Rumors Behind the Greek's Wedding

Annabelle narrowed her eyes, the weight of the question being given serious consideration.

‘I think so?’ She darted a look towards Loukis as if to check that she had the right answer and, once again, Célia’s heart ached just a little more.

‘You call her what feels right for you, oui?’

‘Wee? Why did you say wee?’ Annabelle cried, pealing off into another beautiful giggle.

‘It is how I say yes,’ Célia explained with a smile.

‘You talk funny,’ Annabelle accused.

‘You have funny friends,’ Célia replied, pointing to Jameson.

‘He is funny. And silly. And pink!’ she exclaimed.

After a few more minutes, Loukis too quiet to be able to continue pointless conversation, they agreed to video call again tomorrow and signed off.

When Loukis closed the laptop’s screen, the living room was shrouded in a sudden darkness that left spots dancing in the backs of Célia’s eyes and a weight against her chest that burned.

She understood why Loukis was so angry, but also was frustrated that he’d revealed some of that anger to Annabelle. She was a ten-year-old child and shouldn’t bear the weight of adult emotions. Not when she’d soon have enough of her own to deal with.

‘What?’ Loukis demanded in the darkness. ‘I can practically feel the waves of your disapproval.’

‘I... It’s not my place,’ she said, turning to leave the room.

Loukis leaned forward and switched on the lamp beside the laptop, the shaft of light cutting off her escape.

‘Well, as my fake fiancée for now, you might as well spit it out.’

She turned back to him, as if reluctant. Her eyes large, glowing and wary as if she knew what she had to say would hurt him. Loukis almost laughed at himself then. Christos. What was it with the women in his life?

‘It’s just a shame, Loukis, that’s all. I know you have a complicated relationship with your mother, but Annabelle looked like she was having fun.’

The silent accusation that he might have somehow taken away that fun cut him deep. Meredith was the danger, not him. He was doing everything in his power to protect his sister. And if that protection came at the cost of being spoiled rotten by a flaky woman whose only claim to motherhood was birth, then so be it.

‘Oh, fun. Yes, I remember “fun” Meredith,’ he bit out. Because he did. He remembered the mother who would arrive at the school, middle of the day sometimes, and whisk him away to the beach, on a yacht, or a trip to the zoo, or to shops full of the best toys. He remembered the way his room had filled with useless presents designed to prove her occasional affections, to make up for the rest of the time. He remembered a woman he thought had hung the moon and more, who made him feel as if he were the only other person in the world. Until something brighter and shinier came along to distract her. Usually a man other than her husband, with more money than sense, who might or might not have owned an island, or a villa in a different part of Greece, or even Europe. Then, he wouldn’t see her for weeks. Her absence marked only by a new toy.

‘But I also remember the Meredith who would leave me waiting in a playground for three hours before my father could come and get me. Not just once, Célia. Nearly once a week. I remember the Meredith who was too busy enjoying the delights of the Riviera to return for Christmas. Not just the day, the whole damn holiday. I remember the woman who walked out on her daughter one day and never looked back, until now. I remember the nights, weeks, months of Annabelle crying herself to sleep, asking where her mother was and why she wasn’t coming back. It was nearly a year before she stopped asking after Meredith. And what do you think will happen to Annabelle, how do you think she’ll feel, when Meredith tires of her returned plaything, and wants to drop her off again and disappear? What will Annabelle remember then?’

His voice had grown louder and harsher throughout and he realised he was shaking with anger. Anger for Annabelle, anger for himself, and anger towards Célia, who had only pointed out something he had already been castigating himself for.

He couldn’t bear to look at her, fearing and resenting that she had called forth such blatant vulnerability from him. He never spoke about his mother, never spoke about his memories of her. She had left and not once looked back. Not even for his father’s funeral. So he had wiped her from his mind, cut her from his life as ruthlessly as a surgeon removing dangerous cells from the body.

He felt Célia’s hand on his, and this time it was his turn to flinch. And just as he had done in the restaurant, Célia maintained the delicate contact between them, adding to it even, as she reached for his chin to guide his gaze to hers.

‘I am sorry that happened to you.’ The sincerity in her gaze scoured. It scoured because in some ways having her understand, having her apology, opened up the hurt in a way it had not been before. Desperate to stifle it, to shove the lid back down hard, Loukis turned back to where the laptop was open on his desk.

‘But what if Meredith does actually want a relationship with Annabelle? What if she does want to be part of her life? Is that not worth exploring, even if just a little?’

Loukis couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped at her naivety. ‘That woman isn’t capable of thinking of anyone else but herself.’

‘That’s possible. Even likely, given what you’ve shared. But...’

He was getting tired of trying to sift through her words to find the heart of what she meant. He both wanted and feared her spelling it out, because if he was honest, he thought he might know what she was about to say.

‘Just say it, Célia.’

‘She will need to make her own mind up, Loukis. She will need to figure out her own feelings about Meredith. And you need to be a safe space for that. You need to be non-judgmental as she works through it, because if you don’t then you’ll be the one creating the wall between you and her, not her and Meredith. If Annabelle’s mother is as bad as you say, she’ll reveal herself and it will devastate your sister. And she will need you for that.’