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A tall, thin, attractive woman approached with a wide smile and a twinkle in her eye. She introduced herself as Nella, Dimitri’s cousin, and drew them towards a circle of women and children sitting under a large white awning.
Within seconds, the whole of Dimitri’s family had descended upon them, all speaking at the same time, pinching cheeks, giving hugs, and a litany of comments in both English and Greek complaining of how skinny both Anna and Amalia were. Amalia was quickly removed from her embrace and replaced with a plate of food and a glass of wine.
Even though Dimitri stood behind her, silent and brooding, as if reluctant to let them out of his sight, Anna couldn’t help but smile as her daughter lapped up the attention lavished upon her, while she answered yet another question about why she didn’t have red hair or pale skin. Yes, she was Irish, but she was also Vietnamese. Unsurprisingly this didn’t seem to help the confusion much. No, she couldn’t possibly eat another bite; she was almost popping out of the brand-new dress. As would Amalia, if she wasn’t careful.
In a small corner of her heart, Anna had to acknowledge that everyone was lovely and welcoming. All the aunts and uncles, cousins and children were loud and brash and exactly how she’d once wanted Amalia’s family to be. With a few glances at his chiselled profile she stuck to the story that Dimitri had woven from the space in between truth and fiction: that they had met three years ago and had wanted to keep their relationship quiet because of the legal problems. She voiced the lies time and time again because his family all seemed so hopeful that something good had come from such a difficult time.
Anna had never really given much thought to the ramifications of Dimitri’s half-brother’s actions. She hadn’t even had the chance to find out what he felt about the whole thing. What that kind of betrayal must have done to him. That thought probed painfully at the thin layer of guilt hiding beneath the outrage she struggled with from his high-handedness.
Dimitri’s cousin Nella drew her back from her thoughts by telling her that she was too pale, that she needed more sun to make her skin shine. Whether it was because she had spent years hating the very thing that had marked her as so different in Ireland, or whether it was because she liked the straight-talking Greek girl, she promised herself that she would make an effort with Nella, as something about her made her think that they could be really good friends.
* * *
Seeing Anna tucked safely under the wing of his cousin, Dimitri turned to observe the rest of the party, trying to see it with fresh eyes. Women in richly coloured clothes—turquoise, red, white, royal blue—assaulted the eyes, but not as much as the incredible amount of expensive jewellery that hung around necks, dripped from ears and fingers. Deeply tanned men in linen suits wore watches that screamed money, sunglasses that hid boredom or jealousy, or both.
He’d recognised Anna’s initial look of wonder, curiosity and even a little bit of fear and with an amused laugh he didn’t really feel, he realised that he must have looked like that the first time he’d come here.
‘Is it hard being back here after what happened with your brother?’
He hadn’t realised that Anna had stopped speaking with Nella and come to stand beside him.
‘Half-brother,’ Dimitri instantly replied. As if that made it more understandable. As if that made the betrayal somehow less. He hadn’t wanted to admit to her that this was the first time since Manos’s arrest that he’d been home. The first time that he’d seen his father and stepmother in person. It was a weakness, and he hated it.
Only his father could throw such a lavish party in the face of such an enormous family scandal and get away with it. Nowhere on the faces of the guests did he see concern or embarrassment. The only intrigue came from the rabid reporters clamouring at the gates. And he wondered if it was exactly this kind of self-delusion, this ability to ignore something so wrong, that had allowed Manos to get away with what he did.
A waiter passed with a tray of champagne flutes, and, unthinking, he took one and drank down half of the serving. When Anna politely declined he raised an eyebrow, forgetting that she couldn’t see it behind the large frames of his sunglasses.
‘You can drink if you want. I’ll only be having this one.’ He needed all his wits about him with the exchange he was about to have with his father.
‘That’s okay, I don’t really drink.’
Of course she wouldn’t. Mary Moore had probably seen to that. But then the memory of their first night together surfaced again, unbidden. The taste of whisky on her lips, unable to mask the sweetness of her mouth.
‘When we met—’
‘Darling,’ a voice interrupted his train of thought. ‘You’re here,’ scolded Eleni Kyriakou in English, as if they hadn’t already been here some time. And ‘darling’? When had she ever called him that? he wondered, not even bothering to scour his memory. He turned to take in the vivid array of patterned silks that adorned his stepmother. There was an almost forced happiness in her eyes—as if that could cover the deep discomfort they had both felt long before Manos’s arrest.
‘Eleni,’ he acknowledged, knowing that it was better to meet her head-on than avoid her.
‘And this,’ she said with more warmth than he’d ever heard before, ‘must be Amalia. My beautiful granddaughter.’
Dimitri scanned Anna’s face for any signs that she might have been upset by the subtle snub, but her features were schooled. Good. She’d need to keep them that way if she was to survive this afternoon.
Guilty. When was he going to stop feeling guilty? Christe mou, perhaps he was the one who needed to toughen up. He was doing what he had to in order to claim his child. Anna had made decisions that had brought this upon herself. That was what he needed to remind himself. His only interest in her went as far as ‘I do’, and nothing further.
Before he could stop her, Eleni was reaching out to take Amalia from Anna’s hands and he saw the brief flash of something pass across Anna’s eyes, but Eleni was so focused on their child she missed it. Assuring himself once more that Ann
a would be just fine, he extricated himself from the situation and went in search of Agapetos Kyriakou, his father.
Swift, powerful steps took him back into the house that held such painful memories. He’d been putting off this confrontation for as long as possible, but now...it couldn’t be avoided. He wasn’t surprised to find his father in the study, but he was surprised to hear his lawyer David’s clipped British accent coming from the speaker phone.
‘I refuse to discuss this without my client present.’
‘I’m here,’ Dimitri ground out, stepping into the room, clearly surprising the two men attempting to go behind his back. ‘What is going on?’
His father at least had the grace to look discomfited, which was about as far as Agapetos had ever managed in his presence. Nikos, his father’s lawyer, launched into a fast-paced litany of Dimitri’s errors, but he interrupted.
‘English, please. David doesn’t speak Greek.’
