than The Santor,” she insisted.
Since so much of Darcie’s life was left to fate at the moment, it was with a sense of destiny that she replied, “I’ll take my chances.”
* * *
Mindful of what Darcie had said about her budget, Nick took her to one of the chain hotels in the city, even though it offered neither the charm nor the ambience of the nicer and pricier establishments he would have preferred. But it was conveniently located and tidy, with a smoke-free lobby and a concierge who appeared eager to please.
After she booked a room, they lingered near the bank of elevators. He wasn’t in a hurry to leave. In fact, he almost regretted having to say goodbye. Darcie didn’t seem eager to end their association, either.
“How good are the chances that Stavros will refund the money for my trip?” she asked.
“Not good. My guess is he does not have the money to refund.”
She made a humming sound. “That’s what I was afraid of. At this rate, I will be on a flight back to New York before the end of the week.”
Her budget, Nick assumed. He meant it when he said, “That would be a shame. Greece is a beautiful country with so much to see.”
It might not have any effect, but he planned to call Stavros on her behalf and apply a little pressure. Darcie Hayes and unsuspecting travelers like her shouldn’t have to pay for the man’s bad business decisions and personal habits.
Nick’s reasons, of course, weren’t all pure. His gaze took in the long line of her legs. Even in flat shoes she was a tall woman. Statuesque was the word that came to mind. Sexy applied, too, given her well-rounded curves and the toned backside he’d glimpsed. Why did he get the feeling she was unaware of the power of her allure? In his experience, most women who looked like she did weren’t. They flaunted their looks, used them to get what they wanted. The fact that Darcie didn’t made her not only refreshing, but also a puzzle.
Nick liked puzzles. They ranked right up there with games of chance when it came to guilty pleasures.
“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done,” she was saying.
“I have done nothing.”
“I disagree. You’ve acted as my personal driver for the past couple of hours. I’d probably still be sitting in the airport with my busted-up luggage waiting for a ride that wasn’t coming if it weren’t for you.”
She was all but tipping over on her nose. The signs of exhaustion were unmistakable, from the shadows under her eyes to the droop in her shoulders. He doubted that she would last an hour in her room before sleep claimed her, and knew a moment of regret that he wouldn’t be there when she awoke.
“I am happy I could help. I would hate for a visitor to my homeland to go away with an unfavorable impression of Greek hospitality. Stavros Pappanolos’s poor example notwithstanding, you will find that the people here are very generous and helpful.”
“Oh, you’ve more than made up for Stavros.”
She cleared her throat. There was that becoming blush again. Nick leaned forward, drawn by her reserve. Before he could kiss her, she held out a hand that poked into his solar plexus. Her cheeks flamed bright red now.
“Well, I guess this is where we say goodbye,” she said.
Was it? Nick didn’t think so. But she was tired and he had fences to mend with his family.
He took her hand and meant it when he said, “It has been entirely my pleasure, Darcie Hayes.”
THREE
Darcie was still on Nick’s mind the following day as he sat in his grandmother’s kitchen having a midmorning snack of freshly baked koulourakia portokaliou. The sweet, orange-flavored cookies were a staple in Yiayia’s house, precisely because they ensured company.
His parents were there as well. George and Thea Costas lived right next door. In fact, Nick’s entire extended family was clustered together in a small geographic area on the western edge of Athens. True to tradition, Pieter already owned a house just down the road. In two short weeks, he and Selene would live in it together as husband and wife.
Even the sweetness of the cookie wasn’t enough to wipe out the bitter taste in Nick’s mouth.
“Your tea is growing cold,” Yiayia said, interrupting his thoughts. The snow-white hair coiled on her head made a striking contrast to her usual black frock. Sophia Pappas had been a widow for twenty-three years and still wore the color of mourning. She also considered it her duty as the family’s matriarch to meddle as she saw fit. “And you are frowning, Nikolos. Is something wrong with my cookies?”
“Nothing is wrong with your cookies.” He took another bite and smacked his lips for emphasis. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
“This is a difficult time for you.” His grandmother nodded sagely.
“Only because everyone insists on making it so.”
“Have you given any more thought to Pieter’s request?” his mother asked.
It took an effort not the crush the cookie that remained in his hand. Pieter wanted Nick to be his koumbaro or best man at the upcoming Greek Orthodox ceremony. As such, it would be Nick who put the crowns on Pieter and Selene’s heads and switched them back and forth three times to symbolize their union.
Nick wanted no part of that. He couldn’t believe his brother even had the nerve to ask.
“I have said no too many times to count, Mama.”
She frowned. “I wish you would reconsider. He is your brother, Nick. Your only brother.”
“Pieter conveniently forgot that when he started seeing Selene behind my back.”
“You were gone, Nick. You went to America to start your business,” Thea reminded him unnecessarily. “You told Selene you understood when she said she did not want to move to New York, too.”
What Nick understood was betrayal. Despite what he’d told Selene at the time, he’d held out hope that she would change her mind. In his heart, he’d believed that the two of them would marry eventually. Until Pieter.
“I will not be his koumbaro. Be happy that I have agreed to attend the wedding at all.”
“Be happy, be happy,” Yiayia chided with a shake of her head. “You would do well to listen to your own advice, my boy. You will not find a bride of your own if you do not look.”
“I can assure you, I do not lack for female companionship.”
“Take care how you speak around your grandmother,” George interjected gruffly.
Nick recognized the tone. It was the same one his father had used when Nick stepped over the line as a boy. He was over the line now, too. And so he apologized.
“I am merely trying to point out that if I wanted a wife I would have one.”
He wouldn’t call himself the black sheep of the family, but his wool was definitely dyed a different shade than his brother’s, much to his mother’s and Yiayia’s regret. In addition to his Manhattan apartment, Nick kept a house just outside Athens near the Aegean. His whitewashed home was situated on a hillside and boasted panoramic views of a harbor that was dotted with yachts and fishing boats. His mother claimed the view soothed his restless nature. In some ways, watching all of those boats sail out into open waters only fed it.
“The women you know in Manhattan are not proper wife material,” his mother said.
This was true enough, in part because at this point in his life, with a business to build and the related travel taking up so much of his time, he wasn’t ready to settle down.
Still, he couldn’t resist asking, “How do you know this, Mama? You have