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“So? Mix some wine with club soda and juice.”
He left and returned a few minutes later, carrying a glass full of a pale pink beverage. He’d made it for her before, but gave her a hard time about it as a matter of course. He handed it to her. “Your wine cooler.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was not up to its usual wattage, but it was better than nothing.
“You ever hear the term high-maintenance?”
“Yes.” A mischievous glint shone in her dark eyes. “I’ve looked it up, even, and one of the definitions just said Greek men.”
“I think not. Here I sit, drinking a simple whiskey, while you ask for a concoction of three different beverages.”
“Is it a Scotch or a malt whiskey?” she asked, all innocence.
“Malt.” He’d been in the mood.
“How old?”
He frowned, guessing where this was going. “Old enough.”
“And expensive enough too, if I don’t miss my guess. You had to go through a special supplier to get it, didn’t you?”
“Naturally.”
“Whereas my drink is made up of three easy-to-come-by, not so expensive ingredients. I rest my case…High-maintenance, thy name is Spiros.”
Warmth went through him, and some of the tension he’d been feeling drained away. “It is good to have you teasing me again, byba.”
“I haven’t felt much like joking about anything lately.”
This he had noticed. “I am sorry for that.”
“I’m relieved Dimitri backed out.” She looked down, no longer willing to meet his eyes. “I know Papa and Mama are very upset, but I’m glad. I am not a good daughter.”
He could not believe what he was hearing. “You are a very good daughter. You were willing to marry a man you believed would make you miserable in order to maintain their livelihood and lifestyle.”
“I wouldn’t have been miserable. I just wouldn’t have been happy,” she said in a low voice.
And suddenly the thought of her less than perfectly happy was too much for him to bear. “Thankfully, you face neither fate.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“We have been friends for years, and other than the last two weeks we have always gotten along.”
“We fight.”
“Yes, but we also make up. It would not be good to marry someone with whom you were not comfortable disagreeing.” The truth was, he was more comfortable with her on every level than with any other woman he had ever known—more than any person, even his brother and grandfather.
“That’s true.” She was looking at him again, studying him like she was trying to see something.
“What?” he asked.
“There’s more to marriage than being compatible as friends.”
“It’s a start.”
“Yes, but for it to work for us there has to be more.”
“What more exactly are you talking about, Phoebe?”
