The Greek’s Cinderella Deal by Carol Marinelli

CHAPTER SIX

MARYHADN’TEXACTLYbeen expecting Costa to stand holding flowers and balloons as she stepped into Arrivals in Santorini. But then, given the enormity of her decision and its ramifications, neither had she expected a gorgeous, rather bored, rather pregnant woman in a tight blue dress, holding a sign with her name on, to be there to greet her.

‘I’m Mary...’ She made herself known while biting back foolish disappointment.

‘I thought so.’ The woman didn’t even bother to smile, just looked at her trolley, with her old rucksack and the bag from Mary’s first ever splurge in Duty Free. ‘I’m Kristina—Galen’s PA.’

‘Galen?’

‘Don’t worry about it...’ She waved her question away. ‘There’s been a change of plan. It slipped Costa’s mind that you were coming and he only told me a short while ago.’

If her rather harsh upbringing and many late-night arrivals in new foster homes had taught Mary anything it was not to expect a warm welcome, but even with a generous allowance for the words being ‘lost in translation’, this hurt.

Not that Mary would ever let it show.

Still, the fact that one of the biggest, most difficult decisions of her life—one that had cost her her job and her home—had been but an afterthought to Costa was sobering indeed.

‘Take it up with Costa.’ Kristina shrugged. She muttered something in Greek, and then needlessly translated. ‘Arrogant bastard.’

So Mary had been told.

‘Oh, and you’re to give me your bank details,’ Kristina added. ‘I’ll sort out a transfer this morning.’

At that moment Mary could happily have killed Costa, but she stammered out something about not being comfortable giving out such personal information.

‘We’ve never met,’ Mary pointed out to Kristina. ‘How do I know it’s not a scam?’

‘You think Costa Leventis wants to scam your bank account!’ Kristina laughed to herself, only not in a very nice way. ‘Is there anything you need from your bag before we put it in the car?’

Retrieving her shiny new contraceptive pills and her fridge magnet—as the immaculate but very bored Kristina looked on—was an exercise in humiliation.

The whole morning was.

With each passing moment Mary methodically retrieved and discarded all the little arrows Costa had lodged in her heart and mentally grounded all flights of fancy. She was so disappointed by Costa’s no-show that even the bright sun left her disenchanted.

It was time for some more dreaded small talk. ‘Gosh, it’s warmer than I expected...’

‘False summer,’ Kristina said.

Mary attempted no more.

Santorini’s marina was brimming with gorgeousness when they arrived there, but Mary felt numb as Kristina told her the plans for the day.

‘Leo will sort out your wardrobe.’

Mary frowned. ‘Leo?’

‘Leo Arati.’

Even Mary had heard of him. He dressed the rich and the beautiful who featured in the salon’s magazines, which she pored over at night, but she felt no real joy at the thought of being dressed by such an icon.

‘First, though,’ Kristina said, ‘let’s get you to the salon.’

‘I thought there was one on Anapliró.’

‘You need a complete makeover prior to your arrival there.’

Kristina’s brusque manner offended Mary too easily. And so did the salon girls as they discussed with Kristina all that needed to be done. Mary was taken off to be pummelled and waxed—though certainly not there, she told them. And even before she got to her first ever scalp massage with a deep conditioning treatment she no longer craved it.

Frankly, even Coral was kinder.

Only it wasn’t really Kristina who upset her, nor the salon girls. There was just nothing fun or romantic about being groomed to meet ‘the master’.

It was romance and fun that she craved, but she dislodged a few more arrows and just sat there, shrivelled into herself, as she always tended to, and watched silently as her hair was expertly cut and dried.

Mary thought she was over Costa before the weekend had started. But then came kindness from a most unexpected source in the tiny frame of Leo Arati. He was shorter even than Mary, and elegantly bald with huge silver earrings. As she entered the small studio he tried to embrace her rigid body in a hug, but when Mary resisted he let her go.

Kristina said something to him in Greek, but Leo wasn’t listening.

‘Adio.’He snapped, and then pulled a face as Kristina left. ‘She kills me.’ He rolled his eyes dramatically. ‘She tries to tell Leo Arati how to dress you.’

‘Yes,’ Mary said. ‘She tried to suggest I go copper.’

‘No, no...’ He pulled out a ream of fabric and held it next to her. ‘Not your colour.’

Mary had been talking about Kristina’s suggestion for her hair, but it really didn’t matter.

‘Costa is such a bastard,’ said Leo.

‘Yes.’

‘But...’ He shrugged. ‘Then he smiles and all is forgiven.’

Not by Mary.

Still, at least Leo did his best to put her at ease with his constant chatter, even if neither understood much of what the other said.

‘Sunny, sunny!’ He smiled. ‘All week!’

‘Isn’t it always?’

‘Not usually now. Early summer, maybe. You swim?’

‘No...’ Mary shook her head.

‘So this...?’ He held up the tiniest bikini, which was really just ribbons.

‘No, no!’ Mary shook her head. ‘I can’t possibly wear that...’

‘For sure!’

He insisted she try it on, but then he must have seen the defeat in her face as she stared at her pale reflection and tried to cover herself with her hands.

‘This one,’ Leo said, and held up something marginally safer; and when he showed her how to tie a flimsy little sarong over it she felt somewhat better.

As Mary tried things on, Leo pinned and his assistant took care of alterations as they moved on to the next item.

‘Perfect,’ Leo said as he checked the alterations on a party dress they had chosen in the palest gold. ‘You will kill them.’

Given he’d said much the same about Kristina, Mary wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, though it was such a gorgeous dress she chose to take it as one.

And, even with their communication limited, she found out more about the weekend ahead than Costa had shared.

‘Yolanda...’ Leo said with a mouthful of pins. ‘Busy, busy.’

‘Okay.’

‘And Roula...’ He sighed. ‘Poor Roula.’

Mary frowned at the familiar name, for she had heard Costa on his phone to her.

‘Why “poor Roula”?’ Mary asked casually.

But instead of elaborating Leo gave her exclusive access to his summer collection of the sheerest, most glorious underwear.

‘These,’ Leo urged, holding up a gorgeous, provocative violet set which even had a name. ‘This year’s Sófisma collection. Deception,’ he translated.

And deceptive she would indeed be, wearing something so overtly sexy, and she settled for a few sets that were a little less...well, daring.

Flesh colour was surely safe, Mary thought as she alighted on another set.

‘Love!’ Leo said. ‘It is the My Hope Dies Tonight collection.’ Mary blinked at the appalling name and realised Leo must have seen her reaction when he added, ‘It sounds better in Greek...’

This was the first studio he had owned, she gleaned, and...

‘Costa was my model,’ Leo told her as they waited for the dress chosen for her to wear today to be taken in. ‘A long time ago.’

‘I can’t imagine Costa on a catwalk!’

‘Catwalk? No.’ Leo shook his head. ‘I gave up design school. Costa has the Midas touch, so I paid his bar bill in return for him wearing my clothes out there...’ He gestured to the fashionable world of Santorini outside, which she had only briefly glimpsed. ‘Then on Mykonos, and then...’

He stopped his reminiscence, though she wished he’d continue, but her dress was finally ready so she put it on.

‘Then?’ Mary asked as he helped with the hidden zip. And even though there had been a gap in conversation, from his smile they both knew she referred to the ‘then’ after Mykonos.

He gave her no answer, though. ‘Look at you!’

Mary stared at her reflection and barely recognised herself. She wore a pale mint shift dress, but it was not just a shift dress, for the hem and seams were visible and had been sewn in the palest gold thread, as had the butter-soft ballet pumps.

‘I thought you were going to cut the gold thread off,’ Mary admitted; she had assumed it was tacking.

‘For sure!’ Leo smiled. ‘You’ll kill them.’

‘Indeed she shall...’

The deep voice aimed a fresh arrow to her heart, but she yanked it out before she looked up. The arrow that was lodged straight in her pelvis remained, however, for Costa looked both terrible and stunning all at the same time.

Bruised, sulking, rumpled...

Her imagination ran riot, for he looked as if he’d just come off worse in some crazy fight in a casino, or fallen off a horse, but if that was the case why would he be wearing black trousers and a white shirt?

‘What happened?’ Mary asked, even as her mind danced with a million possibilities.

That aquiline nose had not been broken, for she could see it was perfectly straight, but she guessed he hadn’t shaved since their last meeting, for it was more than a couple of days’ growth he wore; it was practically a beard.

He was here, and as utterly beautiful as she remembered, yet he was more unpredictable than she could allow.

‘Much longer, Leo?’ he asked, instead of enlightening Mary.

‘All done.’ Leo smiled.

Costa thanked him in Greek, and Leo, who had been so kind to her, snapped something back.

‘Leo has a party to get to,’ Costa said, and so it was he who wheeled her new luggage out.

They walked in silence. Mary was cross and he was clearly exhausted. So much so that he closed his eyes when they took a seat at a taverna, and didn’t even open them to speak to an attentive waiter, just nodded to whatever he was offered.

A drink, it would seem, for two glasses were put down and liquor instantly poured.

When Mary declined, Costa snapped himself out of his reverie. ‘What would you like?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ Mary sulked.

He shook his head to the waiter, who drifted off.

She watched as he took up a carafe of water and added it to the liquor, which turned from clear to milky.

‘Would you like to order a drink before I apologise? I’d like to do it without the waiter here.’

‘Iced chocolate milk.’

‘Good.’ He called out her order and then took a drink.

‘Is that Pernod?’ Mary asked, because she’d heard of that and how it went cloudy.

‘Ouzo.’ He frowned at the irrelevance of her question, but glanced over at her. ‘Do you want to try it?’

He pushed the glass towards her and she felt a shiver.

Because he had no problem with sharing his glass.

Such a tiny thing to him.

An absolute first for her.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Look... I am sorry I wasn’t there to greet you. I was held up, so I called Kristina and asked her to meet you.’

‘You also told her to take my bank details,’ Mary sneered.

It was something she never usually did, but Costa brought out something in her—something old, something new, something borrowed, maybe, but not something blue. Costa Leventis made her see red.

‘How tacky!’

Mary stopped talking as the waiter approached with her drink. Costa waited until they were alone before responding. He rarely explained himself, but in this case he felt he owed her at least part of an explanation.

‘I asked her to get your details in case I couldn’t be here,’ Costa said, meeting her gaze.

He’d wanted the money side of things sorted—wanted one less thing to worry about. Because where Mary was concerned he felt suddenly cheap, like some sleazy old man. ‘I didn’t want you to feel stranded or trapped.’

‘I have an emergency fund,’ Mary told him, ‘and an open return ticket,’ she added with a thinly veiled warning as to where this was leading. ‘But after insulting me, Kristina took me to a beauty salon, and then on to Leo.’

‘So I see.’

He still hadn’t commented on her clothes and hair; he knew he ought to because she looked stunning. But then he’d thought she was stunning on Saturday night too.

‘You look beautiful, by the way.’

‘By the way?’Mary let out a half-laugh at this rather underwhelming response to her head-to-toe makeover; the events of this morning still stung. ‘So I’m Costa Leventis–worthy now?’

‘Meaning...?’

‘I felt like some matted poodle being dropped off at the groomer.’

‘Mary,’ he said, and she met his silvery eyes. ‘I have said that you look beautiful on each occasion we’ve met.’

He had, she realised, but she looked quickly away, refusing to be mollified. It had been a long, lonely day but, worse than that, now he was here she was starting to remember why she’d said yes to this crazy charade...

In all her hurt and anger she had set aside his sheer assault to her senses and how divine he was. All the same, she would not be like Leo and the rest of Costa’s minions and simply forgive him.

‘Costa, what happened to your face?’

‘I ran into a door.’

‘Some door,’ Mary retorted. ‘Surely as your girlfriend I would know the truth?’

‘No.’

‘Your mother will want to know...’

‘Perhaps, but she knows full well she’ll get no answers.’

Costa let out a breath. He really did not want to tell Mary about being ambushed at Heathrow just after he’d left her, nor Eric Ridgemont’s vile words about her.

Ridgemont he had taken care of one-handed.

Unfortunately, in his anger, he’d forgotten about the army Ridgemont travelled with.

‘I had a slight accident after I left you. Afterwards I needed a new crown—preferably in time for the party—only your beloved NHS didn’t want me to be concerned about that. They said I needed stitches, and also a scan.’

Mary watched him silently and he tried to turn it into a joke.

‘I signed myself out and went private...’ He took another sip of his drink before continuing ‘And at my posh new hospital I got a scan and was stitched up, was woken every hour and a light shone in my eyes, so I signed myself out of there and went to a hotel. This morning I finally got my new crown...’

He showed her his new tooth amongst the row of lovely white ones and then, considering the conversation over, spread his gorgeous, slightly swollen mouth into a satisfied smile.

‘I don’t believe you, Costa—well, not about the door,’ she said.

‘Then don’t.’ Costa shrugged. ‘We really need to go; the helicopter is waiting.’

‘No.’

Mary shook her head. It was odd, but even in another country, and with no hint of a safety net, she was not scared to fall. And neither did she feel obligated to simply up and go just because of some cases beside her.

She had been here before, but she was older now.

The hardest part was behind her—she had walked out on Coral and lost her home and her job—and she suddenly felt liberated rather than scared...on the edge of something...or rather on the edge of her.

The old her.

The one who had been buried a long time ago and left unnoticed. Except it would seem she’d actually grown in that time, for it was a new Mary that had emerged.

‘I’m not leaving here till we’ve sorted out our stories.’

Costa, though, had clearly grown a little too used to people jumping to his command. ‘The helicopter is busy bringing in guests for tomorrow’s party,’ he said. ‘It can’t just sit idle while we play “getting to know you”.’

‘We can take the ferry, then.’

‘I gave up taking the ferry a long time ago,’ Costa scoffed.

But then he looked over and saw that Mary wasn’t moving. In fact, Mary was more than happy to sit there all night.

‘They’re getting ready for something,’ Mary commented, glancing around at the waiter, who had changed into evening attire. ‘I think someone famous must be arriving...’

‘The sun has brought them all out. They’ll come off their yachts soon. Look at that,’ he said, and she watched a family being moved to a table behind the rope. ‘Making way for the oligarchs...’

‘They’re not moving us,’ Mary said. ‘Or rather, they’re not moving you.’

‘They would have once,’ he assured her, and then she saw him realise that Mary had trapped him, and that they would be sitting here until they had all this sorted. ‘You’ve changed,’ he accused.

‘I have,’ Mary agreed. ‘It must be the sun.’

‘Well, whatever it is,’ Costa begrudgingly admitted as he took out his phone, ‘I like it.’

Stay cross, Mary told herself as he cancelled the helicopter. ‘Can we start again?’ Costa said and, turning off his phone, offered her his full attention. ‘I hated that I couldn’t be at the airport,’ Costa said. ‘Kristina was my last resort. Believe me, we do not get on.’

‘Have you slept with her, then?’

‘God, no!’ He screwed up his nose. ‘Why do you bring everything back to sex?’

‘She hates you with too much passion, Costa, and she’s also very beautiful.’

‘Ice is beautiful—it doesn’t mean I want to—’ He halted what she was sure would be a crude response. ‘Kristina hates everyone. I had to bribe her with a babymoon in Anapliró...’

‘A babymoon?’

‘An extended babymoon.’ Costa rolled his eyes. ‘Kristina should be a hostage negotiator rather than a PA, but she’s hellishly efficient. And I got Leo out of bed before midday—which, believe me, is a miracle. He’s angry with me too.’

Mary had been so hurt by his absence that she hadn’t paused to think he might have actually had to jump through hoops in order to prevent her arriving alone and unmet. And while perhaps the realisation should have made her feel small, instead she suddenly felt looked-after, when she realised just how much worse this morning could have been.

‘Thank you,’ Mary said. ‘I mean that.’

‘No problem.’ He glanced at all the cases. ‘Clearly you and Leo got on!’

‘He was lovely,’ Mary nodded. She took a deep breath. ‘So, let’s get our stories straight.’

‘Very well,’ Costa said. ‘What should I know about you?’

Mary swallowed. ‘Costa, it’s your family we’re trying to fool. I don’t have one.’

‘I don’t even know where you live,’ he pointed out. ‘Fine.’ He let out a breath when he saw nothing was forthcoming. ‘We’ll just say London, but lately you’ve been spending a lot of time at mine.’

She watched him rack his brains, clearly trying to think what a true partner might already know just to get this settled.

‘Are you gluten-intolerant?’

‘What sort of question is that?’

‘A lot of my dates are, and I’d have to let the kitchen know.’

‘No, I’m not.’ He made her dizzy, both indifferent and ardent, sometimes in the same sentence, at times just with his eyes... ‘Costa, you bought me cake.’

‘So I did.’ He thought again. ‘Any allergies?’

‘None,’ Mary said. ‘Costa, we’re not here to discuss me. I need to know more about you.’

He said nothing.

‘Why don’t we start with Roula?’ she prompted, and then quoted Leo. ‘Or rather, “poor Roula”. I’m guessing she’s the ex.’

‘Leo talks too much.’

‘How long were you together?’

‘We were never together,’ Costa said. ‘We were promised as children. That’s how it works over there...’ He waved in the direction in which they would soon be heading.

‘But you backed out?’ Mary checked.

‘No.’

‘Costa, surely I’d know if I’m about to meet your parents...’ she pointed out.

‘There’s just my mother,’ Costa said. His face was tense, as if he’d realised that she really did need to know more. ‘My father left when she got ill, and my mother ended up selling hot nuts from a caravan to make ends meet. The Kyrios family—Roula’s family—decided I was no longer a suitable prospect.’

‘Because your father left?’ Mary frowned.

‘That, and I guess they thought I might be like him and not a reliable provider...’ He said it so blithely, so carelessly, that Mary was certain there was a whole lot more to it than that. Not that Costa would be sharing it.

‘Roula married Dimitrios, a fisherman.’

‘Oh.’

‘You sound disappointed.’

‘A bit,’ she admitted. ‘I was expecting a spurned lover.’

‘Believe me, there are plenty of them—though not in Anapliró. I steer well away from any liaisons there. It would be the chapel at dawn...’

‘Hence me?’

‘Sort of.’ Costa nodded, and then sighed. Because there was more, Mary was sure.

‘What you need to know is that Roula’s husband died in a boating accident a few years ago.’

‘Ahh.’

‘I could feel the eyes on me even at his funeral,’ he admitted.

‘Her eyes?’

‘God, no. We’re fine. More the older ones, who would like nothing more than to see us together.’

‘Now that you’re rich?’

‘Of course.’ He said it without malice, just stated it as fact. ‘My mother too. Then there’s Roula’s family.’

‘Yet they backed out?’

‘They did,’ Costa said. ‘And because of that I got to be free and I built up the island. In fact, I employ most of them now. But it is not enough for them. There is... Philotimo.’ He looked as if it could not easily be put into words as he tried to explain. ‘It is something like honour. There are certain ways that I have long since let go. You know what families can be like.’ He winced a little. ‘I’m sorry, that was insensitive.’

‘It’s fine,’ Mary said. ‘I’m used to it. And,’ she added, ‘for the temporary record we’re keeping, I love hearing about people’s families.’

She would have liked to hear more, but Costa was reaching for his drink to drain it. At the same time she reached for him—just to halt him, just to get him to talk more... She didn’t know. But although she’d remembered his beauty, she had forgotten the exquisite sensation of his skin brushing hers. It was a simple touch of their fingers, nothing more. As much contact as one might have if accepting change or taking a coat...yet it felt like so very much more.

Mary pulled back her hand, stunned that a mere brush of fingers could send volts of warmth through her, and more stunned that perhaps he had felt it too, for now he reclaimed her fingers across the table for the smallest of moments.

She did not recognise her own buffed nails, nor understand how she could be so mesmerised by the sight of her fingers wrapped gently in his.

He held her so gently, for he had seen them blanch at Ridgemont’s touch and it had galled him more than he dared to consider.

What the hell was he doing? Costa wondered. She was just here to deliver him safe passage to freedom. So why did he want to simply sit in her presence and get to know her some more?

Costa decided he didn’t.

He had sworn there would be no displays of affection without an audience, so he changed his touch to something else—a light pat, reassurance that the weekend would go okay—and his voice was a monotone as he glanced at the time.

‘We’d better get on.’

‘Of course.’

And, despite thinking he never would again, Costa Leventis found himself boarding the ferry to Anapliró.