Claimed For The Greek's Child

Occasionally he would surprise her with a visit in the afternoon, a brief swim with Amalia as she splashed and giggled in the water. But when Amalia was asleep he was there, waiting for Anna to come to him. She resented the sense of satisfaction she felt coming off him in waves whenever he was near, as if he smugly knew more about herself, her body, than she did.

Each night she would lie awake, listening to the quiet house, imagining him in his bed, the sound of his breathing, the slip-slide of his skin against his sheets. It was a slow torture as she fell into fevered dreams of his body, his touch, his caress, the feel of him moving deep within her. And each morning she woke more exhausted than the day before. He had stayed true to his promise. He had not touched her, nor come to her, but she felt as if she was being watched, hunted, slowly entrapped by her own desires.

Anna put the phone back in its cradle. Her mother’s therapist had informed her that Mary had requested to stay on yet another month, refusing contact with Anna even though she was entitled to that now. It hurt and it surprised her to find that her mother still had access to parts of her heart that would cause such pain.

But she wanted to let her mother know about her marriage personally, rather than reading about it in the headlines of a newspaper. The therapist had agreed to pass on a letter, should Mary Moore feel up to reading it.

That she wouldn’t be at the wedding...well. Anna still couldn’t quite tell how she felt about it. She thought of the wedding more in an abstract way, as if it was something simply to be done. An event to be planned, rather than a marriage or a future way of life.

But as she began the letter, her hand automatically began to spell out Dimitri’s name...and she thought of the hundreds of pages she had written to him over the years, telling him of something Amalia had done, telling him of the joys and the tears she had shed, Amalia’s first bath, first steps, first words, first smile, second teeth and second words, second falls and third. To tell him of the moment she had truly realised that she was a mother. The well of love that had almost brought her to her knees. All of that she had wanted to share with the father of her child. But the man she was marrying? He was not the same man she had written to over the last few years. She needed to be realistic. Now, more than ever, was not the time for fantasies and could-have-beens.

Pushing thoughts aside, she focused on the letter in front of her. Anna’s hands shook a little as she committed the words to the page.

Dear Ma,

I’m getting married... I have decided to stay in Greece. The lovely couple running the bed and breakfast are taking good care of it for us. You’d like them, Ma.

I wish you could see Dimitri’s house. It’s incredible. One day I hope that you will. Amalia is getting big! She’s outgrown almost all of the clothes I brought with us.

And I’ve been learning a little Greek. Flora, Dimitri’s housekeeper, has been teaching me a phrase a day, along with some of the most delicious recipes...

* * *

Dimitri paced the length of his Athens office. How was it that, on the cusp of achieving everything he had wanted, he suddenly felt trapped? Trapped by the marriage he had brought upon himself. He cursed out loud into the empty room, the words bouncing off the sleek chrome and dark wood that surrounded him. When he had been in prison, he had longed to come back to his office. The place where he was in control. He had longed to stand once again in his house, looking out on to the open sea, but somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had swapped one cage for another.

He rubbed at his ring finger, the phantom itch that had started the moment that Anna had agreed to his proposal. What did he know about marriage? His own father had been a bastard and had abandoned his mother, the young waitress he had ruthlessly seduced, then discarded, just like he had his son. Even if he had softened at the party just weeks ago, Dimitri couldn’t ignore the way he had been his entire life until that point. Agapetos’s own marriage had been based solely on a business deal, rather than any finer feelings, and it had kept his entire family in a state of misery throughout Dimitri’s life. Was that what would become of him and Anna? Would she come to resent him for forcing this upon them? Would he?

He was no better off than when he was stuck in that prison, where testosterone mixed with anger, impotence and helplessness. Where desperation made men weak, and bullies strong. Where fear was a feral animal stalking the hallways, beaten, bruised and bloodied.

His only release was the short moments he would steal with his daughter. Her laughter was a panacea to the chaotic thoughts that filtered through his mind almost constantly. Whether it was breakfast, where Amalia would rain down an Armageddon of culinary destruction, or the evenings, where he would watch over Anna as she soothed her daughter’s night-time tears, he still felt like an outsider. But the thing that had surprised him the most was the fear of somehow causing damage to the small life they had created together.

He couldn’t turn to Agapetos, couldn’t trust the fragile bond that had begun to form with his offering of peace. He couldn’t turn to Antonio and Danyl, who hadn’t the first clue of parenting. Antonio was busy making plans for his wedding to Emma. Danyl had the weight of an entire country on his shoulders, and Dimitri was reluctant to add to that. No. To all intents and purposes, Dimitri was alone in this. And that was the only real way he knew how to be. He had long since learned that he couldn’t rely on others to help bear his burden. So instead, he became a man on the verge of the perfect marriage to the mother of his child. That was the image he needed to maintain, and perhaps if he told himself that enough times he might start believing it.

‘Mr Kyriakou?’ The intercom buzzed with his new assistant’s voice. ‘The Sheikh of Ter’harn and Antonio Arcuri are here to see you.’

Before she had even finished speaking, Danyl had stormed into his office, laden with two bottles of dark amber liquid in each hand, Antonio swiftly following behind.

‘You didn’t think you could get married and miss out on the stag, did you?’

* * *

The doorbell rang just as Anna put the letter to her mother in an envelope. Flora had offered to post it for her, Anna’s limited Greek most definitely not up for ensuring its secure delivery. The sound of voices from the hallway and an unaccountably flustered Flora surpris

ed her. Frowning, Anna rounded the corner to see Dimitri’s stepmother, Eleni, in the doorway, with what looked like an army of people and clothes behind her.

‘Mrs Kyriakou?’ asked Anna, unaware of her plans to visit.

‘Ms Moore,’ she said, still failing to make eye contact as she brushed a piece of imaginary lint from her chic designer suit.

‘Anna, please call me Anna’ was all she could reply as Eleni Kyriakou pushed her way into the house that suddenly felt a million times smaller as it filled with uniformed people dragging racks of covered dresses into the open-plan living area.

‘Anna,’ Eleni finally relented. If there was a superior ‘sniff’ to be heard, Anna was sure it was covered by the cacophony of voices that filled the room.

Amalia stirred in her high chair at the table, craning her neck to take in what new exciting delights had surrounded her. In an instant, all the formidable uniformed minions turned into gushing women, pinching her cheeks and thighs and exclaiming happily in Greek. Flora descended, shooing them away, retrieving Amalia and sending Anna a look that told her categorically that she wasn’t paid enough to deal with Eleni Kyriakou.

Eleni looked longingly after her granddaughter and Anna felt a little burst of pity for the older woman. Until she turned her assessing gaze on Anna.

‘You are in need of a dress, I believe,’ the older woman stated. Anna took a closer inspection of the covered garments on the racks. Wedding dresses.