getting dressed.”

“I saw Brigit earlier, she was very upset,” Sydney began. “Blake donated two million dollars to the foundation without telling her.”

“Brigit came to me and I explained the whole story.” Francis nodded. “It will be good to have Blake involved. He's young and energetic and we share the same vision.”

“You didn't tell her he invested another three million dollars the day after he proposed.” Sydney's voice shook. “And you didn't tell her you're in financial trouble and might have to sell Summerhill.”

Francis's face clouded over and he sank onto the sofa.

“I didn't want to worry you,” he said. “I thought I could handle it.”

“You didn't want to worry me about selling the cottage that has been in my family for a hundred years?” Sydney demanded. “Do you remember the first time we drove to East Hampton? We had been dating for two months and I said I couldn't be involved with anybody who didn't love Summerhill.

“We pulled up the driveway in your Jaguar. You jumped out and I thought you were going to say you imagined it would be much grander or it was too quiet without the noise and excitement of Manhattan.

“You plucked a pink rose from the garden and said it was the most beautiful place you've ever seen. If I'd let you, you'd make sure the pond was always full of goldfish and the vegetable garden had baby carrots and sweet peas. All you wanted was to spend your life with me at Summerhill.

“We've celebrated every Christmas and Fourth of July there since we were married. Daisy kept her pony in the stables and Brigit and Nathaniel got married on the lawn.” She stopped and her eyes were bright. “I still don't understand how you could do such a thing. What other secrets are there? I want to know everything.”

“I made some bad investments with our capital after I started the foundation. I took a second mortgage on the town house and thought that would be enough.” Francis downed his scotch. “But then the school we are building in Haiti flooded and we had to start from scratch.

“I've landed on airstrips no wider than a Band-Aid but I've never been as frightened as when I brought an appraiser to Summerhill,” he mused. “She walked around examining Daisy's drawings in the nursery and Brigit's tennis trophies in the den and I wanted to call and tell you everything.” He paused. “But I knew you'd never forgive me and I couldn't risk it. I promised myself I'd do whatever it takes to save Summerhill.”

“You brought an appraiser to Summerhill?” she exclaimed, her heart pounding in her chest.

Sydney remembered the young woman on the porch wearing a navy suit and beige stilettos.

“It was on a Friday afternoon when I thought you were in the city,” he continued. “But then Myrna left a message saying you went to East Hampton early and I panicked.

“You asked if I'd just left Manhattan and I said I'd been at the office all day. That's the only time I lied to you except for the cotillion where we met.”

“What happened at the cotillion?” Sydney asked.

“You thought your date had food poisoning but I paid him to leave.” Francis's face broke into a smile. “I saw the most beautiful girl wearing a white satin gown and silk gloves and had to ask her to dance.”

Sydney walked to the french doors and gazed at the garden. She turned around and her eyes glistened.

“I pulled into the driveway and saw you on the porch with a young woman with long dark hair and thick mascara,” she admitted. “I got terribly flustered and drove away. When I returned you were gone.”

“Why didn't you ever say anything?” Francis asked.

“The last ten months you've been so distant.” She hesitated. “I was afraid if I asked questions, I couldn't bear the answers.”

“I was so ashamed.” Francis clutched his shot glass. “I wanted to provide children in Africa with computers but didn't put aside enough to fix Summerhill's roof after a wet winter.” He paused and his eyes were dark. “I couldn't look at myself in the mirror when I shaved. What kind of a man puts his family's well-being in jeopardy to help strangers?”

“You're hardly putting your family in jeopardy.” Sydney twisted her hands. “Brigit earns an impressive salary and Daisy has more talent than she knows. We have rooms full of important artwork, we're not going to go hungry.”

“Summerhill is part of you,” Francis replied. “I see you when we're out there. Your smile is wider and your step is lighter. You're like a flower in full bloom.”

“I love Summerhill, but you should have told me. We could have solved it together.” Sydney paused. “In the end all I need is you and Brigit and Daisy. We could move to a fifth floor walk-up in the East Village and be perfectly happy.”

“I don't think anything drastic will happen. With Blake's involvement things are turning around.” Francis gazed at Sydney's slender cheekbones and small waist. “Though I would like to see those gorgeous legs climb five flights of stairs.”

Sydney felt the tension and fear of the last eight months dissolve. Suddenly she pictured Oliver and the château in Gordes and thought if she didn't tell Francis now, she never could. She fiddled with her scotch glass and took a deep breath.

“There's something else we have to talk about,” she began. “I've been wanting to tell you for years, but I haven't known how.”

“Whatever it is, maybe it can wait until after the rehearsal dinner.” He grinned. “I thought we could take advantage of a quiet villa and sneak upstairs.”

“It can't wait.” She jumped up and walked to the bar. “We have to talk about it now.”

“That sounds serious,” Francis said.

Sydney looked at the man she had loved for thirty years and her courage disappeared. But then she thought of all the years they had ahead of them and her shoulders tightened.

“When I went to Provence after I lost the baby, I'd never been so miserable,” she began. “No matter how I tried, the pain wouldn't go away. I'd see people sipping espresso in the village square and wondered if I would ever be happy. And I didn't just feel bad for myself; I couldn't be the wife I wanted to be for you or a good mother to Brigit and Daisy.

“I met a young man, the son of the owner of the château. It was perfectly innocent, he helped me get in the house when I locked myself out and brought me groceries during the mistral.

“The last night I was there, he asked me to dinner. I don't know why I said yes, but he was barely twenty-two, it was like dining with one of Brigit's or Daisy's friends. He drove me home and came into the château.” She stopped and bit her lip. “Somehow we ended up in bed.”

“I see.” Francis's cheeks were pale and he looked like he'd seen a ghost.

“The minute it was over I knew it was a terrible mistake,” she said. “I've wanted to tell you a hundred times, but I was terrified you would never forgive me.”