It burns me to have him so close, infringing upon my space.
Liar, whispers that annoying voice, which I quickly quash.
“Would you like to hang your head out the window, Harper? Maybe let the breeze flap your tongue?” teases Jayson.
I shoot him a glare and soon we pull up the driveway, parking in front of the villa. Jayson is the first out, and I breathe a sigh of relief that his presence isn’t tormenting me any longer. The relief is short-lived, however, because he pauses, reaching in to offer me a hand out as the driver comes around to let out Sophie. “I can manage,” I say through gritted teeth as I swing my legs out the door.
“It’s no trouble.” He overrides my objection by grasping my hand and giving me a gentle tug. My momentum shifts, sending me sprawling forward, straight into Jayson’s arms.
“A simple thank you would have sufficed.” His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. I’d like to think my hot glower helped make that decision.
I jerk upright, straighten my spine, and step away from him. “Thank you for making me stumble,” I say as coldly as I can manage, then turn away from him. To my annoyance, he laughs softly.
Irina comes bustling out of the villa. The housekeeper has to be over sixty by now, but she’s still at her post. In a shower of Greek, Irina sweeps Sophie into a big hug, her larger girth swallowing up the girl’s smaller frame. After a moment, Sophie fights her way free, and Irina moves on to Jayson. I can’t hide my pleasure at the way the older woman engulfs him in one of her massive hugs. When she releases him, she pats his face and speaks lovingly in Greek.
I slip by them, surprised when Irina touches my arm. I turn to smile at the older woman and find myself wrapped in her arms. I’ve known Irina from other visits, but it’s been years, and she’s never greeted me with a big hug before.
“Ah, Kyria Satyros, welcome. The last time I saw you, you were younger than Miss Sophie.”
I shake my head as best I can with Irina’s hands framing my face. “I think I was seventeen.” It was the summer before Sophie’s mother died, the year I developed a huge crush on Jayson. Thank goodness I’m over that.
“You have become a beautiful woman, Kyria Satyros. I can see why Mr. Jayson married you.”
My cheeks burn, and I look anywhere but at Jayson. “Please call me Harper, Irina.”
Irina nods, clearly not one to adhere to rigid standards of conduct. “Come, Kyria Harper, and Miss Sophie.” She threads her arms through ours, practically marching us up the marble stairs and into the house, with Jayson trailing behind.
The interior is more luxurious than I remembered, complete with a marble mosaic of one of the saints on the foyer floor. It seems almost… disrespectful to walk on it, and I’m not even religious. The others tread over the saint without a glance downward, so I do the same. More marble stairs, carpeted with a blue runner, leads us to the next floor where Irina releases Sophie in front of her room. Irina doesn’t wait for the girl to enter as she hurries me on. “You will love the master suite, Kyria Harper. It is perfection. Heaven on earth.”
I pretend to be paying attention, but really I’m too busy trying to keep up with the powerhouse of an old woman as she bustles around the place. When we enter the master suite, I don’t give it much thought. At Jayson’s home in New York, we share the master suite, though with separate bedrooms and bathrooms. If the staff there think it odd, they know better than to express the opinion.
“Heaven,” repeats Irina with a sigh. “This is the perfect place to make a baby, Kyria Harper. Miss Sophie and Mr. Jayson were both conceived here.” She winks at me. “Very romantic.”
Choking, I somehow manage to nod. I thank Irina and after one last hug, she leaves. It’s then I notice Jayson is also in the room. I hoped he’d gone straight to the study, or anywhere else. Being in a bedroom with him, alone, is awkward.
Turning toward the doors, I open the first to reveal a dressing room with another door. “Is my room through here?”
Jayson shrugs. “It can be yours if you’d like.”
Frowning at the odd comment, I walk through the dressing room to open the other door and step into the room, startled to find a nursery. An antique crib, armoire, and chair takes up most of one wall. There are toys lined neatly on shelves, obviously kept just so and dusted regularly. To my relief, there’s a single bed against another wall—probably for a nanny. It’s not the luxurious king-size bed I’ve gotten used to, but it’ll be fine. I can make do. I’d even go with the crib in order to avoid sharing a room with Jayson.
Suddenly I hear a voice behind me. It’s Jayson, who must have followed me. “Will this room suit you?”
“It’s fine.” Feel
ing lost, reluctant to meet his eyes, I fuss with the button of my linen jacket. “Though it is lacking something when it comes to closet space.”
Jayson nods, leaning against the doorjamb as though he plans to stay there all day. “There’s plenty of room in my closet. We can share.”
“Thanks.” An awkward silence falls, and I search for something to say. “What are—?”
“Dinner is—” says Jayson simultaneously. “What were you saying?”
“I was going to ask if you knew Sophie’s plans for the summer?”
He shrugs. “I imagine she’ll spend most of her time on the beach. She has a lot of old friends here. They like to do this and that in the village.”
“Ah.”