The Best Man's Guarded Heart (11 page)

He tried not to look back but was unable to resist doing so. When he did, he knew he should look away, but he couldn't. His breath had been knocked out of his lungs. Her head slightly bowed, a smile playing on her lips, Grace followed Sofia. Her silver-grey dress was made of fine lace on the bodice, and a full-length tulle skirt. Silver sandals were on her feet. Was she wearing the underwear he had unpacked? And was it truly only twelve hours ago that they had lain together, their bodies entwined and damp with perspiration?

He forced himself to turn. Already he had seen his parents' curiosity as to what was going on between them. His mother constantly searched for any sign that he was in a relationship again, hoping against hope that one day he would have a family of his own. It would be unjust and cruel to mislead her.

He stared at the peonies cascading down from the garland around the chapel bell. He had helped Grace place the peonies in flower tubes this morning. He had thought then that he could trust her. Had thought so last night. But within minutes of meeting his family she had hinted at the personal nature of their relationship by revealing that she knew about his wedding present to Christos. Was she playing him? Trying to back him into a corner?

His stomach twisted at the thought that he might have been duped once again.

When Sofia reached Christos she raised her hands to his and they stared at each other for long moments, before they drew into each other, their noses touching. Together they grinned and turned to the congregation, who broke into spontaneous applause at how infectious their joy was.

The priest eventually managed to draw the wedding party into a semicircle, so that he and Grace were practically facing each other as they flanked Sofia and Christos. While their eyes would briefly meet, and then fly away from one another, in contrast Christos and Sofia never stopped gazing into each other's eyes, lost in one another.

What was Grace thinking? Was she dreaming of her own wedding? When her eyes landed on him did she imagine
him
in the role of her groom? Panic surged through him. Surely not? He had made his thoughts on marriage clear. But last night they had shared an extraordinary intimacy. One that in truth had rocked him to his core. What if she had felt that intensity too? What if he had given her false hope?

When it came to the time for exchanging the rings, he heard Christos's words of reassurance to Sofia, whose fingers were trembling so much he found it hard to slip the ring on her finger. Immediately Sofia stilled, and the couple shared a look intense with understanding and care. Andreas's gaze moved to Grace. She was staring at Sofia and Christos with tears glistening in her eyes. And then she was looking at him, as though asking him a question.

He glanced away. His heart sank. He had no answers for her.

The whoops of joy from the other guests when the newly married couple kissed for the first time transported him back to three years ago, when a similar whoop had echoed in an Athens cathedral. He had been so blind.

He looked back into the congregation. So many of those faces had witnessed his own marriage. How many still speculated as to why his marriage had gone bad so quickly? Why he no longer spoke to one of his closest friends.

His gaze met his mother's. She gave him a sympathetic smile of reassurance. He glanced away and pulled at the collar of his shirt. He needed a drink.

When they followed the bride and groom down the aisle Grace's hand barely touched his arm. They both smiled, but tension kept their bodies rigid as the crowd shouted,
‘Na zisetel!'
—Live happily!—while showering the procession with a mixture of confetti and rice.

Before them, Christos and Sofia stopped at the edge of the terrace, where they would greet each of their guests before moving on to the reception. The couple were tied in an intimate embrace and Grace's footsteps faltered.

‘I'm sorry about earlier.'

Andreas turned around to see if anyone was close by before he replied. ‘I said that we needed to keep our relationship private.'

The volume of the voices around them increased, and Sofia's soft laughter ran through the air at something Christos had whispered to her while in their embrace.

Grace moved closer to him. ‘I know. I wasn't thinking.'

It would be so easy to believe her—especially when her eyes pleaded with him to do so. He stepped back. They were standing way too close together. ‘My parents are now speculating as to why I told
you
something so personal.'

Grace peered up at him with hurt in her eyes, but didn't respond. He led her over to stand next to the bride and groom, so that they too could greet the guests and be on hand in case they were needed. He felt torn in two.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned down briefly and whispered in her ear, ‘You look beautiful.'

She studied him, confounded, and then looked away into the distance, tears in her eyes.

Andreas began to exchange hugs and handshakes. The happiness of everyone else was pulling him apart—along with the guilt of knowing that last night with Grace had been a major mistake.

* * *

Out on the Aegean the sun had long disappeared in a spectacular sunset of fiery pinks when the main courses of grilled swordfish and mouthwatering lamb
kleftiko
were finally cleared away. The wedding reception was proving to be a loud and fun affair, with numerous toasts and shouts for the wedding couple to kiss.

In other circumstances Grace would have been able to relax at this point, knowing that the flowers had proved to be a huge success, with many favourable comments. But not only did she have Andreas's father sitting next to her at the top table, as the day progressed she was feeling more and more alienated from Andreas.

The tapping of a knife-edge on a glass had her glancing along the table. Andreas stood and the terrace grew silent. He threw the crowd a devastating smile, but she could see tension in the corners of his eyes. She held her breath as her heart pounded.
Please let this go well for him.

He spoke first in Greek, and then after a few sentences stopped and translated into English for the guests from England. At first he spoke about the tricks he had played on his younger brother when they were children, with Christos eager to believe everything his older brother and idol said. And then of what Kasas had meant to them both growing up. He told them about their joint adventures, including a failed entrepreneurial attempt to start breeding goats, in which the stubborn animals had proved much too temperamental for the young teenagers. And then, his voice thick with emotion, he said how happy he was to see Christos marry here today.

Beside her, Grace could feel Andreas's father tense.

He went on to compliment Sofia on how radiant she looked today, which drew a large applause from the crowd. And then he faltered. For the longest while he stared down at his notes.

Grace shifted in her seat, her stomach clenching, her heart thundering as she willed him on.

He pushed his notes away. ‘I was told that I shouldn't wing my speech, which was probably good advice—but as my father will tell you I'm pretty stubborn when it comes to taking guidance.'

This drew knowing laughter from some of the crowd and friendly heckling. At first Mr Petrakis sat frozen, but then he gave a nod of acknowledgement and said, ‘Whoever hurries stumbles.'

Andreas and Christos shared a look that said they had often heard that expression before, and then Andreas continued. ‘Firstly I must compliment Sofia's chief bridesmaid, Grace, who is also the florist for today. Having seen first-hand the work involved, I must admit to a whole new appreciation for the skill and dedication required.' He raised his glass and said, ‘To Grace.'

His eyes met hers for the briefest of moments before he turned away. Grace smiled in acknowledgement of the guests toasting her and shared a hug with Sofia. Inside she felt as if she was going to die. She hadn't expected him to say anything about her, and that would have been preferable to the impersonal way he had just done so. As though they were nothing but mere acquaintances. Where had the fun and the friendship between them gone?

‘Passion can spark a relationship, but it can't sustain it. Aristotle described love as being a single soul inhabiting two bodies. Christos and Sofia—that is my wish for you: that you share the same dreams, the same values, have a common life vision. These are the things that keep a couple together.'

Grace bent her head and closed her eyes on the emotion in his voice, swallowing against a huge lump in her throat.

‘May you for ever be a single soul, living a life of shared dreams that allows your love to take root and blossom with each passing year.' Then, raising his wine glass, he invited the guests to join him in a toast. ‘May your love blossom.'

For the rest of the speeches Grace sat trying to listen, forcing herself to smile and laugh when others did, but feeling numb inside.

As soon as the speeches were over she made her excuses, while the terrace was being cleared of tables for the dancing, and went to check that all the lanterns were lit on the lower terraces and on the path down to the jetty. She tried to stay focused on her work, refusing to think about Andreas's speech and the obvious implications for them as a couple when they didn't share a single dream.

When she eventually returned to the terrace the music had started.

Sofia rushed over to her. ‘I was searching for you! It's time to dance the Kalamatiano.'

Sofia pulled her out on to the dance floor, along with her mum and Andreas's mum. They all held hands and were soon encircled by a large group of female wedding guests. The music started and they began circling the dance floor, using small side-steps. The music was infectious, as was Sofia's happiness, and for a while Grace lost herself in the joy of the dancing, in the endless smiles of the women facing her.

But then she spotted Andreas where he stood beside Christos, watching the women dance. The two brothers couldn't have appeared more different in their expressions. Christos was laughing, his eyes glued to Sofia, while Andreas just stared at her for a moment, his expression devoid of any emotion, before he turned away to talk to a group beside him.

He said something to a striking dark-haired woman and stepped closer when she laughed. Something pierced Grace's heart. She felt like doubling over as jealousy and pain punched her stomach with force.

Memories of her father's voice taunted her.
‘You need to toughen up, Grace. Your looks are fading as quickly as your mother's did.'

As they twisted and circled around the terrace, the high spirits of everyone around her, the beauty of the candlelit terrace bathed in the scent of jasmine, mocked everything in her.

What had she expected? She had known what she was getting into. One night of fun—nothing else. But as she watched his dark head bend, saw him talking to the woman whose eyes were shining at being on the receiving end of his attention, she knew it had never been that simple.

CHAPTER NINE

‘C
OME
AND
TALK
to Giannis.'

Andreas gritted his teeth and turned at his father's call. He reached out to shake Giannis's hand, but was pulled into an enthusiastic hug instead.

‘Good to see you, Andreas. I haven't seen you since...' Giannis's voice trailed off.

His father tensed beside him and Andreas answered deliberately, in a casual drawl, ‘Since my wedding.'

Giannis gave him an uncomfortable smile and obviously decided to change the subject. ‘I've been following your successes in the business pages.' He paused and glanced to Andreas's father. ‘You must be enormously proud of Andreas and everything he has achieved.'

His father frowned, as though he wasn't certain either of the comment or how to respond. He eventually brushed off the comment with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Of course, of course...but now it's time for Andreas to come back to the family business. Like all good sons would do.'

Andreas didn't want to hear any more. He made his excuses and walked away. Out on the dance floor, the party was in full swing. He should be enjoying himself. But in truth he just felt frustrated. Frustrated and angry. He had sat through Christos's speech with pain and regret burning in his gut, knowing he would never have the same dream for the future, the vision of having a partner for life, children, a family of his own.

This wedding was a constant reminder of his own failings. And now his eyes fixed on his greatest frustration of all.
Grace
.

She was out on the dance floor with his cousin Orestis. They were standing much too close to one another. A cut-out section in her dress exposed her upper back. It was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, and images of his mouth running the length of her spine last night almost knocked him sideways.

They had shared so much last night—physically and emotionally. At the time it had felt right, but now he was questioning everything about it. It had left him feeling exposed, and with emotions so conflicting that he couldn't even begin to process them in the madness of the wedding.

His cousin was a charmer and a heartbreaker. He marched right over.

‘Whatever Orestis is telling you, don't believe a word of what he's saying.'

Orestis stood back from Grace and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I
did
learn everything I know from you, cousin.'

Beside him Grace's lips twitched. Andreas didn't like the feeling that it was him against the two of them. Grace was supposed to be on
his
side.

‘Not everything Orestis...I'm not a heartbreaker.'

His cousin squared up to him, Greek male pride refusing to back down. ‘True, but from what I hear you don't hang around long enough to be one. You don't break hearts—you just steal them.'

Grace looked from Orestis to him and back again. ‘Two peas in a pod, I would say.' She walked away into the crowd.

He caught up with her in the centre of the dance floor as the band moved to a slower tempo. ‘I've been neglecting my best man's duty to dance with the chief bridesmaid.'

Angry violet eyes damned him. ‘Thanks, but I'm not in the mood.'

She went to walk away but he pulled her around and into his arms. His frustration with the whole damn day boiled over and he lowered his head to her ear. ‘You weren't so reluctant last night.'

Her foot stamped on his. He held back a groan and tightened his grip. Her body squirmed against him, her heat and scent sending thunderbolts of desire to every sensitive point in his.

He glanced up in time to see some speculative gazes been thrown in their direction. He took a step back but kept a firm grip on her, in case she decided to bolt. With a false smile he warned, ‘If we don't dance, people will be even more suspicious of us.'

She gave him a frustrated glare and said through clenched teeth, ‘I don't care what people think of us.'

‘Really? So the next time we meet you don't care if everyone is wondering about us? Hoping that we get together?'

She hesitated for a moment. ‘They won't.'

‘Look around you, Grace.'

She gave an indifferent shrug. ‘I just see women staring at you and looking as though they would love for
me
to disappear off the face of the earth.'

‘And beyond them are my aunts and uncles, my parents, hoping that one day I will marry again.'

‘Would that be such a bad thing?'

It was a question he didn't even want to entertain. ‘We're not going over that again, are we? You know how I feel.'

The anger in her eyes disappeared. ‘I know. I just hate the thought of you going through life on your own.'

Her comment hit a raw nerve and he tried to bite down on the anger coiling in his stomach. ‘Not everyone needs a fairy-tale ending to be happy.'

She gave him a long, hard stare. ‘As long as you
are
actually happy.'

He wasn't going there.

Inch by inch they moved towards one another. His hand touched the bare skin of her back. He had to swallow a groan as he felt the smoothness of her skin, the delicate ribbon of her spine, the slender span of her waist.

‘I haven't seen much of you today.'

He glanced down in order to understand the true meaning of her comment. Her wounded expression had him looking away quickly. A surge of defensiveness followed. ‘I've been busy talking to all the guests. I haven't seen many of them in a number of years.'

She didn't respond, which only upped his frustration a notch. Was he messing up
everything
today? He needed to get them back on neutral ground. Grounds of friendship. If that was possible.

‘Many guests have spoken to me about how incredible the flowers are; you must be pleased.'

She threw him a dirty glare and said with a note of sarcasm, ‘So you said in your speech.'

He'd felt all day as though he was under attack—from memories, from others' expectations, from his own stupid pride. He was sick of it, and his defensiveness surged back at her comment. ‘You didn't like my speech?'

For a while she glared at him, and then the fight seemed to leak out of her. ‘No, it was a perfect speech. Funny, heartfelt, kind...just like you.'

He gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘That's not how many people would describe me.'

‘If you let them into your life they would.'

‘Maybe I don't
want
to let them in.'

A small shrug was her only response. Her breasts moved against his shirt and he pulled her a little closer. He was unable to hold back a low groan at the feel of her body pushed against his.

Her voice was unsteady when she spoke. ‘Are you enjoying the day?'

He could take no more.

In a low growl he answered, ‘Not as much as last night.' His pulse went wild when he pulled back to see the heat in her eyes. ‘Let's go somewhere private.'

* * *

Grace followed him into the villa, wondering if she was losing her mind. It was as though she was addicted to him and to what he could do to her body.

The villa was empty, and at the bottom of the stairs he took her hand. Upstairs, he pulled her down the corridor and into a dark room. In the moonlight she could see a bed in the far corner.

‘Where are we?'

‘My bedroom.'

‘Is this a good idea?'

‘Of course not, but you started it.'

And she had—last night, when she'd asked him to stay the night with her.

In the near darkness his eyes blistered with need, pinning her to the spot. Her body was already on high alert to him, tense with building desire. His head lowered even closer...his hand lightly touched against her neck. She gave an involuntary shiver and a small cry of frustration.

His mouth hovered over hers. ‘You do crazy things to me... Do you realise just how beautiful, how sexy you look today?'

She shook her head, unable to speak as her body cried out for his mouth, for the pressure of his weight.

‘Are you wearing that lingerie I unpacked?'

He spoke in a low, demanding whisper, his lips agonisingly close to hers, pulling every nerve in her body exquisitely tight.

She was incapable of doing anything other than giving a simple nod.

He gave a primal groan and his mouth landed heavily on hers. His hands clutched the sides of her head, so that he could deepen the kiss even more. His mouth was familiar, but wondrous, hot, seeking, relentless. Her hands ran down the hard thick muscle of his outer chest, over the indentations of his ribs.

She gasped when his hands dropped to work on the buttons of her dress.

She should pull away. But she didn't care. She wanted him.
Now
.

Her dress fell in a puddle to the floor and he stepped back. His eyes devoured her. A powerful jolt of desire rocked her body as she saw his hunger, his ravenous appreciation of her almost naked body. His head dipped to her breasts, his lips running along the curve of exposed flesh cupped by the bustier. His hands trailed along the delicate flesh of her inner legs. With a groan he twisted her around to face the wall and ran his hands over her bottom. The weight of his body pushed against her.

He dropped his head down to her ear. ‘I can't get enough of you.'

A tremor went through her at his low tone and suddenly, for some unfathomable reason, she was unable to stop shivering.

Behind her, he stilled. And before she knew what was happening her dress was being pulled back up and he was closing the buttons.

Too confused to speak, she waited, her body a mess of desire and unstoppable tremors. Buttons finished, he twisted her back towards him. He said nothing, but ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his expression.

‘What's wrong?'

His mouth was a tight grimace. ‘We can't do this again. I was wrong to bring you here.'

Just like that, he was shutting her out again. She had no idea what he was really thinking. Why had he suddenly decided to push her away?

Humiliation clawed in her chest. ‘Tell me the truth, Andreas. What's going on?'

He gave a frustrated sigh. ‘The truth? The truth is we should be downstairs with the others...and I like you too much to hurt you again.'

Confusion built thick and fast in her chest until it ached. His words were bittersweet. She didn't know how to respond. All she knew was that a ball of rejection had been growing inside her all day. For the past little while it had shrunk, whilst they had danced and kissed, but now it was a giant boulder inside her, weighing her down, consuming her.

The last time she had felt so rejected had been when her mum had told her that there was no hope of them ever being a family again.

Feeling lonelier than she had in a long time, Grace walked away, terrified that she was about to start crying in front of him. Downstairs, before she walked back out to the terrace, she glanced backwards to see Andreas following her, his head bent as though in defeat.

* * *

Andreas stared out onto the dance floor, knowing he had two choices. He could either walk away from the celebrations now, in an attempt to try to pull his head together. Or he could forget about everything and embrace the wild momentum of the party.

It was an easy choice.

He walked onto the dance floor and was pulled into the dancing.

The pace and communal elation, the sheer goodwill, numbed him to the emptiness inside him. He joined Christos and their mutual male friends. Wasn't this camaraderie and friendship enough?

And then the floor cleared and he was pushed forward to perform the
zembekiko
. He resisted the pushes from the other men. It was a hot-blooded dance that demanded that all emotions, all weaknesses be expressed. To dance the
zembekiko
, the manly dance of improvisation, you had to be unafraid of expressing the true you...and right now he didn't know who he was.

The guests were crowding around the dance floor, some kneeling, others standing, all urging him forward. He still resisted. To do this dance right he would need to expose his feelings of pain, of unfulfilled dreams. The crowd would think of his failed marriage. He would think of the future that had been wiped out the moment he had opened the blackmail letter and seen those photos of his wife.

Sofia was moving through the crowds, pulling Grace behind her, and they dropped to the floor in front of all of the other guests.

The band began the low plaintive music. He glanced towards Grace. She returned his gaze with eyes heavy with sadness.

He moved to the centre of the room. He would dance for her. It was the only way he could reveal what was in his soul.

* * *

Andreas stood in the middle of the dance floor, proud and dignified. He stared into the distance, his broad shoulders tense, his arms flexed. His tux jacket had long disappeared and his shirtsleeves were rolled up.

He started the dance with slow, deliberate movements, his leg bending in a fluid movement upwards so that his hand tapped his heel. He circled the dance floor, assured and noble, ignoring the crowd who were calling out his name and clapping to the beat of the music.

Grace clapped blindly, her heart beating heavily in her chest.

His movements intensified, growing ever quicker, and he dipped and twirled, lost to the rhythm of the music. His movements were strong, but they held sadness, loneliness. He was all alone out on the dance floor, with the world looking in.

Suddenly she wanted to go to him. Wanted to comfort him as his body stamped out a message of despair. But she sat there, her hands clenched, her heart aching, as he spun around, his hand whirling down to slap the floor. The crowd shouted out whoops of approval. Tears filled her eyes. Sofia reached for her hand. Together the best friends watched this powerful man dance with passion, his focus only on expressing the emotions within him. His aloneness.