Her Greek Romance aka Greek Encounter (15 page)

Laughter bubbled out of her lips. “That’s very different from the way I work in Boston. At the rate of your
short breaks
, I’d never make partner in my firm.” She sobered and exhaled. “We need to maintain a professional distance until we’re done with the blueprints. Completely done,” she said, projecting calm control into her voice, and missing the calm note by a smidge, if Stefano’s smile was any indication.

“Deal. I will follow your lead.”

In other words, if she just lowered her guard, he might take advantage of the situation.
Counselor, you’d better behave.

“Your grandfather mentioned that your work here will earn you the partnership. Keep up the good job, sweetheart.” Suggestive fingers trailed along the polished surface of the table and assaulted her nervous system. Good God, was she a lost case?

Resolutely, she spun toward the door and opened it. “Where is your team?”

“Having a quick breakfast. Let’s join them.” With a hand on her back, he ushered her down a corridor.

“Sure.” She had to give it to Stefano. He was a generous and understanding boss who put his employees’ welfare ahead of the work’s demands.

“Ashley.” A note of warning froze her steps. “Our deal holds until the blueprints are completely finished as
you
specified.”

And then?

CHAPTER TEN

The week of hard work had ended the day before and the whole team had celebrated at a nightclub on the beach. After a fun-filled evening with multiple ouzo drinks,
bouzouki
music, and
syrtaki
dances, Ashley enjoyed the ride to her hotel in Stefano’s shiny Ferrari. “Pretty car. Where did you hide it?” She carefully patted the dashboard.

He chuckled at the admiration in her tone. “In the garage. Next to the company limo. Would you like me to show you...” But Ashley had laid her head on his shoulder and drifted off.     

“You’re home, sleeping beauty,” he said a moment later and walked her to her room. “Have a good night’s sleep. After all the ouzo we drank, you’re going to need it to avoid a hangover in the morning.” He smiled as she swayed against his side. “No meetings tomorrow. A day off for everyone.”

“You’re always the perfect boss. No, not boss. Only colleague.” She groaned, her tongue heavy, not cooperating with her slow thoughts. “Stay...with you. I mean with me.”

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” He laughed and kissed her soundly on the lips. He was fair with everyone. Except with her. She squinted at him. Why hadn’t he kissed her the right way? His old way? Had he already forgotten their wild lovemaking? Maybe he’d already lost interest?

“Good night.” Disappointed by his detached behavior, she slammed the door in his face. Blood pounded furiously against her forehead. She changed and sprawled onto her bed.

Sure enough the next morning, she nursed a bad headache with two cups of the strongest Greek coffee and a croissant brought by room service, followed by a long shower.

The phone rang as she finished dressing. Grandpa’s jovial voice greeted her.

“Yes, we worked all last week.” Ashley announced after a few questions about the old man’s health.

“We? Who’s we? Was Kostapoulos present?” There was an edge to his voice.

“Sometimes, yes. The whole team assigned to the project, architects, graphic designers, contractors, decorators, secretaries. About twenty people.” Enough people to fill the room and obscure the surface of
her
special table with laptops, folders, blueprints, and Styrofoam cups.

“So you were never on your own with Kostapoulos?”

Good thing her grandfather couldn’t see the heat reddening her cheeks. “Not a single minute.” At least not during the last week. She’d done her best to avoid dangerous tête-à-tête, and Stefano respected their deal.

“When did you have the time to discuss things with Kostapoulos and give him your opinion?”

“Don’t worry, Grandpa, I checked all the reports, made the changes I wanted, and handed him a typed and signed report.”

“Hmm, you’re always the perfect lawyer.”

“I try, Grandpa.”

“Honey, you need to loosen up. I mean after work.”

“I know you want me to
find a special Greek man who’ll love me unconditionally
. Unfortunately, they don’t make them like that anymore.”

“Keep looking, sweetie. After work.”

Give it to her grandfather to believe in dreams, in spite of the harsh reality. “Bye, now. Oh, before I forget, what do you want me to do with the suitcase of letters you made me bring to Greece?”

“Ah, Elena’s letters.” A heavy sigh filled the line. “Take them to the Pink Villa. I want you to read all the letters. Mine and hers.”

“But I don’t read Greek.”

“They’re written in English. Elena learned it in her uppity school for rich girls, and I picked up several languages while working on the docks with foreign sailors, and later in America of course. We didn’t want the people around her to understand what we wrote. Show them to her grandson. I want him to see for himself how I loved and respected his grandmother. Maybe then, he’ll stop hating me.”

“Grandpa, Stefano doesn’t hate you anymore.”

“Stefano?” Shock jolted his voice an octave higher. “Is that what you call him now?”

“Uh.” She rubbed her chin, not ready to confess feelings that would probably disappoint her grandfather. “Well, we’re all on a first name basis here. You know, like co-workers.”

“No problem. I understand, sweetie.” To her relief he didn’t admonish her for getting chummy with his former enemy. “Anyway, take the letters to the Pink Villa and read them with Stefano. One from me, one from Elena. Alternate them. Choose a couple to frame for the future museum.”

 “Good idea.” She’d bet Stefano wouldn’t be interested in wasting his time on reading old letters.

“Now that the first phase is finished aren’t you going to celebrate?”

“We did last night.”

“Good, good. Bye, now.” Her grandfather’s voice sounded happy. The old house was really dear to his heart.

“Bye. I’ll be on my way to your villa.”

As soon as she hung up, she checked her purse for the Pink Villa’s keys and her camera. Today was a day off, according to Stefano. While everyone—especially Stefano—thought her asleep or resting, it might not be a bad idea to thoroughly examine the villa she’d hardly surveyed on her first day in Mykonos. The first time she’d visited, she hadn’t found the courage to brave the wild vegetation surrounding the old building like a ruthless invader. She’d just stood inside the gate, snapping a few pictures.

Dragging the carry-on filled with Elena’s letters out of the hotel, Ashley hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of the Pink Villa. Twenty minutes later, the taxi stopped and the driver carried her small suitcase to the wrought-iron gate. “Careful,
kyria
. House old. Many cactuses.”

“Thank you. I’ll be careful.” Not ready to scratch her bare legs on the thorns, she draped her beach towel over her clothes and carefully trudged through the neglected front yard. Heels digging in the mud, she navigated her way through weeds and shrubs, her hands pressing the towel against her skirt and legs to protect the silky material from vicious shredding. In front of the wooden door, she sighed with relief and rummaged in her purse for the key. Bracing herself for the worst, she opened the door, wondering what sort of dilapidation would greet her.

Surprise rooted her in place in the tiny entry hall. In spite of the musty smell, the neatness of the villa contrasted with the rioting disorder of the yard. Leaving the door ajar, Ashley slowly padded into the living room and paused, somehow afraid to disturb the ghosts of the past. Two old-fashioned armchairs flanked a faded burgundy couch and a sailor chest completed the modest furnishing.

Proceeding with her exploration, she surveyed a small bedroom with a double bed, a night table, and a dresser adorned with a green onyx lamp, and then entered a second room furnished with a table and two chairs. A basket full of U.S. stamped blue envelopes with her grandfather’s writing sat on the table next to a large notepad, a stack of unused white envelopes, and a roll of local stamps.

A golden frame with a painting showing a lovely girl, probably in her late teens, hung on the wall, the only decoration in the house. Ashley focused on the pretty face, stunned by the happiness radiating from the beautiful blue eyes and the incredible joy in the smile—the smile of a woman in love.

Like an indiscreet Peeping Tom, Ashley lowered her gaze from the picture her grandfather had painted. She recognized his style and the model that had posed for a similar painting hanging in his Boston office. But the beautiful model was gone—had stopped existing years ago, morphing into an old woman.

Her heart heavy as if she’d lost a friend she’d just met, Ashley retreated to the living room, and reverently skimmed the wood of the sailor chest. Holding the heavy lid with both hands, she opened it to reveal a multitude of blue sheets of paper all folded in half and arranged in neat packets tied with red ribbons, with a few scented bags scattered around. Small cards tucked inside each packet indicated the time frame of the letters. Elena was a very organized person. Leaning over the gaping chest, Ashley read 1961-1970, 1971-1980,...

So this was the place that had witnessed an incredible love story—the type she’d secretly dreamed about, but would probably never live. Awe clogged her throat as she pictured two young lovers snuggling and kissing on the sofa. She knelt in front of the open coffer and reached for a packet of letters covered with her grandfather’s handwriting. Without hesitation, she inhaled the smell of old paper and tinge of lavender, and pressed it against her cheek.

Had Elena smiled or cried when she read her lover’s words? Envy pierced Ashley’s heart. She’d never received a love letter. Fingers shaking, she slipped a sheet out of the ribbons and fiddled with the missive. Would she have the gut to read it?

“Don’t.” The male voice scared the bejeebers out of her. “You have no right.”

“Stefano.” Startled, she dropped the letter. “I wasn’t—”

“Really? You weren’t going to read it? Just smell it and caress it.” His sarcastic tone grated on her nerves.

She shrugged. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Same thing as you. Surveying the place to be ready for our next meeting. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to come? I would have picked you up this morning.”

Her nervous movements stilled and she braced herself against his attempt at kindness. He’d been so eager to leave her alone last night. “There was no need to bring you out of your way.”

“You know I would have been happy to do it.” The scowl on his forehead lent a stern expression to his face as he kept studying her, and then shook his head. “Were you really going to read this letter?” He pointed an accusing finger at the chest. “A letter addressed to another woman, years ago?”

 “Huh.” He’d caught her red-handed, holding a personal letter addressed to his own grandmother. She couldn’t explain her reasons for touching the old sheet of paper with faded ink. It had been a spontaneous gesture, an urge to finger that love symbol, and a longing that one of these love letters could bring her luck.

The ridicule of him questioning her overcame her embarrassment. She lowered her gaze toward the mass of papers in the chest. “It’s not what you think.”

“Care to explain?” Looming above her, with his feet-apart stance and his high stature, he crossed his arms and arched an arrogant eyebrow.

Dang, she was still on her knees, in front of the wooden coffer, but also at his feet, looking as guilty as sin, with her cheeks probably redder than ripe beets. The temperature in the little house turned ten degrees higher. A hiss escaped her. Cursing her tight skirt and high heels, she tried to straighten up. He stretched a hand to help her. She ignored it and leaned back on the sofa to scramble up.

“My grandfather called me this morning. You see, he had me bring this carry-on all the way from Boston. It contains the letters of his dear Elena. Grandpa instructed me to take them to the Pink Villa and read them. He insisted you should read them too.” She unzipped the piece of luggage and waved to the piles of envelopes cluttering the carry-on. “Unfortunately, he’s not as organized as your grandmother.”

Stefano’s gaze flipped from the carry-on to the chest. Disbelief widened his eyes, soon replaced by worry, and then denial. “You can’t expect me to read my grandmother’s love letters. Letters not even addressed to my own grandfather.”