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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 youthinkit 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.
