had it been since she’d dreamed of bigger and better things for herself when it came to her career? Her life? Settling. Darcie had done so damned much of it.
“Did you come to Greece on business then?” she asked.
Nick shook his head and some of his dark hair fell across his forehead. It lent an air of recklessness to his already pulse-pounding good looks.
“Not this time. I came for a family wedding.”
Wedding. Even spoken with Nick’s gorgeous accent, the word brought Darcie up short, reminding her as it did of her recent close call with “I do.” How different her life might be right now if a week ago she hadn’t finally found the courage to act on what her heart—and, well, Becky—had been telling her for so long. Tad wasn’t the right man for her.
“Yet you were going to leave today.”
“I would have been back. The ceremony does not take place until the Saturday after next.”
His response had her blinking in surprise. “That’s more than two weeks away, and you’re already here?”
“It is expected,” he replied.
Darcie detected a slight edge to his tone and thought she understood its source. She knew all about family expectations. She had three sisters, two older, one younger, all of them happily married and busily procreating as if the survival of the human race depended on them. Meanwhile, Darcie had passed the big three-oh mark in the spring and the only thing that remained of her eagerly anticipated nuptials was the stack of gifts that would have to be returned when she got back.
A groan escaped. At Nick’s quizzical glance, she said, “I feel your pain. My family can be, well, difficult to please at times. So, who’s getting married?”
“My brother Pieter.”
“I take it he lives here.”
“Yes. As does my entire family.”
Yet Nick made his home in a city across the Atlantic. Interesting. “No apron strings for you,” she murmured.
“Apron strings?”
“Nothing. Are you and your brother close?”
“We used to be closer.”
At that, his lips flattened into a grim line, leaving her with the distinct impression there was much more to the story. Still, she kept her curiosity in check and changed the subject. They engaged in polite small talk until they arrived at their destination. Even before she saw the hotel, she knew it would be a dive. The oath that slipped from Nick’s lips told her as much.
Luxury accommodations? Right. The squat, two-story building looked like it should have a date with a wrecking ball, despite the sign out front printed in Greek and English that announced it was Under Renovation. It was more rickety than some of the country’s ancient ruins. Glancing around, Darcie realized The Santor wasn’t located in the best of neighborhoods, either. As hungry as she was, she didn’t think she would be comfortable hoofing up the block to the restaurant she spied there. At the moment, two men were loitering out front, smoking cigarettes and passing a liquor bottle back and forth.
With her earlier hysteria threatening to return, she muttered, “Rufus really wasn’t so bad.”
Nick’s brows drew together. “Your cat?”
“No longer. I was thinking good riddance after what he did to my favorite silk dress. But now...” She shrugged.
“Has anyone ever told you that the story of your life is very confusing?”
“Only all the time.”
“I’ll walk you in and see you settled.”
No protest passed Darcie lips. Since it would have been token at best, she didn’t see the point. No way did she want to go inside that death trap by herself.
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
Nick retrieved her sorry-looking bag and they made their way to the entrance on a makeshift walkway of cardboard that had been placed over mud puddles. On either side of the door were potted palm trees whose fronds were coated with thick, grayish construction dust.
Nick held open one of the grimy glass doors. “After you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She took a halting step inside and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Once they did, she wished they hadn’t. The lobby was filled with an assortment of power tools and building supplies, and every last inch of the place was as dust-coated as the palms outside. Her apprehension kicked into high gear as she imagined the condition the rooms would be in.
As if sensing her hesitation, Nick placed a hand on the small of her back and propelled her toward the reception desk. A woman stood behind it. Darcie pegged her to be about forty-five and a chain smoker. A lit cigarette dangled from her lips and a second one burned merrily in the ashtray on the countertop. The woman squinted at them through the haze created by both dust and smoke.
“Good afternoon.” The greeting was offered in Greek as she set the cigarette in the ashtray.
“Good afternoon,” Nick replied. His gaze flicked to her name badge and he added, “Pesha. How are you today?”
He said this in English, which Pesha apparently understood and could speak, because she switched to English as well.
“I am much better now.” Her smile was flirtatious and made it clear why. Darcie couldn’t fault the woman for that. Nick had certainly brightened her day. “How can I help you?”
“My friend has a reservation.”
“Friend.” Her smile widened and she exhaled. Residual wisps of smoke curled out from the woman’s nostrils. Not terribly attractive, but they did distract one from the tar stains on her teeth. “What is the name?”
“Darcie Hayes,” Nick said.
There was no computer to consult, only a thick, leather-bound book through which Pesha began flipping. Finally, she glanced up.
“Sorry. I have no one by that name registered here this week.”
“Um, what about for a Darcie Franklin.” It would have been her married name. She avoided meeting Nick’s questioning gaze.
More page flipping ensued before Pesha shook her head. “Oxi. I cannot find that name among my guests, either.”
“There must be some mistake. The tour package was booked months ago and paid in full.”
“Tour package?” Pesha said slowly. “Which tour package might that be?”
“A multicity, sightseeing excursion that was booked through Zeus Tours.”
“Stavros!”
The woman spat out the name with enough force to turn the two benign syllables into the vilest of curses. But she wasn’t done. She continued in Greek, gesturing wildly the entire time. Darcie was left with no choice but to grit her teeth and listen. By the time Pesha switched to English again, she had worked up a good head of steam.
“That man owes me for the last three tour groups that stayed here. I have told him, no more! I have been turning his customers away all day.”
She selected one of the cigarettes from the ashtray and took a long, lung-blackening drag.
“Um, when you say no more,” Darcie began.
“I will not honor any more of his bookings unless he pays me in advance.” Pesha stamped out the cigarette for emphasis.
“I can understand your annoyance with Stavros.” Darcie was pretty annoyed with the man herself. “But I paid in full for a room at The Santor.”
Sure, the accommodations were crap, but it was the principle of the matter. They were crap for which Tad’s credit card already