“Mr. Christakis,” a servant called in Greek. “Your presence is required urgently in the family room.”
I pulled back, both of us breathing hard. Dede’s lips were swollen, her eyes dark with the same desire that coursed through me.
“I’ll be there shortly,” I answered in clipped Greek, never breaking eye contact with Dede.
We listened to the retreating footsteps before I stepped back. “Tia’s room, it is three doors down.”
Dede nodded. “Thank you.”
I led her to the door on the veranda and slid it open, checking that the yard was clear before guiding her out.
When we reached Tia’s door, I hesitated. This was truly it. Our final moment together.
“Dede,” I began, uncertain of what I wanted to say.
“Yes?”
Instead of speaking, I pulled her to me once more, claiming her mouth in a kiss that conveyed everything words could not. Brief but fierce, a kiss that acknowledged what might have been under different circumstances.
When I released her, she stepped back quickly. “Goodbye, Aris,” she whispered, her eyes glassy.
I watched her slip into Tia’s room before turning away. Each step down the veranda felt like movement through deep water.
Part II
9
Late October, Montrose
“Run that by me again,” I said, unmuting myself on the conference call.
On my laptop screen, Chauncey looked like he wanted to crawl through the internet and strangle someone. Probably our client.
“Vanessa wants us to scrap the entire campaign,” Chauncey said, his jaw tight. “Three weeks of work. She says the visuals don’t ‘speak to her soul.’”
My stomach lurched, stronger than usual. Lord, these babies weren’t playing. I muted myself quickly and reached for the thermos of ice chips I kept on the table. The cold helped. Sometimes.
Three days ago, I’d stared at an ultrasound screen while Dr. Bedi pointed to two distinct heartbeats, and I still hadn’t told a soul. Not even Tia, who was leaving for Greece in six hours.
I pressed one hand to my stomach, willing it to settle, then adjusted my blazer. I unmuted myself. “Put her on.”
Chauncey’s eyes widened. “You sure? She’s been on a rampage all morning.”
“I’m sure. Conference her in.”
While Chauncey made the connection, I slipped a ginger chew from the tin I now carried everywhere and tucked it against my cheek. The ginger cut through the queasiness.
I glanced around my office. The glass desk held my desktop monitor, pushed to one side since I preferred the laptop for video calls. The daybed against the far wall had become less decorative and more functional lately for daytime naps. My mini-fridge hummed quietly in the corner, stocked with sparkling water, ginger ale, and yogurt.
Vanessa’s face appeared on screen, her demeanor already set to confrontational. “Deanna. I was hoping to speak with you directly.”
“I’m here now.” I kept my tone professional despite the way my head was pounding. “Chauncey tells me you have concerns about the campaign direction.”
“Concerns?” Vanessa laughed. “The whole thing is wrong. The color palette, the messaging, and the imagery. None of it captures my brand’s essence.”
Another wave hit, stronger this time. I let her vent for thirty seconds, using the time to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.
“Look, I hear you.” My patience was wearing thin, along with my stomach lining. “But let’s be clear about something. You approved the creative brief. You signed off on the mood boards. You gave us three rounds of feedback, which we incorporated.So either you didn’t know what you wanted then, or you done changed your mind now. Which is it?”
