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It was months before she opened up to him about her life before London, and a month after that before he did the same, but after that, there was no stopping their friendship. They were truly kindred spirits, and his interest in her life was heartwarming for many reasons, and one in particular: besides her brother Dale, Kon had been the first person to ever show any kind of interest in Phoebe, to care what happened to her, to want to listen to her speak and encourage her in her dreams.
Anastasios was right—they were in a relationship, but not like the one he was suggesting. This was a deep, special friendship. Somehow, Konstantinos had become a father figure to Phoebe. She loved him, and she knew she’d miss him forever.
But the idea of sleeping with him?
Despite the fact he was a very handsome older man, it made her skin crawl, simply because their relationship was so deep, so important to her.
No, sexual relationships were something Phoebe had given a wide berth. Not intentionally, but her adolescence had really precluded the opportunity to date, and after she’d run away from home, she’d been more concerned with finding food and safe shelter for the night than she had been a boyfriend. In fact, the examples of ‘relationships’ she witnessed on the streets of Melbourne were so much like her parents’ awful domestic situation that she’d done everything she could to avoid making friendships with anyone.
She’d been a loner for so long.
Kon had changed that.
Another sob wrenched from her gut, and then, there was the knocking at her door.
She suspected it would be Mrs Langham and despite the fact she’d grown fond of the pensioner who rented out this miniscule flat to supplement her grocery expenses, Phoebe really didn’t want to be disturbed.
Nonetheless, she wrenched in the door, an approximation of a smile on her face as she looked out, only to be confronted by a wall of abdominals encased in a black t-shirt. Higher she looked, her eyes landing on his face and that same drum beating was back, rushing now, fast, urgent, desperate, so she held her breath and gripped the door much more tightly.
“Anastasios.” His name was so addictive. When she said it, her knees went weak.
“Phoebe.” His expression hadn’t softened at all.
“I take it you’ve come to apologise?” She couldn’t help goading him. After all, he’d behaved like a right jackass the night before.
“For what? Calling a spade a spade?”
“Or a whore a whore?” She challenged, anger firing through her. That was another thing! She’d slapped him! She who had always, always sworn to never give in to physical violence. She’d witnessed too much of it. Been on the receiving end as well. Yet this man had made her feel—too many things.
“Your words, not mine.”
“What do you want?”
“To finish our conversation. I told you, this isn’t over.”
The sun shifted through a storm cloud, casting his thick, dark hair with light, making it shimmer. Her eyes lifted to it of their own accord and her breath was a cyclone inside her windpipe.
“How did you find out where I live?” She asked over a knotted, swallowing action.
“It wasn’t difficult.” He brushed aside the question. “We need to talk.”
“I can’t see that we do.”
“You don’t think you owe me some kind of explanation?”
“I owe you nothing,” she said with a bravado she didn’t feel. Years of living with her father had taught her to bluff well.
“You say you were friends with my father?” He layered the word with a hint of disgust. “Then surely you owe him the courtesy of treating his son with respect?”
“Because you’ve been such a peach to me?” She demanded, nonetheless stepping back and opening the door to allow him to enter.
Konstantinos had spoken about his family. She knew each of his son’s habits and yes, she even knew about his great guilt, the affair with Annie that he’d concealed from those he loved most, because he didn’t know how to split them in half with the truth. She knew about Valentina, the little girl who’d passed away twenty five years earlier.
And she knew about Anastasios and how hard he worked, how determined he’d been, since birth, to prove himself to his father. She knew Kon regretted his hard style of parenting, how much he’d expected from the boys, and the fact he’d pushed them to achieve their best. They’d all strived to meet the impossibly high bar, every time, but Anastasios particularly so.
For Kon, for her love for the older man, she allowed Anastasios to enter the bedsit.
His eyes flicked around the room, but the judgement she’d expected to see in his face was noticeably absent. Instead, there were simply questions.
