Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ them. Hotel Parthenon is for the exclusive use of our wedding party for the next week.’

      ‘However did you manage that?’

      ‘It wasn’t difficult. I own the place.’

      Her brows knitted together in confusion. ‘Seriously?’

      ‘I assumed you knew.’

      ‘I thought your business revolved around finance.’

      ‘On the whole it does, but in Greece it’s different. Greece is my home. I love my country but its economy is a mess. Anything I can do to invest and bring money into it, I will.’ Hotel Parthenon had been an obvious place for him to start. He’d discovered it six years before, a shabby, run-down two-star hotel situated on a prime site. He’d paid over the odds for it then set about transforming it, employing local builders and architects to renovate it into the seven-star luxury hotel complete with heliport it was today. Its growing reputation meant it was fully booked all year round.

      ‘I like that,’ Alessandra said, nodding her approval. ‘I always think people are too keen to disregard their roots.’

      ‘That’s easy for someone like you to say.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘You were born with every advantage. Your roots are something for you to be proud of.’

      ‘You think?’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Please, tell me, what advantage did I have when my very existence is the reason for my mother’s death?’

      Shocked, he momentarily lost his voice. ‘You can’t believe that?’

      Confusion flitted over her features as if she’d shocked herself with her own words. ‘It’s the truth,’ she whispered.

      ‘Ochi!’ No.

      ‘Si. My mother died so I could live. If I hadn’t been conceived, she would still be here.’

      A coldness lodged in his stomach. ‘But you wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be sitting here now. Our child wouldn’t be growing in your belly.’

      Her eyes held his, a slight wobble in them, as if she were trying desperately not to let whatever driving emotion had caused her outburst to gain any further hold.

      He could kick himself. ‘I apologise. When I said you were born with every advantage, I meant it in the respect that you were born a Mondelli.’

      Alessandra swallowed back bile. She didn’t know where her outburst had come from. It was an outburst that had lived mutely on her tongue since she’d been a young girl made to feel as if she should be grateful for the privileges of her life. As if the fact she’d grown up with money could hide the circumstances of her birth and the knock-on effect that still echoed in Rocco’s and her lives. Their father’s life too, weak and spineless though he was. He’d effectively thrown his life away because he hadn’t been able to cope without his beloved Letizia. Nor forgetting her grandfather, her nonno, who’d spent the last twenty-five years of his life raising his grandchildren while his own son and heir drowned in bottles of alcohol.

      All those ruined lives. Ruined dreams. Rocco ripped away from the mother he’d worshipped. And for what? For her? Was one life really a fair exchange for so much misery?

      ‘No, I’m the one who should apologise. You’re right. Being a Mondelli is a privilege. I’ve been given every material advantage.’

      ‘I didn’t mean to imply that you were spoilt. I appreciate the Mondelli name has been a mixed blessing for you.’

      ‘And the Markos name?’ she said, glad to be able to turn the conversation onto him. ‘Has that been a mixed blessing for you?’

      He raised a shoulder. ‘The Markos name is nothing special. It doesn’t stand for anything.’

      ‘Yes, it does. It stands for hard work, determination and guts.’

      ‘Guts?’

      ‘Rocco told me you got into Columbia on a scholarship. That alone tells me how hard you’ve had to work to get where you are.’

      ‘We all have our crosses to bear, whatever background we’re born into,’ he said quietly. He tapped on the dividing window. Amidst a hail of tooting horns, the car came to a stop. ‘We will walk from here.’

      The taverna was exactly what Alessandra had been hoping for. Set off the beaten track, its marble tables with checked paper table-cloths were crammed inside and out, every one of them taken. Inside, a man played an accordion, the music only just audible above the raucous noise of the patrons, while pictures of celebrities lined the walls in haphazard fashion above empty bottles of wine with melted candles rammed into them.

      Just as she was thinking they would never get a table, a balding man of about sixty wearing a white apron stretched around possibly the largest pot belly she’d ever seen ambled over to them, his arms outstretched. In a flurry of Greek, he pulled Christian into a tight embrace, slapping kisses on his cheeks, all of which Christian returned before stepping back and putting an arm around Alessandra’s waist.

      ‘Mikolaj—Alessandra,’ he said, before adding, ‘Mikolaj doesn’t speak any English or Italian, agapi mou.’

      Her offered hand was ignored as she was wrenched from Christian’s hold and yanked into Mikolaj’s embrace, which finished with an affectionate ruffle of her hair, much as if she were a child.

      A small table materialised for them against the far wall. Mikolaj pulled the chair back for her, fussing over her until he was certain she was sitting comfortably—although how comfortable anyone could be when crammed like a sardine was debatable. He plonked a laminated menu in front of her then ruffled her hair again for good measure before disappearing into the throng.

      Christian took the seat opposite. The table was so small his long legs brushed against hers. She waited for him to move them but realised there was literally nowhere else for them to go unless he twisted to the side and tripped up all the waiting staff.

      She craned her neck around, trying to ignore the heat brushing up her legs. ‘This place is wonderful.’

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘You like it?’

      She nodded. ‘This is exactly how I imagined a Greek restaurant to be. You can feel the energy—you don’t get that in high-class restaurants.’

      His eyes crinkled. Seeing it made her realise how tense he’d been up to that point. Although unfailingly polite, a barrier had been put up. Was it being here, in his home city, that had caused its construction? Or had she been so wrapped up in her own problems that she hadn’t fully appreciated the effect their situation was having on him? Or a combination of both?

      ‘The best thing about this place apart from the food?’ he said. ‘It’s tourist-proof—all the people in here are locals.’

      ‘Don’t tell me you own it?’

      ‘No. This is all Mikolaj’s.’

      ‘Is СКАЧАТЬ