The Giannakis Bride (16 page)

The collective gasp that followed indicated she’d scored a direct hit. It should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. Rather, it underscored what she’d believed from the outset. She and
Dimitrios
were getting too far ahead of themselves.

Just that morning, on the way back from visiting Poppy, she’d tried talking him out of going public so soon with news of their engagement, if such it could be called. “It’s not the time,” she’d argued. “This afternoon’s about honoring the people on your guest list. It’s
nor
fair to steal their thunder.”

He’d disagreed. “Face it, Brianna, when it comes to news like this, there’s no such thing as the right time. It’s going to cause a stir, no matter when we announce it. We might as well get it over and done with.”

“But I’m not ready to broadcast it to the whole world.”

“Why not? Are you still having second thoughts about us?”

“No,” she said slowly. “It’s more that I’m still getting used to the idea of us being a couple, and I don’t want to share it with anyone else just yet.”

“That’s all very fine, sweetheart,” he reminded her, “but you forget my father already knows. This is happy news, Brianna, the best, and I’m not about to stand back and let him taint it with his own particular brand of poisonous cynicism.”

Against her better judgment, she’d allowed herself to be persuaded. But what she’d just overheard warned her that
Mihalis
Poulos
didn’t have a monopoly on poison. And once again Carter’s advice came back to haunt her. Take care, Brianna….

We’re rushing into this too fast, she thought miserably. Too much is going on, and we’re losing sight of the most important person here, who is Poppy. The minute this party’s over, I’m going to talk to
Dimitrios
. I have to convince him to slow down.

Her plan hit a snag when, with the sun casting long shadows over the garden, a white limousine purred up the drive and drew to a stop not far from where she and
Dimitrios
stood waving goodbye to the last of the departing guests. Noelle had been called back to the hospital just after five o’clock. Now it was almost seven, and well past the time for latecomers to show up.

Disappointed, because she desperately wanted to be alone with him and set a few things straight, Brianna said, “Are you expecting someone,
Dimitrios
?”

“Neh. I have a surprise for you. We’ll be three for dinner tonight. Hermione is joining us.”

“Your mother?”

“That’s right. I called her this morning.” He linked his fingers in hers. His eyes caressed her. His smile bathed her in warmth. “You see,
calli
mou
, I do listen when you speak. I do try to please you every way I know how.”

He was doing it again. Ambushing her with his compassion; disarming her when she was in battle mode. He was worse than a chameleon, she thought helplessly. One part of him was all about power and success and pride and ambition; the other, a testament to the generosity and kindness he shared only with a few select individuals, including her. How was she supposed to combat that?

“Well?” he said, nudging her gently. “Do we invite her in, or do I send her away again?”

She swung her gaze to the woman hovering beside the open door of the car, as though uncertain of her welcome. Brianna could only imagine the courage it had taken for her to get this far. “We ask her in, of course. And
Dimitrios
? Thank you.”

 
“
Efharisto
,” Hermione murmured in an aside to Brianna, as
Dimitrios
attended to
predinner
drinks. “I know I am here only because of your intercession with my son.”

They sat on the west-facing verandah in comfortable wicker armchairs, with a tray of
mezedes
on the table in front of them, the olives, chunks of ripe red tomatoes drizzled in oil, slivers of octopus in wine,
tzatziki
and deep-fried calamari a meal in themselves.

Candles flickered in brass hurricane lamps strung among the vines overheard and nested at the base of the potted hibiscus shrubs fringing the perimeter of the terra-cotta-tiled floor. Hidden somewhere out of sight in the garden, a lemon tree in bloom perfumed the air. Below the verandah, the lawns dropped down in a series of manicured terraces to the shore. The sun sat low on the horizon, its dying rays staining the sky pink and orange and mauve.

An idyllic setting for a family reunion long overdue, some might have thought, but it was spoiled by the nervous tension simmering in the atmosphere. Hermione’s fingers lay knotted in her lap. Her foot in its expensive suede pump tapped an anxious tattoo on the terra-cotta tiles. Her eyes flitted from
Dimitrios
to the glass doors opening into the house, as though she was unsure whether she should stay and face whatever the evening brought, or leave now, while she still had the chance.

Brianna felt terribly sorry for her. “I’m glad he asked you here, and so glad you came, Hermione. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to accept his invitation.”

“
Mihalis
doesn’t know I’m here,” she said, with another furtive glance around. “He thinks I’m visiting a friend.”

It was on the tip of Brianna’s tongue to say she was surprised the poor woman was allowed to have friends. Luckily,
Dimitrios
returned to the table just then and spared her having to think of a more suitable reply.

“An occasion such as this calls for a special toast,” he announced, plucking a bottle of Krug from a silver ice bucket and pouring into three spun-glass flutes. “
Kherete
, Mother. Welcome. I can’t recall the last time you and I sat down together and enjoyed a glass of wine.”

“I can,” she said. “It was the day you came home with an honors degree from the London School of Economics. I was so proud of you. I still am,
Dimitrios
. I always will be. Not that it matters to you one way or the other, I suppose.”

He cleared his throat and studied the bubbles rising in his glass as if they were the most fascinating things he’d ever come across. “It matters, Mother, and I’m proud of you, too. I know it wasn’t easy for you to come here tonight. I can’t imagine
Mihalis
was any too pleased when he heard.”

“Well, he hasn’t heard, at least not yet, although I suppose I can’t keep it from him indefinitely. But whatever the price I have to pay, it won’t compare to what it’s cost me to be alienated from my son and grandchild. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to propose a toast, as well.” Eyes shining with suppressed tears, she raised her glass. “To the future. May it bring you both all the happiness you deserve. And to my dear granddaughter, that she may soon be well again and back home where she belongs.”

Regaining his composure, he clinked the rim of his flute against hers. “Better yet, how about, to all four of us?”

I’m going to cry, Brianna thought, barely able to swallow her wine.

Across the table
Dimitrios
caught her eye. “And most especially to my beautiful fiancée, for her wisdom and patience. I’m a better man because of you, Brianna,
calli
mou
.”

Dear heaven, what a talent he had for laying claim to her heart! What an abundance of charm! He knew exactly the right buttons to push to make her cast aside her doubts and think only of how lucky they were to have found each other again.

Hermione beamed through her tears. “So when is the marriage to take place?”

“As soon as possible. Yesterday, if it was up to me,”
Dimitrios
said. “I lost this beautiful woman once already. I won’t risk losing her again.”

“I can see that you love her very much.”

Reaching for Brianna’s hand, he brushed his mouth over her knuckles. “She is my life,” he declared, piercing her with a glance of such unbridled hunger that she blushed. “Even now, with things about as grim as they can get with Poppy, Brianna gives me hope of better times to come. With her by my side, I can face whatever the future holds.”

“Which is exactly as it should be.” Hermione blinked away a fresh onslaught of happy tears. “If you’ll let me, I’d love to help with the wedding—unless your parents, Brianna…?”

“My father died when I was a baby, and my mother when I was nineteen,” she said. “As for a wedding, I really haven’t given it much thought. It doesn’t seem terribly important in the greater scheme of things.”

“Because of Poppy,” Hermione said gently. “I understand. But,
pethi
mou
, your wedding day is important, too. You should be able to look back on it with pleasure for the happy memories it holds, not regret that it passed by without your noticing.”

“Let’s not forget whose wedding this is, Hermione,”
Dimitrios
warned, all the old reserve back in his voice. “It’s up to Brianna to decide what she wants.”

“Well, yes…I didn’t mean to push my way in where I don’t belong.”

She shrank back in her chair, looking so crestfallen that Brianna rushed to reassure her. “As mother of the groom, of course you belong, Hermione. And once we set a date, I’ll be glad of your input.”

Erika came to remove the appetizers just then, and a short time later brought in the main course. Conversation resumed on a more general note after that, easing the tension and lending an almost festive air to the occasion. But it all came to an abrupt end when a fracas at the front door heralded the uninvited and decidedly unwelcome arrival of a fourth member to the party.

Recognizing her husband’s raised voice, Hermione turned ashen and froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. As for
Dimitrios
…Brianna cringed at the murderous expression on his face. Iron-jawed, he rose from the table, his eyes blazing, his fists clenched.

A moment later
Mihalis
Poulos
erupted onto the scene, with
Alexio
trailing behind in a fruitless attempt to stop him. Ignoring him,
Mihalis
adjusted his heavy gold cuff links and tugged the lapels of his cream linen jacket in place. “What happened, son?” he drawled. “Did my invitation get lost in the mail?”

Dimitrios
impaled him in a feral, unblinking stare. “Brianna,” he said softly, “please take my mother inside and wait there for me.”

She hesitated, torn about how she should respond. Instinct told her to throw herself between him and his father; to stop the inevitable and violent confrontation she knew was coming. Years of bitterness and resentment had finally come to a head. Tonight it would end, and only one man would emerge the winner.

She had little doubt who that would be.
Mihalis
was big, but
Dimitrios
was bigger. Stronger. Younger by almost thirty years.

“Brianna,” he said again.

“No.” She edged around the table to grasp his arm. “
Dimitrios
, don’t play into his hands. Don’t let him goad you into doing something you’ll regret.”

He shook her off as easily, as casually as if she were a fly. “Now, Brianna.

This is between
Mihalis
and me. We don’t need an audience.”

“You might need a lawyer, though. Hurt him badly enough, and you could wind up spending the next twenty-five years behind bars. How much use will you be as a father, then?”

Just briefly she thought she’d reached him. She felt, rather than heard his indrawn breath. Sensed rather than saw the sudden doubt assailing him.

But
Mihalis
hadn’t missed a thing. “Now, there’s the difference between you and me,
yios
,” he sneered. “I’ve never felt the need to hide behind a woman’s skirts. No wonder your first wife ran around on you. She probably grew tired of having to fight your battles.”

At that,
Dimitrios
let out a roar and lunged. The table flew over, smashing dishes and spreading a mess of orzo and olive-stuffed breast of pheasant everywhere. Shards of crystal glittered on the terra-cotta tiles.

Alexio
yelped and ran back inside the house. And because she was too late to stop the carnage, Brianna did as she’d been asked in the first place and hurried Hermione away from the scene.

Erika met them in the hall. “Take her to the sitting room, Brianna,” she ordered calmly. “This is not something either of you need to see.”

“Is
Alexio
calling the police?”

Erika laughed grimly. “If you think
Dimitrios
can’t deal with that man by himself,
pethi
mou
, you still have much to learn about him.”

Outside, something else fell with a crash. Wincing, Brianna said, “How about an ambulance, then? At this rate, they’re both going to need one.”

“Go.” Erika ushered them firmly toward the big, formal sitting room, as serenely elegant with its ivory walls and silk-upholstered sofas as the terrace currently was in a shambles. “You don’t care for brandy, I know, but I will bring you coffee, which you will sit and enjoy until
Dimitrios
joins you.”

“This is my fault,” Hermione whispered, shaking so badly Brianna was afraid she might collapse.

“No,
Kyria
, this is not about you,” Erika declared. “This is between your husband and your son. It’s been a long time coming and there’s nothing you or the police or anyone else can do but let them settle their differences, once and for all.”