The Giannakis Bride (8 page)

“She’s spiraling into self-destruction, and she’ll take you down with her if you’re not careful,” Carter had raged, after one particularly unfortunate incident. “Do yourself a favor and get set up in your own place before she succeeds.”

But Brianna hadn’t believed him. Hadn’t wanted to believe him. “We might have our differences, but at bottom, we love each other,” she’d insisted. “Cecily would never deliberately hurt me.”

Now, when it was too late, she knew differently. What had begun as a slow, almost imperceptible erosion of her relationship with her sister had degenerated into outright betrayal during that cruise through the Greek islands. Yet it could all have turned out so differently if only, as
Dimitrios
had so astutely pointed out, they’d trusted each other. Instead they’d been too dazzled with stardust to see the danger lurking on the sidelines and guard themselves against it.

And yet it had been there all along, if only she’d recognized the signs. That first night, as the yacht set sail from the mainland and headed south to the island of Crete, their hosts had thrown an extravagant cocktail party. There were thirty-six guests gathered on deck, at least twenty-five of whom, including her and Cecily, were either famous faces or famous names on both sides of the Atlantic. The remaining eleven were a blend of wealthy sophisticates and corporate power moguls.

Of the latter, the most influential by far was the cultured
Dimitrios
Giannakis
, whose empire, one of the group she and Cecily were with confided, ran the gamut from charter airlines to oil to real estate.

“Is he married?” Cecily had inquired, almost tripping over her own feet in her eagerness to catch a closer glimpse.

“No,” the man replied on a well-bred snort of laughter. “But trust me, it’s not for want of offers.”

Perhaps if she herself hadn’t fallen so completely under his spell, Brianna might have paid closer attention to Cecily’s growing displeasure at being overlooked by the man who was undoubtedly the most eligible bachelor in Europe.

Swamped with regret for what might have been, Brianna pushed aside the remains of her lunch. She and
Dimitrios
had started out with such dreams. Found such bliss together, albeit for too short a time. Why hadn’t they gone the extra distance and believed in each other?

Instead they’d fallen victim to one of the oldest games in the book: the fury of a woman scorned. Cecily had got what she’d been after from the start, and Brianna had lost a sister in the process. She’d never seen Cecily again, except for the occasional photograph plastered on the front page of some tabloid or other on display in the supermarket: “Former supermodel Cecily Connelly, wife of Greek billionaire
Dimitrios
Giannakis
, at a party in Cannes…hobnobbing with the jet set in Monte Carlo…skiing in the Swiss Alps.”

Cecily was always dazzling the camera with her famous smile. There was never any mention of a child. And a grim-faced
Dimitrios
, if he was there at all, invariably remained at arm’s length from all the hoop-la.

Brianna never bought the tabloid. She never read the article. She turned away, even so small a reminder of what had been stolen from her, enough to darken her day.

Wallowing in remorse for things it was much too late to change, left Brianna too unsettled to endure the rest of the afternoon under Erika’s hostile surveillance. She needed to be around people who didn’t regard her as a necessary evil; with strangers who’d judge her on her own merits. So she took
Dimitrios’s
advice and explored the streets of
Kifissia
.

The boutiques were lovely. If she’d been in a more frivolous mood, she could have spent a small fortune on exquisite clothes. One ensemble in particular caught her eye. A voile dress printed with pale, overblown roses in shades of pink and mauve on an ivory background, it floated over the back of an antique chair set on a circular dais in the showroom window. The hem of its voluminous skirt fell in graceful folds to where a matching hat with a wide brim lay on the silver-gray carpet, next to a pair of exquisite ivory silk pumps.

Brianna’s experience with the garment industry was such that she recognized fine clothes when she saw them, and this was a gem; a special-occasion dress designed by someone with a true eye for elegance and style. But she had weightier matters on her mind, and the only special occasion in her near future was a date with a team of doctors in a private clinic. So, with a last fond glance at the dream of a dress, she continued down the street and found herself outside a shop catering to babies and small children.

The door stood open and, on impulse, she stepped inside. Stuffed toys, hand-made quilts, pint-size furniture and other nursery accessories vied for space with adorable dresses, beaded socks, dainty little shoes and lace-trimmed sun hats. Delightful outfits of the kind that Poppy should have been wearing, rather than the hospital gowns that presently comprised her entire wardrobe. But she lived in such a protected environment, she couldn’t cuddle a plush teddy bear or a favorite doll. If an object couldn’t be wiped off with germicidal solution morning, noon and night, it didn’t get past the door to her room. Even the book
Dimitrios
had been reading to her had laminated pages.

Until that moment Brianna had been drawn more by idle curiosity and wishful thinking than by any serious intention of shopping for her niece. With so many restrictions in place, there hadn’t seemed much point. But faced with such an abundance of riches, as it were, she suddenly found herself asking, Why not? If ever a child needed and deserved a little spoiling, that child was Poppy. Surely there was something here, some inoffensive, pretty thing that could soften the barren confines of her room without compromising her health?

The shop owner approached, and after ascertaining that the woman spoke English, Brianna explained, “I’m looking for a gift for my three-year-old niece, but it can’t be clothing or anything like this.” Regretfully, she picked up a gorgeous velvet rabbit with long, silky ears. “She’s hospitalized, you see—and in isolation.”

“She is in the children’s wing of the
Rosegarth
Clinic?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

“Ah.” The woman clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Then certainly she needs something to make her smile when you’re not there, but it must be something which will not expose her to risk of infection, yes?”

“How did you know?”

“Because you’re not the first to come here, my dear lady. Many families with children at the
Rosegarth
end up at my door, hoping to find just the right gift to cheer up their sick little ones.” She indicated a row of glass-domed porcelain figures, some perched on swings, some skating on mirrored surfaces, others riding on painted carousel horses or Ferris wheels, and all mounted on sturdy metal bases. “These are very popular. They’re actually battery-operated music boxes with colored lights that rotate as the figures move. They can be kept out of reach of the patient, but still be enjoyed. I also have a wide selection of pretty mobiles—butterflies, humming birds, swans and such—which also sell very well.”

Given a choice, Brianna would have left with enough packages to fill the trunk of the Mercedes, but when
Spiros
came to collect her, she’d managed to confine herself to one bright-red Ferris wheel music box, and a mobile of iridescent butterflies. “Although I’ll probably be back again before long,” she warned the saleswoman as she left the shop.

It was after five by then, and the traffic exiting the city was horrendous. What had been only about a thirty-five-minute drive that morning took almost twice as long in late afternoon, making it close to half past six before she finally arrived on
Dimitrios’s
doorstep a second time.

Erika answered the door. “We were beginning to think you were lost,” she said, her glance suggesting she’d have been just as glad if that had been the case. “
Dimitrios
has been waiting well over an hour for you to show up.”

“What for? You told me yesterday that he always spends the evening with Poppy at the hospital.”

“As a rule, I do,” he said rather curtly, emerging from what appeared to be some sort of library to the right of the front door, “but I thought you might like to come with me tonight, seeing that your visit was cut short this morning. Since you’ve been out all afternoon, though, you’re probably too tired and would rather not bother.”

“I’m not in the least bit tired. As for seeing her again, I’d love to, because I went shopping and bought her a gift.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, Brianna,” he said, his tone softening slightly, “but we’re pretty restricted on what we can take in.”

“I know,” she said. “Noelle explained all about that, but look, this will be acceptable, don’t you think?” Carefully, she unwrapped the music box and held it up for his inspection. “See, it even has a glass dome covering it that can easily be cleaned, and if it was put someplace where Poppy could see it but not touch it…? Then there’s this mobile. I thought it might hang near the window where it would catch the sunlight. What do you think?”

“They might work,” he allowed, “and there’s no question but that she’d get a kick out of them. You obviously went to a great deal of trouble to find something she’d really enjoy.”

“Which is a lot more than the other one would have done,” Erika muttered grudgingly. “Will you be back for dinner,
Dimitrios
?”

“Yes.” He glanced at Brianna again. “How hungry are you? Can you hold off until about nine, or would you like a snack before we leave?”

“I can wait.”

“Then let’s get going, or
Poppy’ll
be asleep before we arrive.”

He hustled her outside, not to the Mercedes, as she’d expected—it, along with
Spiros
, had disappeared again—but to a low-slung black sports car built for comfort and speed. Erika watched them leave, her expression stony with disapproval.

“That woman doesn’t like me,” Brianna observed, as both housekeeper and villa disappeared from view.

Zooming past the gates that marked the boundary of his estate,
Dimitrios
made a sharp turn to the road and shifted into high gear. “You can’t blame her. You remind her of Cecily.”

“Well, if she had an ounce of brains…!” Annoyed with herself, because this was an irritation she’d lived with all her life and she ought to be over it by now, Brianna abruptly halted in midsentence.

“Please don’t stop now,” he urged, not taking his eyes off the road. “Get it off your chest, whatever it is.”

“All right. Cecily and I were two individuals who happened to look alike, but too many people, including you, seem to believe we were—are—interchangeable.”

“I soon learned differently. To my cost, I might add.”

“And that’s another thing! I know better than anyone that Cecily had her faults, but I’m getting sick and tired of hearing other people criticize her. Regardless of what she did or didn’t do, she was still my sister. More to the point, she was Poppy’s mother, and for that reason alone she deserves a modicum of respect, because no child should have to grow up never hearing a kind word about the woman who gave birth to her. You might be glad Cecily’s out of your life,
Dimitrios
, but I was deeply saddened by her death. Believe it or not, there was a time when she was sweet and kind and loving.”

“Before Crete, you mean?”

“No,” Brianna admitted, quelling a sigh. “Her decline began long before then. The pity of it was, I didn’t recognize it soon enough to put a stop to it.”

He spared her a swift glance. “Just yesterday, you told me not to blame myself for the way she ended up. I suggest you take your own advice. And for the record, I did my best to be a good husband, Brianna, and I would never criticize Cecily to Poppy. I tried to make it work between us, if for no other reason than that I don’t deal well with failure. It’s not in my nature to accept defeat.”

“Because you’re a control freak,” she said.

“Maybe I am, but one thing I learned the hard way is that even I can’t control love. I couldn’t conjure it up on command, and in all truth, I’m not sure it would have made any difference if I had been able to. You probably don’t want to hear this either, but the fact is, Cecily wasn’t looking for a husband, she was looking for a meal ticket.”

“And what were you looking for,
Dimitrios
?”

“You,” he said candidly. “I was looking for you. And by the time I realized the carbon copy didn’t measure up to the original, the damage was done. Now I’m looking for ways to undo it.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that remark, and he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. “Well, at least you have Poppy,” she finally said.

“And I thank God for that every day. But what do you have, Brianna? Is there someone special in your life?”

Not about to confess she’d practically lived like a nun since their breakup, she said, “I wouldn’t say ‘special,’ no. My work and the amount of traveling it involves isn’t exactly conducive to a long-term commitment.”

“So the career does takes precedence over all else.”

The edge of scorn in his voice was unmistakable. “If it did,” she replied hotly, “I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”

He shrugged. “Possibly not.”