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Elijah selected several—orange blossom water, lemon, and mint.
When Nicholas declined, Sirena laughed joyfully. “Do you see? Loyal to the apricot! That is my son.”
Vassilis harrumphed. “Since he was a boy, he chooses it over any other.”
At Helen’s nod, Sirena slid a glossy apricot onto her plate. “See how delicious? The dried fruit is soaked until plump, then cooked in syrup and filled with cream, only a little sweet.”
“Nicholas, the apricots.” Pen turned to him. “Other sweets don’t tempt you. The rest of us eat dessert like swine while you watch. What makes you favorthisfruit so?”
Nicholas shrugged as Helen and Pen listened, forks down; everyone else at the table were trying their confections. He looked warmly at the fruit oozing syrup onto his plate.
“No dessert compares to the apricot for me—fresh, dried, or prepared like this. I’ve never thought about why. It’s always been so.” A look of concentration overtook his expression as he lifted his fork.
Pen turned her attention to her own plate, but Helen couldn’t take her eyes off Nicholas as he slid the apricot into his mouth. With aching slowness, he withdrew the fork tines past his lips, eyelids fluttering closed. She held her breath as his chiseled jaw moved; with each chewing motion, his look of rapture intensified.
Once Helen inhaled again, the air moving past her throat felt heated by his pleasure. When he swallowed, her eyes dropped to his neck, swathed in a snowy cravat, and by the time she looked up, his lids were lifting.
Hurriedly, she pierced an entire square of pink Turkish delight and stuffed it into her mouth. Unprepared for the sugary glob, she forced herself to chew the firm jelly while Nicholas finished answering Pen’s inquiry.
“Apricots, they’re sweet yet tart. Delicateandstrong. Round and soft, so soft, and still they hold their shape, almost fighting you for a moment before releasing their intense flavors. Perfection—sweet with the proper balance of sharp sourness.”
His lips white from a coating of powdered sugar, Vassilis chuckled. “A philosopher—even about dessert! I’ll save thinking for when I’m drinking. I don’t want my dessert fighting me! It should be easy!”
“Can sweetness exist without sourness?”
Vassilis grimaced at his son’s question. “Your mother’s restrictions leave me rationed at one small glass oftsipouro—afterthe meal. I must save my thinking for then; philosophy requires lubrication. You, my son, think and think. I will eat and eat.” His laughter rang out, shaking his belly.
Helen half-listened to the rest of the table debate Nicholas’s question, notwithstanding Vassilis’s pronouncement. Having witnessed Nicholas’s enjoyment of his chosen dessert, she knew his father wasn’t correct.
Savoring the fruit and cream in his mouth, neither logic nor reason had controlled Nicholas. The apricot had transported him to an enchanted place filled only with sensation and where thought was suspended.
Aware of her corset’s constriction, especially at the end of the meal, Helen fought to keep her breathing measured. Suddenly, she realized she had stared too long at Nicholas’s mouth—and that she’d been asked a question.
Later, the dessert plates were cleared and the rest of the table was quiet for once, satisfied after the bountiful meal and plentiful discussion. The men lingered in the dining room for the much-anticipated glass oftsipouro, while Sirena, Pen, and Helen retired to the drawing room.
The Sideris women immediately turned to the topic of Madame Robillard.
Sirena eyed Helen’s gown. “I’ve thought of every bird. No, it’s not birds. The color…I considered flowers, but none do you justice. Tell me,tellme what I have missed.”
Helen fingered a smooth fold in her satin skirts. “Apricot. That’s what I…she said I am.”
Mouth parting, gaze dropping to Helen’s gown, the woman sat in silence. Her eyes filled with tears, glowing like a luminous form of ochre. “Apricot. Yes,apricot, ofcourse.”
Helen shook her head, but when she couldn’t speak, Pen did, regaling Sirena with the details of Madame Robillard’s revelations about grapes and apricots.
Sirena nodded, her face intent with concentration. “Hmm.”
Pen, who sat with a view of the drawing room entrance, blinked. “Speaking of grapes, the men have finished theirtsipouro.”
Elijah settled into the settee next to Helen, his cheeks ruddy. “Never hadtsipourobefore. Quite liked it. As a good soldier must be adept with a number of weapons, so too must a good captain know his spirits.”
Helen laughed. “Nonetheless, it’s best that you had but one glass. You set sail the morning after tomorrow!”
Vassilis, as flushed as Elijah, scoffed. “All the more reason. It’s a Greek tradition for a sailor to have a stiff drink before a voyage.”
“Ah. That explains a great deal about poor Odysseus.”
Sirena and Pen giggled, but it was Nicholas’s laugh that rewarded her most.
