The Greek’s Cinderella Deal by Carol Marinelli

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘WON’TBELONGNOW,’ Costa said as they sat holding hands in the back of a luxurious car. But there were no toying fingers; there was no press of thumbs.

Mary glanced up and saw that Nemo was watching her in the rear-view mirror. He had dark brown eyes that were not awkward when they met hers; they were just...brown.

‘It’s quite a drive,’ Mary ventured to Costa as the car hugged the coastal road at speed, making her catch her breath at times. ‘Well, you’d be used to it, I guess...’

‘Not really. I generally fly in.’

They passed some gorgeous old houses, and Costa perked up. He pointed to the hills ahead and told her about a new restaurant. ‘Apparently it’s amazing,’ Costa said. ‘My head chef and the restaurateur are rivals...’

‘Really?’

‘So I am duty bound to take you there to check out the competition. We’ll try and go before we leave.’

He moved a strand of her hair and kissed her cheek and she turned to him so readily.

Too readily.

‘I can’t wait,’ Mary said, and lightly kissed him back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

The trouble for Mary, though, was that it was beginning to feel like that.

‘Enough now,’ he said into the shell of her ear, then pulled back.

Damn!

Of course—the sudden affection and sweet talk had been for the benefit of Nemo.

Stung, she pulled away as they swung into a long driveway. She saw the retreat, low and vast and like a hidden temple...

‘I thought...’

She was silent then, for she had assumed it had been built from scratch, or something, but it really was as if it had stood there for ever. Only now wasn’t the time for questions. Actually, asking questions wasn’t her place in this situation—but it was like playing catch-up on a treasure hunt and knowing you were missing so many important clues.

‘Thank you,’ Costa said, as a bellboy brought their luggage into a villa, carrying it through to the main bedroom. She glimpsed a vast bed draped in dark navy and ached to peer in, but she stood there, a stranger in Costa’s home—or rather, his Anapliró residence, for she could see it was not a home.

‘It’s incredible,’ Mary said, when the bellboy had gone.

It truly was, for the stone walls should make it feel cold, yet the one wall of glass doors which could clearly be opened up to the outside captured the low sun and the view was enticing.

It was certainly a male space, Mary thought as she walked around, avoiding the subject of the bedroom. She looked up at the high ceiling and then to the gorgeous rugs scattered on the floor, taking in what was to be her home for the next couple of nights.

Mary was used to new homes—or at least she had been while growing up. Used to being the new girl in strange surroundings and always trying to get a feel for a new place. This entire space was clearly stamped as his.

‘Here.’ Costa was clearly not avoiding the subject, and opened up a white door to direct her into a guest room.

Or rather a guest suite, with a bed dressed in white linen and a beautiful stone-tiled bathroom. For this weekend it would all be hers...and yet it was the dark navy bed in his room that still burned her eyes.

‘You have your own pool, though it’s too small for swimming...’

He walked across the room to open up some French doors and there was the sound of cascading water. As she peered out she could see that she had her own dip pool and fountain, like a mini oasis.

‘You can call the restaurant or the spa if you want food, or a massage or whatever...’ He nodded to the bedside phone. ‘For anything you want, really.’

‘Press two for Costa?’

‘Sorry...’ He gave her a smile. ‘It’s not wired into my room. As I said, you have to come to me.’

She wandered into the kitchen and opened up a vast fridge, looking at the choice of food and wine. Then she peered back into the master bedroom, where her luggage had been placed, but deliberately didn’t go in. She just stared from the double doors. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and the real dilemma she had been trying to ignore was rising.

This wasn’t real. She had to constantly remind herself that the sole reason she was here was because, come Monday, she would have the money to move on and get her chance for a fresh start.

She had made lists all week, added up the pros and the cons—just as if this was a job offer.

And it was.

There was one point she had failed to add, though it belonged in both columns, being both a pro and a con.

Mary liked him.

No, it was more than that. Mary was just a little bit crazy about Costa Leventis.

Even when he hadn’t been able to get to the airport himself that morning, still he’d sent someone, and the efforts he had gone to meant more than he could possibly know.

And although they bickered, for Mary it felt like freedom—because he allowed her to be herself.

Whoever Mary Jones was.

As Costa made a phone call she looked again at her gorgeous new luggage, all waiting to be unpacked—but where?

‘Hey...’ He came to stand beside her, the doorway so wide that they didn’t even touch. ‘Do you want someone to come and unpack your things?’ he offered.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Then I’m going to have a swim.’

He moved past her, stripping off his shirt. Then, as he unclipped his case, she saw the dark bruises on his ribs and just couldn’t stop herself.

She said it again. ‘Some door!’

‘Yeah, some door,’ he said, unbuckling his belt.

Really, she knew she should take her cue and go, but she honestly thought he was about to elaborate...to explain things. Honestly thought that now they were properly alone there would be a chance to talk, to get to know each other.

But instead he stripped off.

Just like that.

She stood in the doorway and watched as Costa Leventis got naked.

‘Costa!’

‘What?’ He turned and saw her still standing there. ‘You’re the one standing there watching me.’

He pulled on some swimwear, but not fast enough for Mary to avoid seeing a full-frontal naked glimpse of Costa.

He was stunning. She’d guessed he’d be toned, but although large, he was trim too. And hairy! She’d listened to the women chatting in the salon as they breezed through magazines, and of course she’d read them too, before recycling them—even the sealed section that had come in one. Well, she’d actually saved that particular magazine...

But this was no glossy two-dimensional image that danced in her mind. And though his muscular legs and long, strong arms had not escaped her attention, nor the fan of hair on his chest and that black snaky line downwards, it was the other bit that was now permanently fixed in her brain. Mary had never seen a naked man before. That...that part of him had been lifting, sort of moving independently of him, and even though it was covered now, as he walked past her, it was as if she could still see it.

‘Are you coming for a swim?’ he asked.

‘Aren’t we supposed to be going to your mother’s?’

‘It’s not a doctor’s appointment. Anyway, if we were real...’ he gestured to the bed ‘...she’d expect me to be late.’

He left her standing there and she just stared at the bed.

If they were a real couple, Costa and Mary would be tumbling on it.

She was jealous of them, the other Mary and Costa.

Jealous of him and his ease with himself.

She wished she could just strip off on a whim while carrying on a conversation with a virtual stranger.

Of course she should move her things to the guest room now and that would be that—for she was hardly going to come knocking at his door demanding sex!

She walked over to the bed and ran a light hand over the velvety fabric. And found she desperately wanted him.

She recalled his words: There are safer ways to chase adventure. For Mary, Costa was both safe and an adventure. So she did not unpack, nor move her cases. She just opened one, selected a little amber bikini and changed into it—though not with the same ease Costa had demonstrated.

She was burning from the roots of her hair to her freshly painted toes, still a little stunned at the sight of a naked Costa, as she stepped out into an evening that was darkening towards night, where only the pool was gently lit and Costa was swimming in it.

She sat on the edge and dipped first her toes and then her legs in. The water was tepid, and bliss on her skin after a long angst-filled day. From there she watched him, slicing through the water, turning at each end. Clearly he’d meant it when he’d said he was going for a swim.

He came up beside her a good while later and leant his arms on the edge, a little breathless and clearly in a better mood.

‘Aren’t you going to get in?’ he asked.

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll just sit.’

‘It’s deep and the water is perfect.’

‘I can’t swim,’ she admitted. ‘There—you’ve got something for your list. Mary can’t swim.’

‘Seriously?’ He looked a bit stunned by the fact. ‘Don’t they teach you at school in England?’

‘They do.’ She nodded. ‘But I got banned on my first lesson.’

‘For...?’ Costa asked.

Such a simple question. He could never know the hurt behind her answer, for it had happened the day her mother died.

‘I escaped from my class and went over to the diving pool.’ She could actually see herself, climbing the endless ladder, her little legs determined rather than shaking, knowing she had to hurry before she got caught. ‘I dived off the top board...’

‘Go, Mary!’ He laughed. ‘The top one?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded and looked to see that he was smiling up at her. ‘I didn’t think it through, of course, and I had to be rescued. Then my mother had to come and collect me...’

‘You had her then?’ Costa enquired gently.

‘I did,’ Mary said, ‘though not for much longer.’

It was as if the pool was a magic lantern now, flashing forgotten images into a sky full of stars.

‘My mother told me there’d be no treats for a week, but she didn’t really mean it, and my dad—’ She stopped.

‘Your dad?’

‘Mr Sensible...’ Mary attempted, using the teasing term that she and her granny had reserved for him. ‘“Mary needs to learn...”’ she quoted, but then she stopped again, for in this quiet space, under a darkening Anapliró sky, with Costa patiently waiting, she finally dared to look that time in the face.

Mary could see the worry in her father’s features that night, feel his hands taking hers as he suggested to her mother that they not go out. He’d known, despite her defiant, sullen stance, just how upset she was.

Not that she shared that small revelation with Costa.

‘The school were furious; they banned me from swimming lessons for the entire term.’

‘So they refused to teach you the one thing that might have saved you?’

‘I guess... Anyway, it didn’t matter. I changed schools soon after that.’ She looked down at him. ‘Who taught you?’

‘I don’t know.’ Costa shrugged. ‘I just swam...’ She frowned. ‘Galen and I used to swim in the sea each morning, further out each time.’

‘Galen’s your friend?’ she checked, for she’d heard Kristina say his name.

‘Not really a friend. We were at school together for a while, and then in the military. Now we share an office building and I’m constantly being warned not to borrow his miserable PA...’

‘Sounds like a friend to me.’

‘Maybe,’ he agreed. ‘We used to call him rompót at school—robot.’

‘That’s so mean.’

‘No, it was a compliment. He’s brilliant—like, seriously so.’ He smiled then. ‘Very serious. He’s why I can’t fly you on a private jet...’

‘And I thought you were principled?’

‘Nope.’

She thought he was about to haul himself out, but then he noticed her eyes on the water, as if he saw her longing to get in.

‘No diving allowed,’ he teased and offered his hand.

There was absolutely no ulterior motive behind it, she told herself. To Costa the pool was for swimming, and it was clear he found the water relaxing.

So Mary accepted the invitation and took his hand and dropped in, feeling the embrace of the water and the steadiness of his hand as she searched for the bottom.

‘Should we move to the shallow end?’ Mary asked, because while Costa appeared to be standing, she could not feel the floor.

‘There isn’t one,’ he told her. ‘This would have been a frigidarium. People would come here after their time in the warmer pools.’

‘It’s warm, though...’

‘We’re not in Ancient Greece now.’

Still holding his hand, she took a breath and submerged herself, and came up to see his smile.

‘If you want, I can teach you to swim.’

She gave a slightly mocking laugh, for she was so not falling for that, but Costa did not return it.

‘I told you the night we met. I don’t do double speak.’

Mary rather wished he did, though, as he placed her hands back on the stone edge. She wished his hands could be on her, and that they might linger and events might unfold. Yet Costa had told her it was for her to make such a move.

‘Stretch out on your front...just get used to the water,’ he told her, as he did the same, and she clung on to the edge with both hands, slowly getting used to the weightlessness of the water. ‘My office is in Kolonaki in Athens,’ he said, and then he began to tell her more of what she might need to know—that his office looked over an ancient square, that his apartment was a drive away and overlooked the ocean. ‘I swim every morning. You’d know that.’

He gave her a smile as they lay on their fronts and she turned to him. ‘And I don’t join you?’ Mary smiled.

Not yet, Costa was about to say, but instead he looked away. Even if it was the type of thing he might say when they were playing their parts, there was no room for blurred lines here.

They lay on their fronts, holding the stone edge, not touching, just floating, as the worries of the world dispersed into the mineral-rich water.

‘How did your boss take it?’ he asked.

‘As expected,’ Mary responded. ‘She fired me.’

But then, as always, Mary surprised him. Because she suddenly smiled and kicked her legs.

‘It was actually liberating.’

‘Good,’ Costa said, liking her smile.

‘I headed to the airport hotel and ate all the chocolate in the minibar and then the nuts,’ she informed him. She’d felt guilty about it at the time, but not now. ‘And then I turned on a movie and lay on the bed and said gia parti mou...’

‘Good for you,’ Costa told her.

They floated on, the water holding them apart and then drifting them together occasionally, so that their shoulders brushed or their arms touched. She wondered why she did not feel shy, and why she could be nearly naked beside him yet feel soothed. Suspended rather than adrift.

But then the outside lights came on, and Costa sighed at the reminder of the time and where they needed to be.

‘Ought we to go?’ Mary asked, knowing this little interlude was over.

‘Yes.’

She could hear the reluctance in his response.

‘Why do you hate coming here?’ Mary asked as they faced each other in the water. Now she looked not at the stitches, nor at the bruises, just at him.

Costa didn’t quite know how to answer. Right now he did not hate being home. He could hear the grylos starting to chirp, and the sounds of laughter in the distance, could smell the scent of the ocean beyond.

He didn’t answer her question, but it didn’t matter now. Because their arms were touching and their hips were lightly bumping together,

‘Why did you kiss me like a mannequin on the ferry?’ she asked.

‘I don’t like performing for an audience,’ Costa said, and took her hand to help guide her out.

But it was Mary who moved in closer and kissed him—perhaps because she had to, perhaps because she had the safety of knowing a kiss was all it could be for now, for there were places this seemingly happy couple needed to be.

The horrors of the day dissolved as he reached for her waist and glided her closer.

They kissed lightly, but slowly. Not a practice kiss now, nor one for the benefit of others. Just two adults finally alone. He pulled her to face him, and Mary cared not that her feet would not reach the ground, for she was held right against him.

His tongue was thorough, and it seemed to inspire her to wrap her legs around him. She didn’t know what she was doing, except that it felt like perfection. His hands were holding her waist and she coiled her arms around his neck and just sank into his kiss as his hands roamed the sides of her body.

Mary felt as she had at the bar that night, burning and taut, only now there was the warm thrill of his bare skin beneath her thighs.

It was Costa who pulled back, for with Mary he would take his time.

‘Still beautiful,’ he said as he pulled his head back and looked at her spiky lashes, with her hips still in his hands.

‘I don’t want the guest room tonight,’ Mary confessed.

‘Thank God for that.’ He smiled.

Costa knew he would wait for tonight, but as he stroked one nipple to a peak through her bikini top he heard her low moan. She wrapped herself more tightly around him and he removed the top entirely. A quick climax for Mary would be his absolute pleasure right now...

Costa lifted her a bit and she closed her eyes as he tasted her breast. It felt as if he was stirring her deep inside with each slow suck. And when she forgot to breathe he gave her a brief pause before moving his mouth to the other one.

He moaned, and it shivered through her, and then he kissed her, more deeply this time, and drew her more tightly against him. His hardness pressed against her heat, and after a day that had felt so fraught, she felt so very free.

His hands were on her breasts now as she clung on, stroking them and pinching them as her body sourced the centre of him...

Bed now, Costa was thinking, for there was protection there. Except right now she was warm against him, and nearly there, pressed into him. So he positioned her on the tip of his erection and enjoyed the humming noise she made, her obvious pleasure...

Such pleasure...

She had thought it would be complicated, but it was definitely not, for as he undid the ties on the bottoms of her bikini all she felt was relief, as if finally discarding some impossible weight.

‘Costa...’ She was on the very edge of something new and delicious, and yet there was not a shred of fear.

‘Don’t you dare fake it...’ he warned, and she did not know what he could possibly mean, because she was on fire in the tepid water.

‘Take me to bed,’ she begged, for she was desperate.

There was no time for bed, though. Costa was burning to feel her come on him—just that and no more.

He stripped off with the same ease he had in the bedroom. More ease perhaps.

Mary was so focussed on pleasure that he saw it took a second for her mired brain to register the splash as his swimwear hit the stone tiles at the edge of the pool.

‘There...’ she moaned, as if he didn’t know that the pearl he stroked was unravelling her.

She was tense in his arms because she did not know how to deal with the frenzy he was firing up inside her. The first probing of his fingers had her biting down on his shoulder in both shock and bliss.

The turn-on of Mary being a little bit savage brought him to the brink. Her short rapid breaths, the tension in her body, the feel of her on the edge, rendered him suddenly more selfish, and now this climax was no longer just for one, but for two.

Her hand had found him beneath the water, and he groaned at her light touch, and at the agony of the tease as she removed her hand.

‘Mary...’

Costa said something throaty in Greek and lifted her. The first nudge of him hurt, only it wasn’t the size of him that stopped her. It was the warm velvet skin she had felt with her hand. And there was one single thing she knew about sex: he was unprotected.

‘What...?’ He must have felt her tense, and he pulled back to see her pained features. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Costa...’ She didn’t know how to tell him, how to find the words to express what she wanted to say. ‘You said just a swim...’

He closed his eyes and almost dropped all contact, except they were out of her depth, not his, so he moved her to the edge, then hauled himself out.

Mary tried not to look at his naked arousal, but failed, and then he was already back inside the villa.

Like riled flatmates they took turns with the bathroom and dressed behind closed doors.

In fact, Mary used a bidet for the first time in her life, just to cool the burn that his first nudge had caused. She wondered if she could get away with not telling him she was a virgin.

Because after that brief glimpse of heaven Mary definitely no longer wanted to be!

She was certain that she wanted her first to be him.

Mary could think no further ahead than that.

‘Ready?’ Costa asked as she came out of the bedroom, dressed in the mint-green dress, this time with her damp hair tied back—not that he would notice, because he barely looked in her direction.

‘Yes,’ she said, picking up her bag and taking out the card she’d bought.

‘What’s this?’ he asked.

Mary glanced up and tried to face him for the first time since...

He looked stunning, of course, in pale linen trousers and a fine-knit top that showed off the toned body around which she’d so recently been coiled. His black hair was wet and brushed back and he looked as thoroughly disgruntled as she herself felt. Well, not disgruntled...but she felt all knotted up inside.

‘A birthday card.’

It was a very nice card, Mary thought, with ‘50’ written in gold as well as a pair of false eyelashes stuck to the front, which Yolanda could peel off and wear if she so chose.

‘It’s funny.’

‘I don’t do cards.’

‘Well, I do,’ she said, but he’d already stalked off. ‘Costa,’ she called as she caught up with him and they passed the pool where their wet swimwear still lay. ‘About before...’

‘Not now,’ he clipped. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

The retreat was gently lit and they walked along a softly lit path an arm’s length apart, past the occasional villa and the restaurant. There was a herby scent in the air, and the chirrup of crickets matched the rub between her legs.

‘The crickets are loud.’

‘Grylo,’Costa snapped back. ‘I hate them.’

‘I like them...’

The air was thick—not just with the scent of herbs and the sound of grylo, but with a tension Mary found most unfamiliar: the hum of unsated desire.

‘Costa,’ she said, ‘can we discuss before?’

‘Let’s just get through Yolanda’s interrogation, shall we?’

‘Costa, please...’

‘There’s nothing we need to discuss—and anyway, we’re here...’

But although she could see they were at the gates, there was so much to discuss.

‘I thought it was mutual,’ Costa said.

‘And it was. I was enjoying it...’

‘I don’t need the ego-stroke, Mary. Save it for your clients.’

‘There are no clients,’ Mary retorted. ‘There never have been.’

‘What?’

‘I’m a virgin...’

He just stood there and looked at her in silence for a very long time. And then in the distance his name was called—presumably by his mother.

‘Costa!’

Yet he didn’t answer her. Instead, he had some questions for Mary. Oh, yes, he did.

‘So what the hell was that back at the pool?’ Costa checked. ‘You came on to me. And I know that for a fact, because I wanted to be very sure it was something you wanted.’

‘And I did.’

‘So when were you going to tell me you’re a virgin?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course it damn well matters,’ Costa snapped, and then cursed in Greek. ‘I paid for an escort. I paid for a no-strings weekend to make my life less complicated, not more!’

Yolanda could clearly wait no longer, for the gates had parted and there they were, lit by security lights and facing each other in the middle of a storm of words.

‘Jesus!’ he hissed. ‘You really know how to pick your moments, don’t you, Mary?’

Mary turned and looked beyond the gates, to where there was a vast pool and several people setting up for the party tomorrow. But it was Yolanda who drew the eye, for she was possibly the most glamorous woman Mary had ever seen.

Waving them in from her electric wheelchair while sipping a drink, she wore a cerise smile along with a turquoise caftan, and her hair was the most stunning chocolate-brown with gold highlights. She was absolutely as beautiful as her son.

‘Kalimera.’Mary smiled.

‘It’s kalispera,’ Costa corrected—not that his mother noticed.

‘What happened to your eye?’ she exclaimed when she saw Costa’s cuts and bruises.

‘A door.’

‘Oh, please,’ she said as she hugged him. But just as Costa had predicted, she didn’t delve. ‘It’s so good you’re here; it’s been far too long. A year, at least...’

‘Don’t give her your sympathy vote.’ Costa was clearly more than used to playing a part and he smiled as he glanced over to Mary. ‘She omits to mention we had lunch in Athens two weeks ago.’

Yolanda laughed, and her gaze turned to where Mary stood.

She wasn’t even feeling awkward now—just sad to receive his fake smile the same way she had received his fake kiss on the ferry.

‘So, this is Mary...’ Yolanda looked her up and down. ‘I’m sorry, I missed your full name...’

‘Stop fishing,’ Costa warned her lightly as they made their way over to a gorgeous covered veranda away from the pool. He pulled out a chair for Mary, who took a seat as she answered Yolanda’s question.

‘Mary Jones.’

‘Welcome, Mary.’

She went to pour Mary a small glass of the liquor she was drinking—the same thing Costa had been drinking at the marina, she thought. Though still oddly tempted to try it, Mary politely declined. ‘No, thank you...’

‘To welcome you,’ Yolanda insisted, adding water to her own.

It was Costa who sorted it out. ‘Mary doesn’t drink.’

‘At all?’ Yolanda checked. ‘It’s just ouzo...’

‘There’s no just ouzo. I’d have to carry her back to the villa,’ Costa quipped, and added water to his own little glass.

‘Have the two of you eaten?’ Yolanda asked.

‘No, but we’re not staying...’

‘Costa,’ Yolanda moaned, ‘surely we can have dinner together...?’

‘And we often do...’

‘Not here, though.’

‘And not tonight.’ He changed the subject. ‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’

‘I think so.’

Yolanda nodded and, though she spoke directly to her son, Mary could feel that her gaze kept drifting towards her. She was clearly wary of the outsider.

‘I wish I’d listened to you and just hosted a dinner in Athens,’ his mother said.

‘I warned you.’

‘You did.’

She spoke more about the upcoming party. The lights, the drinks, the people who were coming... And Costa attempted to carry on the conversation as he tried to work out the enigma called Mary who sat beside him as his mother chatted on.

Mary’s pained features in the pool were flashing in his mind. Had he hurt her? Wrongly assumed they had been driven by mutual desire? And what the hell was she playing at?

‘Are you listening, Costa...?’

Yolanda pulled him back to her party issues.

‘Nemo is sulking because of course I need him to work tomorrow. He’s head of security,’ she explained to Mary, ‘so I need him on duty. Honestly, the trouble of mixing business and pleasure.’

‘Indeed,’ Costa said, and hoped Mary knew that one was aimed at her.

‘Can you speak to him, please?’ Yolanda said. ‘He should be doing his checks soon.’

‘Sure.’

‘And then there’s poor Roula...’ Yolanda continued, and looked over to Mary. ‘I’m so sorry to bring her up in front of you, but better out than in—especially with my party tomorrow...’

‘It’s fine.’ Mary smiled, clearly rather grateful that Costa had given her a heads-up on that.

‘She is so low at the moment, Costa. She smiles and laughs, but I can tell there is something troubling her.’

‘Am I to speak to her too?’ Costa checked, tongue firmly in cheek. ‘Should we set up a little counselling tent for me at your party, so any disgruntled staff can drop in?’

‘Costa!’ Yolanda laughed at the very idea, but then she looked serious. ‘I’m sure it’s not a work issue.’

‘Then it has nothing to do with me.’

‘I’m not so sure...’

‘We never even dated,’ Costa snapped. ‘We were kids when you all cooked up our future.’ He was so fed up with hearing it, and also annoyed at his mother for her lack of tact. ‘And what the hell are you doing bringing it up now?’

‘Costa...’

It was a quiet warning. Only it wasn’t his mother who’d warned him he’d gone too far. Instead, it was quiet little Mary Jones from London! What had happened to her hanging off his arm and being kissed on demand?

He shot her a look to remind her of her role.

Mary didn’t see it; she was digging in her bag and trying to resume niceties. ‘I got this for you, Yolanda...’

She handed over the first ever bottle of perfume she had bought, blushing at the clearly last-minute nature of her gift, but glad it had come beautifully wrapped.

‘But it’s not my birthday until Sunday.’

‘I know. This is just to thank you for welcoming me.’

‘Mary!’ Yolanda beamed as she opened it, and then squirted it in the air and inhaled. ‘I love it!’

She squirted it on her neck and her wrists, and then jokingly on a clearly sulking Costa, who rolled his eyes but, obviously used to his mother’s ways, just put up with it.

‘See what Mary got for me.’

She turned eyes like silver headlamps to Mary then, and looked at her properly for the first time. She and Costa had the same stunning eyes—in colour only, though. Yolanda’s were far less guarded and, unlike Costa’s, Yolanda’s eyes, though suspicious, were open-hearted.

‘Enough about Roula. Costa is right—how rude of me to bring her up in front of you. So, Mary, how long have you been dating my son?’

‘A couple of months.’ She smiled and hoped she’d got that part right.

‘And have your parents met him, or am I the first?’

She looked from Mary to Costa, who had given her a little tap, only Yolanda didn’t take the subtle hint.

‘What’s wrong with asking that?’

‘Mary lost her parents.’

‘Oh, no!’ Yolanda said, and such was the distress in her voice that Mary loathed every single one of her lies.

Suddenly the events of this morning, the disaster of the pool, her admission to Costa all caught up with her. She could feel the undeserved balm of his mother’s concern and was appalled to realise she was about to cry.

And, worse, Yolanda clearly saw that she was.

‘I come to you.’

Yolanda started to haul herself out of her wheelchair to give Mary what might be a very dangerous hug—for if Yolanda so much as touched her then she thought she might completely unravel.

Costa intervened. ‘Leave her,’ he warned, while privately wondering what the hell had happened to his life.

His mother, who usually offered the evil eye along with a smile to anyone who wasn’t Roula, was actually bonding with his escort—who, as it turned out, was a virgin and about to break down and cry...

Hadhe hurt her?

‘You can be so cold,’ Yolanda chided her son as she sat back down.

Thank goodness for Costa, Mary thought, for he’d given her a moment to regroup and collect herself as Yolanda moved the topic to what she clearly hoped would be more cheerful things.

‘So, how did you meet?’ Yolanda asked. ‘He tells me nothing.’

‘Online,’ Costa said.

‘No, we didn’t!’ Mary exclaimed, assuming he was lightening things with a tease. ‘I was seeing a mutual friend, and I guess we just...’ She looked over to Costa and his expression was like thunder, although he did cover for her.

‘Mary was miserable with him and I pointed it out.’

‘As you tend to,’ Yolanda said. ‘Wait there. I have something I need you two to try.’

As Yolanda disappeared into her villa, Costa felt Mary shoot him a look.

‘What was that about?’ she demanded. ‘We agreed—’

‘That was before.’ Costa met her glare and, still reeling from her revelation, didn’t have the energy to lie. ‘The “slight accident” I had? With the “door”? It was a fight. With Ridgemont. Well, with his security team, really.’

Mary frowned. ‘About the Middle East deal?’

‘No!’ He screwed closed his eyes to stop his eyeballs popping out and his stitches snapping. ‘What do you think it was about? It was poor form of me, apparently, to leave with his date.’

‘I never asked you to fight.’

‘I would have defended any woman spoken about like that,’ Costa said tartly.

Though perhaps not with his fists. He had thought those days long gone.

‘Let’s just smile through her baclava. I hate the stuff!’

Sure enough, Yolanda was back with a tray. ‘My secret recipe,’ she told Mary. ‘I am making more tomorrow...’

‘What’s the point of getting a party catered,’ Costa asked, ‘if you’re going to spend the day cooking?’

‘Everyone loves my baclava.’ She gave him a slice and then cut one for Mary.

‘Try it.’

‘Yes, please!’ Mary said. She guessed that Costa’s new crown might not be quite ready to be bathed in honey, so she dived in as he mashed up the little bit that was on his plate. ‘Wow!’ she said, and she was not exaggerating. ‘That is...’

‘Costa?’ Yolanda asked.

‘It’s good,’ he said, having taken not a bite. ‘Oh, look. There’s Nemo now. I’ll go and have a word with him.’

It actually wasn’t awkward to be left alone with Yolanda. Costa’s mother didn’t push, and she didn’t try to prise out information—at least not at first. In fact she just sat for a moment, as Mary ate her own baclava along with Costa’s.

But then Yolanda let out a long breath and admitted her doubts about the party. ‘Parties are hard work. Especially your own.’

‘Can I help with anything?’

‘Aside from a day of cooking, it’s all done,’ Yolanda said. ‘At least I hope so. I just want everyone to have fun. No speeches and all that stuff...’ She waved the thought away with her hand.

But then she did ask a question.

‘What happened to Costa’s face? And please don’t tell me a door. Éla,’ she said, and swiftly translated, ‘Come, now...’

‘He told me a door too,’ Mary said.

‘I shouldn’t worry, really,’ Yolanda sighed. ‘Costa always comes out on top. Whatever he puts his mind to, he gets. When we had no money he always made sure I had a doctor and medicine...’ She looked out to the beautiful surroundings. ‘He transformed Anapliró, though God knows how...’

She looked over and Mary honestly didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how the other Mary, the one who was allowed to love him, might have responded.

‘I tell you,’ Yolanda continued, ‘that boy was born under—’

‘He’s worked hard to get where he is,’ Mary cut in.

She was a little tired of hearing about Costa and his lucky star, or his Midas touch, or condescending sniffs like Ridgemont’s about ‘new money’. From all she could see, he hadn’t just snapped his fingers and transformed the island—he’d worked hard for it.

Except she was taking it out on the wrong person, Mary realised, when she saw Yolanda’s wide eyes. ‘Sorry.’

God, she really was the worst paid date in the world, Mary thought, because now she was snapping at his mother.

When Costa came back, Mary asked where the bathroom was—not just to be polite and give them time together, but also to hide her burning face for a moment. She should have just smiled and nodded at Yolanda and stayed the hell out of it...

As he would have wanted.

Mary stayed in the bathroom for ages. She didn’t even care if they thought she had an upset stomach or something. She just sat with her head in her hands, trying to fathom how to face Costa alone.

This was work, she reminded herself, just as a night spent folding pink towels in the salon had been...

Except this was a job she loved.