The Cinderella Seduction: A Suddenly Cinderella Novel (Entangled Indulgence) (3 page)

But given the recessionary state of Greece’s economy, his plan for the orphanage hinged on him retrieving the money from the American real-estate developer. So far the bastard had yet to repay a single Euro. Instead he’d answered Nick’s numerous e-mails and letters with excuses and evasions.

In such a situation, with such a man, Nick knew exactly how to deal. He would show no mercy, cede no quarter. He would return to Greece with the loan repaid in full or Olympia Development transferred to him, the latest of Costas International’s foreign acquisitions. Given what he’d so far discovered of the company’s financials, he expected repayment to be the latter. Either way, his family’s honor would be restored and ground broken on the mother superior’s new orphanage.

Fatherhood was as yet a mystery, but business he understood.

Chapter Two

Wednesday, June 25

The Starbucks at the corner of King and Union had been the site of Stefanie and Macie’s weekly coffee catch-up since Macie had moved back to the city the winter before. They collected their coffees at the counter and then settled into a suite of high-backed wing chairs by the window.

“Thanks so much for switching days. I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient,” Stefanie said, sipping her café mocha before the whipped cream could melt.

“Not at all,” Macie assured her, taking off the plastic lid and blowing on her soy latte. “Now that Samantha’s out of school for the summer, I have a lot more flexibility. Is everything okay?”

Striking up her courage, Stefanie blurted out, “I need you to help me get gorgeous.”

Once her father had left the night before, she’d spent several hours looking up Nikolaos Costas online. According to his Wikipedia entry, Nikolaos Hesperos Costas was born in 1976 on the island of Crete, the eldest of real-estate mogul Maximos and Hermione Costas’s four children. Though he might embrace romantic variety, A-list celebrities and fashion models were his go-to companions, the French Riviera and Lake Como his preferred playgrounds. Reading the litany of his academic and athletic achievements, celebrity friends, and global travels, Stefanie had felt like grabbing the tray of baklava and crawling into the closest closet.

But it was time to press pause on the self-pity party and make use of what skills and gifts she had. If Nikolaos Costas was anything like the Mediterranean alpha male he came across as in the media, feeding his stomach and his ego with a few well-placed compliments and sultry smiles might be sufficient to soften him—provided she could hold his wandering eye for the requisite week.

If she could just get him in a car to Acropolis Village and show him firsthand the good they were doing—or attempting to do—for Greek American seniors, surely he’d see that giving them more time was the only humanitarian course. Who knew? Maybe he’d chip in even more money. Or at least let them work out a plan where the 2.5 million could be repaid in installments. Heck, it wasn’t like he was hurting for cash. Hard-nosed was one thing but there was no need to be a hard ass, not when you were a multimillionaire with more money than you could ever hope to spend.

Macie eyed her over the top of her paper cup. “You’re already gorgeous, and I’ll be more than happy to help, but why the sudden change of heart?” A committed clotheshorse, Macie had been on Stefanie’s case to up her fashion game since they’d first met during their freshman year at Catholic U.

Stefanie trained her tone to come off as casually as she could. “A bigwig international investor of my pop’s is coming into town from Greece, and I promised to show him around. Speaking of which, is it okay if I bring him for the Fourth?”

“Sure, the more the merrier.” Macie studied her a moment more before asking, “Would this investor happen to be single?”

Shifting in her seat, Stephanie admitted, “Yes.”

“Single and…fuckable?” As usual, her friend didn’t mince words.

“Macie!”

The blonde chuckled. “What’s with the face? It’s a fair question.”

Nikolaos Costas was fuckable—and then some. Based on the celebrity gossip Stefanie had skimmed—the hot-tub threesome in Lake Tahoe, the peccadillo with the wife of a prominent American film producer at Cannes the previous year—he was a sex machine, well-oiled and nary in need of a shutdown for system maintenance.

“O-okay, you win.” Stefanie pulled up his most recent media mention on her iPhone and passed the cell over.

Taking it, Macie’s blue eyes popped. “Wow! What a hottie! He looks just like—”

“John Stamos. Yeah, I know.”

From the top of his dark brown head to the biceps and washboard abs showing beneath his fitted shirt, Nikolas Costas bore a striking resemblance to the hunky Greek American television actor.

Macie gave back the phone. “Exactly when is he arriving?”

Stefanie hesitated before admitting, “July second.”

Macie handed back the phone. “That’s…not a lot of time.”

Her friend was right. One measly week to transform herself into a svelte Greek American princess wasn’t much, but given that was all the time she—they—had, she might as well make the most of it. Once he went back to Greece, she’d be free to turn back into a pumpkin, or at least a laidback personal chef who wasn’t always the best about remembering to shave her legs.

Macie pushed back her chair and stood. “Come on, Stef, unless someone spots me a wand, we have some major shopping to do.”

…

Over the plane’s crackling intercom, the captain announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin our descent to Kennedy International airport shortly. Please resume your seats and fasten your seat belts.”

Awakened, Mara lifted her head from Nick’s arm. “Are we there yet, Papa?”

He reached down between their seats and retrieved his mother’s parting gift, a classic Raggedy Ann doll, from the floor. Tucking the doll into Mara’s pink backpack, he said, “Not quite, darling, but we are very close.”

The captain’s intercom announcement had saved him from having to wake her. One’s first view of the New York skyline was not to be missed.

From across the aisle, the gabby grandmother from Brooklyn who’d earlier talked Nick’s ear off about her first holiday to Greece leaned toward them. “You poor little mite, you look beat,” she said, shoving her face up to Mara’s. “I betcha you’ll be glad to see your mommy.”

Horrified, Nick opened his mouth to intercept but Mara did so first. “My mommy doesn’t live in America. She lives in Heaven.”

The woman’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so…s-sorry,” she sputtered, looking quickly away.

Fuming, Nick looped an arm about Mara, hugging her close. She snuggled against him, and together they turned toward the window. As annoying as the intrusive comment was, it reopened an internal dialogue Nick had begun having more and more of late. Did he have a duty to marry? Not for Costas International—his fecund sisters had well-established the next generation—but for Mara? Based on the hints his mother had begun dropping, she had several candidates under consideration, all from wealthy Greek families, their reputations and lineages above reproach.

But Nick wasn’t interested in entering into another business alliance. When—or if—he wed, his bride must be not only a wife to him but a loving mother to Mara. And there was another criterion he was as yet reticent to voice for fear of seeming—and feeling—foolish.

She must be someone with whom he could fall deeply, passionately in love.

After years of irresponsibility and selfishness, did he even have the right to hope that such a pure and perfect union might be within his grasp?

The clouds parted and the New York skyline came into view, a harbinger of hope, a beacon of new beginnings. Or perhaps those were simply the fancies of a sleep-deprived traveler. Either way…

“Look, Mara, below is the city of New York.”

For the next several minutes, he occupied himself with pointing out several well-known landmarks. Smiling at Mara’s oohs and ahhs, he promised himself that just as soon as this trip to the States concluded, he would give serious consideration to his marital situation.

…

“It’s not like I’m marrying the guy,” Stefanie protested as she and Macie stood side by side, raking the sale rack at Ann Taylor on Alexandria’s North Washington Street.

Until now, Stefanie had always considered “shop till you drop” to be a meaningless cliché. Not so now. Shopping bags brimming with previous purchases sat parked at their feet. Her arms ached and so did her arches. Her growling belly begged for brunch.

Macie pulled a cream-colored shift dress off the rack, held it up to Stefanie, and shook her head. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look amazing—for yourself, not for anyone else. Though of course, if this Costas guy should happen to be smitten and sweep you off to his yacht or castle or wherever Greek tycoons live, that wouldn’t suck, either.”

Stefanie snorted. The sort of Happily Ever After ending Macie described was reserved for fairy tales—and those blessed to be born into petite, princess-size bodies. “Just for the record, in my next life I’m coming back as a size two.” Why was it that clothing store changing rooms were invariably outfitted with florescent lights and the equivalent of fun-house mirrors?

Macie’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding? I’d kill for your body. You’re like a Greek American version of that actress who plays Joan on
Mad Men
.” She shoved the discarded dress back on the bar and continued riffling through.

Stefanie snorted. “Christina Hendricks has curves; I have flab.”

Macie sent her the familiar exasperated look. “All she has that you don’t is self-confidence and a personal stylist—only now you have me in your fashion corner. That’s half the battle won.”

Stefanie wasn’t so sure. It was one thing to wear comfortable clothes and practical shoes and absolutely no makeup and convince the world that she didn’t care how she looked, but if she were to make an actual effort and fail… Imagining the jibes from Jacquie and the girls sent heat striking her cheeks.

Courage petering, she said, “Maybe this is a mistake. You know the old saying about how you can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear? I’m betting that goes for the whole sow, not just the ear.”

She let out a laugh but Macie didn’t join her. “That is so not funny. I’ve been listening to you put yourself down since college. Enough already.”

Chastened, Stefanie nodded. “Sorry, you’re right. Bad habit, I guess.”

Macie turned away from the clothing. “It is, so break it. Speaking of which, maybe we should take a time-out.”

Stefanie perked up. “There’s a new gelato place I’m dying to try. It’s walking distance, so we won’t have to move the car,” she added as an enticement. As in DC proper, parking along Alexandria’s tony historic district streets was at a premium.

“That sounds nice, but unfortunately we don’t have time.”

“We don’t?” Stefanie’s stomach mutinied, letting out another rumble.

Macie shook her head—and shuttered her gaze. “Nope, we don’t.” The telltale gesture tipped Stefanie off that a confession was coming.

“Why is that?”

“While you were in the changing room, I sort of…booked you an appointment at my day spa.”

Oh, was that all? “You mean like for a massage?” She’d been so tense ever since her pop’s visit. Having a professional knead away the knots sounded all kinds of heavenly—not gelato, but a close second.

Macie hesitated. “Not…exactly.”

Her gaze slid away but not before Stefanie caught the telltale glimmer. She knew that look. It was the same face her friend had worn last summer when she’d talked Stefanie into helping her fool Ross into thinking she was a housekeeper instead of an undercover reporter on a muckraking mission. It spelled trouble, pure and simple.

Summoning the firmest voice she could find, she said, “I think you’d better tell me exactly what you have in mind.”

Macie scooped up their shopping bags and steered them toward the counter. “I’ll explain on the way over.”

…

“Ahhhh!”

Stefanie shot up from the treatment table. So much for the day spa’s touted “ouch-less waxing.” She heaved a quaking breath, feeling as if a sheet of her skin had just been ripped off. Then again, looking down at the raw, salmon-pink stripe bisecting her pelvis, it kind of had.

Posting guard by the door, the room’s only exit, Macie chuckled. “Look on the bright side—no more razor bumps.”

Eyes watering, Stefanie shook her head. “Are you
crazy
? Razor bumps don’t hurt like this! I’ll never complain about shaving again.”

Macie sent her a smug smile. “You won’t have to. Sheila’s fantastic. Her treatments always last me a solid three months.” She exchanged smiles with the spa technician standing tableside.

Wearing a white lab jacket and disposable gloves, Sheila dropped the used waxing cloth in the chrome trash can. “It is true. I am very thorough.”

Stefanie stared between them. “You do this every
three
months?” Assuming she survived, she didn’t plan to repeat the experience—not ever.

“No pain, no gain,” Macie affirmed with a matter-of-fact nod.

Pressing Stefanie back down onto the tissue-paper-covered pillow, Sheila cooed, “Relax, missus, I use only the soft cream wax. Beeswax based, all natural, no synthetics. Is gentle, no?”

“No, it’s not gentle at all.” Stefanie stared down at the remaining strips yet to be pulled and swallowed. If this was what the
soft
wax felt like, she didn’t care to come into contact with the hard stuff. “Maybe we should, uh…stop now?”

“Nice try.” Grinning, Macie turned to the technician. “Sheila, take it away!”

…

Wednesday, July 2

Caught up in a whirlwind week of makeover madness, the Big Day snuck up on Stefanie before she knew it. Too nervous to sleep beyond a few hours, she rose early, made a pot of coffee, and started cooking. By three o’clock, the prep work and most of the precooking were completed, the loaves of country-style bread set on racks to cool, the grape leaves stuffed and laid out on their serving platter in the refrigerator, the lamb marinating in preparation for roasting.

Thank goodness her father and Jacquie would be hosting the welcome dinner. Converting the downstairs of her 1870s Federal-style pied-à-terre into a commercial kitchen had saved her having to rent a separate commercial space, but it didn’t leave much room for entertaining, certainly not for a sit down dinner. Her family’s stately home in northwest Washington’s tree-lined Cleveland Park would make a far more fitting venue for a visiting Greek tycoon born to champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

Preparing the food was the easy part. Getting herself ready provoked significantly more anxiety. More than once, she regretted refusing Macie’s offer to come over and help with her hair and makeup. Still, she had to fly solo sooner or later. Her eyebrows had been threaded, her armpits, legs, and…
lady garden
waxed to pristine smoothness. The triangle between her legs, winnowed to a narrow landing strip, was still slightly pink and sensitive, but if she were honest, she had to admit that the pruning, along with her new blush-worthy Victoria’s Secret bikini-style panties, made it mentally easier to slip into her seductress role.