Chapter 4 Aristides
Iwoke before dawn, the sky outside the porthole lightening from black to deep blue. The yacht rocked beneath us, while beside me, Dede slept, one arm flung above her head, her lower body concealed by the sheet that had slipped to her waist during the night.
I propped myself on one elbow to study her unobserved. Her expression in sleep was unguarded.
My gaze drifted lower to the full curve of her breasts, marked faintly by my mouth. I could still feel their weight in my palms, still taste them on my tongue. I reached out, nearly brushing her cheek, then pulled back.
It had been twenty-three years since I’d felt this pull toward a woman. Since becoming a widower, I selected companions who provided physical release without emotional complication. Women who didn’t expect to wake up in my bed or meet my son.
Yet here I was, watching this woman sleep beside me, reluctant to leave the warmth of our shared space.
Eventually, I eased out of the bed, careful not to wake her. Chrysanthos would be leaving for Japan soon, and there were matters requiring my attention before I joined him there. As CEO of Olympus Motors, my responsibilities did not pause for personal indulgence.
I dressed quietly and made my way to the yacht’s office. For an hour, I answered emails, reviewed production reports, and handled the quarterly projections my brother Konstantin had sent.
When I returned to the stateroom carrying two cups of coffee, Dede was sitting up in bed with the sheet wrapped around her like a toga, staring down at her phone. She looked up from the device.
“I wondered where you’d disappeared to.” She set her phone aside, reaching for the coffee I offered. “Please tell me this is as strong as I think it is.”
“Stronger,” I replied, settling on the edge of the bed beside her. “Did you sleep well?”
She took a sip, closing her eyes briefly. “Better than I have in weeks.” Her gaze met mine over the rim of her cup. “Though I’m not sure how much actual sleeping happened.”
“A fair point.”
“Are you always up before the sun?”
“I have business requiring attention,” I said, allowing my fingers to trace the line of her collarbone. “My son, he leaves for Japan today. I will be joining him there.”
“So this is goodbye?”
“For few days only.” I traced my thumb across her lower lip. “When I return, I wish to make good on my promises from last night, yes?”
“Is that right?” She leaned into my touch. “Well, you know where I live. And I work remotely. My schedule is flexible.”
I couldn’t resist. “Yes, I am aware how flexible you are.”
Her laugh was rich and full. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?” She set her coffee aside and reached for me. “Come here.”
I allowed myself to be drawn back into the warmth of her embrace, and into a kiss that promised much more. My departure for Japan could wait another hour.
The trip to Japan had gone well. Chrysanthos had won the races despite my perpetual anxiety watching him navigate those corners.
Between races, business dinners, and board meetings, I’d managed stolen moments with Dede. Each one left me counting the hours until I could return to her again.
I spread Tia Massey’s restoration proposals across the boardroom table. Kostas—Konstantin—leaned forward to examine them while Dimitrios remained slouched in his chair.
“We need to discuss Miss Massey’s proposals for Thalassía’s restoration.”
Our ancestral island. Thalassía had belonged to the Christakis family for generations until my uncle Stavros’s death. His widow, Angela, sold it to Michail Athanasiou out of spite.
For decades, Michail refused to sell it back regardless of how much money we offered. Then, some weeks back, he invited me to a meeting to discuss Thalassía.
I sent Kostas in my stead. At the time, I was dealing with a fire at one of our factories, and since he handled the company’s finances, it made sense for him to go.
What Michail proposed wasn’t a sale. He offered his daughter Kayla’s hand in marriage in exchange for the island.
Kostas accepted even though he was engaged to his best friend’s sister, Stella Pavlou. Now he was married to one woman, while engaged to another. And we still only had partial ownership of Thalassía. Full transfer wouldn’t come until Kostas and Kayla produced an heir.
But the island was closer to being back within the Christakis fold than it had been in decades, and none of us were willing to examine the cost too closely. Not yet.
Kostas returned to the desk. “I’m surprised you handed the contract to her. Six months ago, she was an architectural student. Shouldn’t we engage an established Greek firm?”
“I awarded her the contract for Chrysanthos’s sake,” I admitted, seeing no reason to hide my strategy from my brothers. “It was leverage to bring him into the family business.”
“Remarkable that he agreed,” Dimitrios observed.
I smiled as I thought of my son’s unexpected capitulation. “I expected refusal when I presented my terms, but his interest in her apparently outweighed his resistance.”
“And you have no concerns about this relationship? She’s American and not even half-Greek like Kayla,” inquired Dimitrios.
I heard the unspoken question beneath his words. Kayla was of mixed heritage, with a Greek father and an African-American mother.
“If you’re referring to her race, I’ve observed only her effect on Chrysanthos. For whatever reason, my son wants to impress Miss Massey, and I have a feeling she’s good for him.”
I owed her a debt I could never repay. Without her quick actions, I would have buried the last piece of my heart alongside my wife and daughter.
No amount of money could repay that debt, but I could give her a career-defining project. Even better if it served to bring Chrysanthos into the family business as well.
“We shouldn’t force Santo’s hand,” Kostas argued. “The decision to become part of Olympus Motors should be his own.”
His presumption in lecturing me about my own son touched a nerve. Kostas meant well, but he had no children of his own, no understanding of the impossible balance between guiding and controlling, between protecting and allowing failure.
“I’ll handle my son,” I replied, allowing my tone to cool. “Focus on producing your own. I’ll welcome your parenting advice after you’ve held your child in your arms and then watched as they dismantle every dream you had for their future.”
Dimitrios grinned. “How can he make a baby when he’s not even sleeping with his wife?”
Kostas began gathering his documents. “Mind your own affairs,” he snapped.
“Now you’ve made him defensive,” I chided Dimitrios before turning to Kostas. “As the eldest and only father among us, I should have explained the birds and the bees sooner. Marriage requires intimacy, brothers. You need to have sexual intercourse with a woman to create a baby.”
Dimitrios’ laughter erupted, and I found myself enjoying the levity despite the serious matters we’d been discussing.
Kostas straightened to his full height, looking down at us with cold dignity. “I’ll consider marital advice when you stop living like a monk. When was the last time you had any pussy, Aris?” He turned to Dimitrios. “And you can lecture me when you stop paying for pussy.”
Kostas’s words would have bothered me before Dede, but four nights a week minimum, I’d appear at her rental. Sometimes with supper from whatever restaurant had caught my attention that day. Other times I’d arrive empty-handed, hungry only for her.
Our routine became its own kind of foreplay. I would knock, her footsteps would sound, and the door would open to reveal her in heels and nothing else.
The takeout would go cold near the door while I backed her against the nearest wall, my mouth on hers, and her legs wrapping around my waist.
We traveled on weekends. Santorini’s sunsets. Mykonos’s beaches. Crete’s ruins.
I’d book suites with views of the Aegean, plan itineraries around archaeological sites and hidden beaches. We rarely made it to any of them.
Turned out the eighth wonder of the world was watching Dede arch beneath me, the taste of her skin, and her voice breaking on my name. No ancient temple could compete with that.
Back in my office, I stood at the window overlooking Athens. The city sprawled beneath me, ancient and modern existing side by side.
I checked my watch. Three hours until I could see her again.
The sound of metal against metal echoed through the cavernous garage as I tightened the last bolt on the carburetor. This 1962 Olympus Titan engine was a marvel of engineering, and bringing it back to life had become my latest obsession.
Once a month, I escaped to the Olympus Motors garage in the industrial district of Athens. Here, I wasn’t the CEO. I was simply a man with grease under his fingernails, reconnecting with the mechanical passion that had driven me since boyhood.
The sound of heels clicking against concrete pulled my attention from the engine. Phoibe appeared between the rows of vintage vehicles, looking out of place in her navy dress and perfect makeup. She carried a leather portfolio in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
Phoibe Stavrou had worked for my father during his final years as CEO before I inherited her along with the position. She was efficient, organized, and entirely too persistent.
We fucked casually when I was president of operations. That changed when she mentioned marriage and children despite my clear disinterest in both, forcing me to end things.
She’d moved on quickly, married someone else, and gotten pregnant. Now, less than two years later, she was going through a divorce.
Her features brightened when our eyes met.
“Mr. Christakis.” She navigated carefully around the workbench. “Minister Papadopoulos canceled your three o’clock meeting. Some emergency parliamentary session came up.”
I wiped my hands on a shop rag. “You could have called the garage to tell me this.”
“I also brought lunch.” She raised the paper bag, and I noted how her two top buttons were undone. “Your favorite.”