Under the Boardwalk (Costas Sisters 1)

Quinn’s expression revealed nothing about his feelings. He probably thought Ariana had been kidding, since what people in their right minds operated a scam a day?

She glanced at her father, who also seemed unfazed by her comment. He was used to her expressing her emotions. It was the Greek in her, he always said.

And he continued after Aunt Dee hushed up. “Well, I’m certainly not going to spend our hard-earned money on something the cops can come in and close down. I want you and Zoe to have something meaningful from your parents. And I know Zoe will approve when she comes home.” He paused, emotion clogging his words. He glanced up at the ceiling and everyone grew silent.

Ariana knew they were thinking of Zoe. She was too. And more than ever, she prayed Quinn was an honorable man.

Nicholas cleared his throat. “This spa will give us a feeling of security—we won’t have to rely only on the show from year to year,” he said as he ran a hand over his bald head.

Ariana looked at him, surprised. She’d thought the show was doing well, but then, she didn’t live at home nor did she visit. How would she really know what was going on? she thought with a twist of guilt in her heart.

“With this layout, we can keep our family’s privacy. We wouldn’t want our personal moments exposed for public view, now would we?” Elena asked.

They had before, Ariana thought, immediately recalling the National Enquirer article from years past, but she decided not to mention that embarrassing time.

“Quinn, would you like a drink?” Elena switched from giving her opinion to playing hostess. “I mixed up a mango-and-papaya-smoothie. Of course, I added my Yiayia’s secret ingredient.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow, obviously unsure whether or not to accept. Ariana helped him out with a subtle shake no of her head. Though Yiayia still lived in Greece , like Elena, she didn’t cook.

“There’s no more,” Nicholas said, sparing Quinn from having to answer.

“That’s impossible.” Elena started for the refrigerator. “Just this morning there was an entire pitcherful.”

Nicholas sighed, then placed a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Never anger your woman, Quinn. That’s what my father told me, God rest his soul. But sometimes they just put you in a place where it can’t be helped. The drink tasted like crap, Elena. It wasn’t fit for a guest.”

She narrowed her gaze and started muttering in Greek.

Ariana knew the signs of a storm brewing, as did Aunt Dee, who buried her nose in the Idiot book while Uncle John began whistling quietly and gathered together the floor plans for the house.

Ariana had watched this scene play out many times since she was a child. “I can sleep on the couch if you need my bed, Dad.”

Quinn chuckled.

“Laugh now, but a Greek woman’s anger knows no bounds.” Nicholas imparted those words of wisdom, patted Quinn on the back, and then turned his attention to his wife, who’d folded her arms across her chest. “Aah, agape mou.”

He murmured the term of endearment but Elena wasn’t buying it and she slapped his hand. “Don’t try to sweet-talk me. What did you do with my drink? You didn’t pour it down the sink, did you?” She shook her head. “No, because that would be a waste when there are starving people in the world.” She pulled open the refrigerator door.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Nicholas said, warning Quinn.

“There’s none here,” Elena said.

Nicholas sighed. “I gave it to Spank,” he admitted.

“Oh, for the love of . . .” Elena trailed off. All traces of elegance gone in the face of her anger, she slammed the appliance door closed and stomped over to the monkey. “So tell me, did you like my drink? The secret ingredient is one my ancestors swore would restore youth and vitality. I plan to use it in some version at the spa.”

Spank bared her teeth in an ugly smile, then smacked her lips together and blew Elena a raspberry.

“She liked it,” Elena said, obviously feeling validated.

“Actually she felt much better after I gave her some Pepto,” Aunt Dee said.

“Traitor,” Elena muttered.

Aunt Dee waved away her sister’s words. “Kiss and make up,” she ordered, pushing Nicholas and Elena together.

From past experience, Ariana knew things could go one of two ways. Her mother would either turn and walk out, leaving her father on the couch for the night, or they’d retreat to the bedroom, everyone and everything else forgotten, and stay there for hours.

Personally, Ariana had never met a man whose company she wanted in her bed for all that long. In hindsight not even she and Jeffrey had shared the passion her parents still did, leaving her to wonder if she’d find it with any man.

Her gaze fell on Quinn and electricity crackled inside her.

At the same time, her father’s hand came around her mother’s back, pulling her close. He whispered in Elena’s ear, something only she could hear.

The next few seconds were critical, so Ariana held her breath and counted to three. Elena whirled around, but instead of storming out, she touched Nicholas’s hand. “If you’re serious, you can make it up to me. Come. Now.” She turned, head held high, and walked out of the kitchen and stormed up the stairs.

Nicholas grinned. “It’s the best part of fighting, is it not?” Then, not caring that they had an audience, or perhaps performing for them, Nicholas headed out the door, following in his wife’s footsteps.

Embarrassed as she always was at their display, Ariana turned around for sympathetic nods from Aunt Dee and Uncle John, but sometime during her parents’ show, they’d disappeared, leaving Ariana alone. With Quinn.

The one man she could see keeping in her bed for a long time to come.

CHAPTER FIVE

I thought we were having dinner with your parents,” Quinn said as he started the truck outside Ari’s house. “Elena said she was cooking.” Much as he hated to admit it, he’d been looking forward to a home-cooked meal.

“You actually sound disappointed.” Ari shook her head in obvious amazement. “I’m sorry, Quinn, but my mother had you fooled. She’s not a traditional Greek woman.”

“I never mistook Elena for traditional. I just thought when she said she’d cook, she meant it.”

“Obviously you don’t know my mother’s version of cooking.”

“Any version of home cooking would be a damn sight more appetizing than the stuff that any of my foster mothers used to serve.” Realizing how much he’d given away, Quinn quickly shifted topics. “So tell me what Elena meant.”