The Greek’s Cinderella Deal by Carol Marinelli

CHAPTER SEVEN

COSTADIDNOTCARE for this method of transport.

It was a familiar passage, long since coded into his brain, and he loathed every lurch of the ferry. It was too chillingly familiar.

He sat on a metal bench beside Mary, who was turning to enjoy the beauty of Thira from a distance. In a while she would get her first glimpse of Anapliró, rising from the ocean.

Costa saw the retreat’s helicopter flying overhead with his luggage, flown by a no doubt bemused pilot, wondering why his boss had chosen the ferry.

He’d stolen from his mother’s purse to take the ferry alone that first time, determined to find his father and demand he return and face up to his responsibilities. He’d checked all the bars, asking if they’d seen Stavros Leventis...

He was aware suddenly of Mary’s eyes on his face, checking out his stitches.

‘Stop staring,’ Costa said, but he turned and gave her a smile as he caught her out.

‘You’d stare,’ Mary said, ‘if I’d arrived with a black eye and stitches.’

‘True,’ he conceded. ‘Though I’d have left you back at the marina—that would have been too much to explain to Yolanda.’

She laughed. He did like to make her laugh.

‘Are we going to meet her this evening?’

‘We’ll just drop in for a drink.’ Costa nodded. ‘She will be busy sorting things out for her party.’

‘I got a book on basic Greek from the library...’

‘Why? She speaks excellent English.’

‘Yes, but she’ll appreciate the effort.’

Costa frowned.

‘If I was your real girlfriend I’d make the effort.’

‘Ouáou!’Costa said, which was really just the equivalent of Mary’s Wow! ‘Would you really?’

‘Of course.’

‘That’s terrifying!’ Costa grinned as he said it, never quite sure if Mary was joking or not. ‘But you honestly don’t have to worry about speaking Greek. Most of our guests speak English and she converses well.’

‘Leo said she’s always busy,’ Mary said, excited to get there. ‘Why do you call her Yolanda?’

‘She’s the manager of the retreat. It would look odd if I had to say to a client that I need to check with my mother...’

She laughed again.

Costa did not.

The slow chug of the ferry and the lurch as it started to turn reminded him too much of times best forgotten. He walked over to the rail, recalling half carrying, half dragging his mother up the ferry ramp the time she’d collapsed.

‘I can’t see, Costa.’

‘I can,’he’d said, pleased that she couldn’t see the look of sheer terror he’d been sure was on his face as he’d fought to keep his ten-year-old voice steady.

‘I can’t work if I can’t see.’

‘I can work.’His voice had cracked then, but it had already started to at times and it had been easy to blame it on his age. ‘I look older...’

He felt someone standing next to him.

‘Such a view...’ Mary sighed.

‘Mary...’

He wanted to tell her as patiently as he could—explain that he did not require her to be his shadow, but now the slow, familiar turn of the ferry was in process and Costa knew that every last tourist would be coming to the rail soon.

‘There she is.’

Mary followed his gaze, and it became clear that the she to which he referred was the island. Her first glimpse of Anapliró, rising from the ocean, was beyond words. It jutted out from the water in a daunting peak, and despite its lush green cover even Mary, with her untrained eye, could picture the lava that had created this rare treasure.

It was steep, and the houses carved into the hillside were dotted sparsely, except for one cluster of buildings.

‘That’s the village,’ Costa said, then his hand guided her to look to the left. ‘There is the retreat.’

‘Where?’ Mary stared, but then she saw it. It was so beautifully blended with the landscape that he’d had to point it out. Secluded for the most part by trees, it spread along the foreshore and into the hill beyond. ‘It looks as if it’s been there for ever.’

‘Some of it almost has been,’ Costa said.

Their approach added colour to the whitewashed buildings, and it made her breath hitch in her throat. There were bright blues and rusty oranges, and Costa showed her the landmarks, pointing first to a silver-domed church.

‘That is where our guests who book the retreat for their wedding get married.’

It was stunning everywhere she looked, from the pools that were like sapphires slotted into the hillside, to the stunning ocean and the yachts in the bay.

‘I lived there growing up,’ Costa said, pointing to a stretch of harbour, clearly having decided it was something she perhaps ought to know. Then he moved his hand and pointed higher. ‘My grandparents had a home in the hills. My mother lived there till my yaya died; now she has her own residence in the grounds of the retreat.’

‘How...?’ Mary asked, utterly bewildered, for the island was breathtakingly beautiful. She was speechless at the thought of a poor boy from the village achieving all this. ‘How did you do it?’

‘That is not up for discussion.’

‘With me?’

‘With anyone,’ Costa countered. ‘I don’t share my life with anyone, Mary.’ He clearly meant it, but he added, ‘I was born under a lucky star.’

‘Oh, please...’

He sighed. ‘Nemo is here to collect us, so I should...’ He slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘He’s Roula’s brother.’

‘How did he know we’d be on-board?’

‘The helicopter pilot, I guess. I told you—everyone knows everyone else’s business here.’ He turned her to face him then. ‘So, before we dock, tell me more about you.’

‘Like what? I’m really very boring.’

‘Okay,’ Costa said. ‘I’ll tell people that, shall I, when they ask about you? “She’s really very boring.” I don’t think so.’

‘My star sign is Aries.’

‘Yes, because it was your birthday last week. Come on, Mary, give me something here. What would a lover know about Mary Jones?’

‘Perhaps you should have attached a questionnaire to the contract,’ Mary said, knowing full well he had chosen this moment when she was held in his arms to ask her these things. ‘Costa, you’re paying me to hang off your arm and be kissed on demand.’

‘Didn’t they teach you in escort school not to constantly remind the guy that he’s paying for it? Because it really doesn’t help, Mary.’

Costa took a breath, as if suddenly he loathed the charade that they’d created. Whether he wanted to or not, he cared far too much about Mary, and had done since the very first night.

Mary sighed, as she’d thought of something she had better let him know. ‘I didn’t go to “escort school”, as you call it. The fact is—’

‘I apologise,’ he cut in. ‘That was crass of me.’

‘No, Costa...’

‘Let’s just drop it,’ he suggested. ‘It’s probably best that I kiss you now, if that’s okay.’

‘For the sake of our audience?’

‘Of course.’

His kiss was different this time, just his mouth moving over hers and his hands on her hips as if placed by a director.

Except the director had forgotten to direct the placement of Mary’s...

‘Don’t stand there like you’re sleeping on your feet,’ Costa reminded her as he moved his mouth back a fraction.

Mary wasn’t sleeping. In fact, she might very easily weep at the taste of this passionate man’s plastic kiss.

‘There,’ he said, and drew his head back. He looked at her with no trace of affection. ‘That should do.’

If there had been a napkin handy, she was rather sure he’d have wiped it over his mouth.