“Michail is not my father.” Matthaios’ voice was flat and cold. “I only inquired about Simone’s whereabouts. I have zero interest in having a relationship with the man.” His jaw tightened. “Fuck him. Forever.”
“We’re getting off topic,” I said. “We were discussing Deanna being unreasonable about the wedding expenses.”
“By wanting to contribute to her daughter’s wedding?” Dimitrios raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Yeah, totally unreasonable.”
“A father provides for his only son’s wedding,” I stated. “It’s our tradition. It’s what’s expected—”
“Actually, in Greek tradition, the bride’s family does contribute,” Matthaios interjected, his tone almost bored. “But what do I know? I’m just the bastard cousin.”
I straightened my tie, controlling my irritation. “The wedding exceeds seven figures. Chrysanthos is my son. My responsibility.”
“And Tia is Deanna’s only daughter,” Konstantin said quietly, his tone too knowing for comfort. “Her responsibility as well.”
Konstantin was the only one who knew about Dede and me. About the two months spent with a fascinating American woman meant to be simple. A summer fling between two consenting adults who understood the terms.
Terms I was now struggling to accept.
“Santo’s happy. He got his girl back. Tia’s happy and wants a fairytale wedding. If her mother wants to pay half, where’s the actual harm?” Dimitrios sprawled further back in his chair.
Because she didn’t need me. And I couldn’t stop needing her. That was the whole pathetic truth of it.
“It’s a matter of principle,” I said instead, my voice firm.
Konstantin’s exhale was long. “Aris—”
“Don’t.” I held up a hand. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”
“Oh, this is good,” Dimitrios said, leaning forward with interest. “What does he know that we don’t?”
The room went quiet. Kostas maintained a neutral expression and even Matthaios looked up from his coffee.
“Nothing,” I said flatly. “He knows nothing.”
“That’s not what your body language says,” Dimitrios pressed, grinning now. “And that’s definitely not what your face says.”
“The labor dispute,” I cut him off sharply. “We’re here to discuss the labor dispute.”
Discussions about the labor dispute took another forty minutes. By the time my brothers filed out, the sun had set over Athens, and the city lights began their nightly shimmer.
Konstantin appeared at my door. “Call her Aris.”
“There is nothing to say.”
“There is everything to say.” He paused. “You haven’t been the same since we returned from New York.”
At the end of summer, everything had unraveled in our family. My uncle Stavros’s death from thirty years ago had been ruled a homicide. The case had been resolved. My uncle’s widow accepted an Alford plea, but we’d returned to Greece changed.
Kayla had left Greece and Konstantin. She’d cut contact with our family entirely. Simone, Kayla’s older sister, whom Matthaios had been secretly dating, learned he’d been using her to get back at her father. She’d disappeared. As it stood, the only happy Christakis man was my son.
I stared at the phone on my desk longer than I’d ever admit. The city shimmered beyond the glass, indifferent. I picked up the phone, set it down, then picked it up again.
I dialed her number.
Two days later, a knock interrupted my thoughts, and Chrysanthos strode into my office without waiting for permission. “Father, Tia and I are back and...” He stopped, taking in my appearance with a curious glance. “You need a haircut and a shave.”
“Is there something you need?”
“We have a problem.”
