The Latin Lover

“That is correct. It will go the longest way to distance her from Dimitri’s scandal, and stop speculation that she has something to do with Xandra Fortune’s disappearance.”

“What assurances do we have that you do not have your own floozy waiting in the wings somewhere?” Basila asked.

Phoebe turned her cold-eyed stare on her mother. “Xandra Fortune is not a floozy. She is the woman Dimitri loves, and I find it personally insulting that you refer to her in such a fashion.”

Wow. She really stood up for what she believed. She always had, and Spiros couldn’t help the spurt of pride that gave him.

Her mother, however, did not look impressed. Her mouth gaped like a hooked fish. Aristotle made a sound of displeasure, but Phoebe stared him down.

“It is not merely your name being bandied about, Phoebe Leonides. This scandal reflects on us all,” her mother finally got out.

“Be that as it may, leave off making your digs about floozies. I knew about Dimitri’s girlfriend. I would know if Spiros had one as well. He’s never hidden his personal life from me.”

“That is true…but this whole thing feels a bit incestuous, if you ask me,” Aristotle said.

“While Phoebe and I have been as close as any two siblings for two decades, she is not my sister—nor do I harbor sibling-type feelings for her.”

Aristotle nodded, as if taking Spiros’s word for it, but Phoebe gave him an indecipherable look.

“Again, I need to ask what kind of assurances we have that you will not back out of the engagement as your brother has done?” Basila asked.

Spiros lifted his briefcase and unlocked it to open it. He pulled out a sheaf of papers. “This is a contract that stipulates I will supply the same capital investment my brother was going to provide. I am prepared to sign it before the wedding. Right now, in fact.”

Aristotle nodded, his dark eyes gleaming with approval.

For the first time Basila stopped wringing her hands and looking ready to break down crying at any minute. “You are serious?” she asked.

“As serious as I have ever been in my life.”

“Then we accept,” Aristotle said.

Phoebe stood up and looked at all of them with the same dispassionate stare. “Excuse me, Papa, but this is not the Middle Ages. You cannot accept a marriage proposal on my behalf. That is something I must do for myself, and I am not prepared to do so at this time.”

“What do you mean, Phoebe?” her mother asked shrilly.

“I need time to think.”

“How much time?” Spiros asked.

“A week.”

“Impossible,” her father stated. “If we want to alleviate more scandal it must be done at once.”

“Tomorrow?” Spiros asked Phoebe, recognizing the stubborn look tightening her features.

“Forty-eight hours, and that is as much of a compromise as I am willing to make. Surely you cannot begrudge me that much time to be sure of my future? We are talking about the rest of my life, and how it is to be lived and with whom, you know.”

“Of course. I…” Basila looked older than her years and very vulnerable. “We want you to be happy, Phoebe. We do.”

“Then give me some time to decide if I can be…with Spiros.”

Aristotle sighed. “If two days will give you time to adjust to your circumstances, then take it.”

He made it sound like Phoebe’s decision was a done deal. Probably for him it was. After all, Phoebe had agreed to marry Dimitri, who she had voiced numerous concerns about. She was now being asked for the sake of both their families to marry the man who up until two weeks ago had been her best friend. And as far as her parents knew he still was.

&nbsp

; Spiros knew differently, and he could only hope her parents’ confidence was not misplaced.