*
The phone call had put him in a bad mood. He could say ‘no’ to Kristos, ‘no’ to Nikos, ‘no’ to Benedictus, and he sure as hell could say ‘no’ to Loukas, given the fact his younger brother had seen fit to propose to Stavros’s ex-girlfriend. But Calista, Loukas’s twin, had always had a very special place in Stavros’s heart. She was ten years his junior and he was closest of all to her. Hearing her on the other end of the line, almost in tears, because of how upset the family was that he wasn’t coming home for Christmas, made Stavros wonder if he wasn’t being monumentally selfish.
There was even a part of him that wondered if he hadn’t overreacted to Claudia’s recent scandal simply because it had presented him with a convenient excuse to stay away from his family at a time when he would prefer not to be in Athens.
Perhaps.
All these things ravaged his brain, as he stared at the television news without taking any of it in.
The phone call from Calista, while aggravating, was not why Stavros found himself dressed in a custom-made tuxedo cradling a scotch twenty minutes before a driver was due to take them to this event. It wasn’t why he was glowering and in a mood that could out-do a tornado for pent-up energy.
It was Claudia.
It was the mystery of Claudia; the sense that any time he got close to understanding what made her tick, she shifted away from him, like trying to catch soap in the middle of the ocean. There was something, something just beneath her surface, and yet he had no idea what. But he knew she was a chameleon, always mindful of what people thought, and acting in a way she hoped they’d expect.
Why had she got the receptionist to fill out the registration forms?
His frown deepened and he threw back a measure of scotch, his eyes locking to the television as it went to a commercial break. He’d been with a lot of women in his youth, and many of them were spoiled, entitled and vain, and he’d never known one not to pick up a pen for the sake of her manicure. He wasn’t even sure if it was physically possible for a snagged nail to make writing difficult or for writing to make such a thing worse.
The certainty that she’d lied to him detonated in his gut.
But why?
The shrapnel would not settle.
Though he hated to suspect it of Claudia, he wondered if it was a question of status. If she wanted to assert herself as somehow being better than the receptionist and so perhaps she’d asked the other woman to complete the form. As a show of power.
It hardly gelled with what he thought he knew of his ward, and yet what possible explanation could there be?
He didn’t know, but Stavros wanted to. He wanted to understand her, and he suspected that he would not rest until he had got to the bottom of what made his irresponsible ward the way she was.
He lifted his glass and in doing so, tilted his head, just enough to catch the impression of black and red. He focused his attention.
And felt as though he’d been punched, hard, in the solar plexus.
She was a dream come true. Half angel, half vamp. She’d styled her hair into a big, messy bun on the top of her hair, and her pale, creamy skin resembled moonlight and milk. He dragged his gaze down her body, wishing he’d paid closer attention when they’d made love. How he wished he’d stripped her naked and kissed her all over, tasted her flesh, driven her wild with his mouth. He wanted to see her desperately and impatience spread like a cloud through his veins.
He half-expected her to be glaring at him when he lifted his attention back to her face – a face she’d made up sparingly, simply enhancing her natural beauty with a slick of dark red lipstick and a wipe of mascara. Only Claudia wasn’t watching him.
She was as transfixed by the television as he was by her. Her eyes were gl
ued to the screen. He turned to see for himself what had caught her attention.
The John Lewis Christmas ad. Why was he not surprised? He’d seen it dozens of times, despite the fact he barely watched television. The ad was everywhere, as always, and while he appreciated it was a poignant theme and a beautiful song, he hadn’t watched it and felt as Claudia did.
A smile tickled her lips, but it was not one of amusement or even happiness. It was a sad smile; there was something so bittersweet in her face that he almost found himself holding his breath.
He turned back to the television in time to catch the moment the father in the ad opened his gift – the gift the little girl had been saving to buy him all year and it hit him with resounding clarity.
Was it possible that she loved Christmas so very much because she missed Christopher? Was Christmas Claudia’s way of distracting herself from the fact she was alone at this time of year?
Perhaps he should have done more in previous years than simply send a gift. A frown crossed his features and guilt was hot on its heels.
“Are you ready to go?” Her question was clipped.
“Yes.” He settled his scotch glass down on the bar and turned to her slowly. He kept his eyes locked to hers as he closed the distance between them. “I’m ready.”
CHAPTER NINE