Chapter 5 Deanna
“Young love, it is not necessarily foolish love.” The evening air wrapped around us as we strolled through the narrow Athenian streets toward the restaurant. “Marriage at twenty-two or forty-two, the challenges, they remain the same,” Aris continued.
On the drive here, Aris had told me about his son’s engagement. Apparently, the boy had dropped to one knee at his racing event in Belgium and proposed to his girlfriend.
The couple was in Tia’s age group. Lord, I couldn’t imagine my baby girl getting married this young.
I felt a twinge of guilt as I thought of my daughter. I’d come to Greece to be within reach if Tia needed me, but instead, I’d become completely wrapped up in Aris, trying to get as much time with him as possible before my inevitable departure.
The mornings he stayed with me had become my favorite part of each day. We often woke up before dawn to run along the beach together.
We’d island-hopped to nearly every part of Greece and made love on every single one.
I’d had some close calls with Tia, though. Six weeks into this trip, she’d called me in tears, saying she was coming home to Montrose. My heart had nearly stopped while I dispensed calm, motherly advice. Thank God whatever work crisis she’d faced resolved itself, and she decided to stay in Athens.
Then there was the night Greg had taken me to a nearby bar. I’d spotted Tia across the room and bolted without explanation.
Greg texted later, confused about why I’d left, mentioning he’d met a young woman who looked like me. It was too close for comfort.
And still, here I was, risking everything for two more weeks with Aris instead of heading back to Montrose.
“That’s a load of bullshit,” I countered, not bothering to soften my language. “When you’re young, you haven’t figured out who you are yet. How can you possibly choose the right partner when you don’t know yourself?”
“Perhaps you discover yourselves together,” he suggested, his voice carrying that smooth accent that did things to my body.
“My son, he has been more focused since his fiancée entered his life, and she has grown quite backbone since they began dating. She saved his life once already. Their engagement, it might be impulsive, but I believe they have what it takes to make it work.”
“I was nineteen when I married my daughter’s father,” I said, the memory still carrying a sting after all these years. “I was certain we were soulmates, destined to grow old together. That’s why I agreed when he suggested we get married to ‘get it over with.’”
“He said that?” Aris’s eyebrows shot up.
I appreciated how he seemed interested rather than waiting for his turn to talk.
“His exact words. Should’ve been my first damn clue.
” I sidestepped a cluster of people stopped in the middle of the sidewalk with their phones.
“We grew in completely different directions. I wanted to focus on our daughter and building something for our future, and he decided my best friend was who he wanted.”
Aris considered this as we approached the restaurant, its stone facade glowing softly against the deepening twilight. “Perhaps the problem was not your age but marrying someone with incompatible values.”
“Those values formed as we matured,” I explained, stopping outside the entrance. “That’s my point. When you’re young, you’re still becoming the person you’ll be. I changed. He changed. If we’d met at thirty-five instead of seventeen, we would have recognized our incompatibility immediately.”
“Or never met at all.” Aris’s voice softened as he placed his hand at the small of my back, opening the door with his other. “Life, it rarely offers second chances, Dede. My son, he loves this young woman. Should he delay happiness because of theoretical concerns?”
I stepped into the restaurant, immediately enveloped by soft lighting and the quiet hum of conversation. The place screamed elegance—Aris’s choice, of course.
“I’m just saying there’s wisdom in patience,” I replied, watching the ma?tre d’ practically trip over himself to greet Aris by name. “But I hope they prove me wrong. I hope they’re the exception.”
A man approached us before we could be seated, his stride purposeful. The family resemblance to Aris was unmistakable. His eyes, darker than Aris’s, zeroed in on me immediately.
“Aris,” he said, his voice carrying the same rich timbre as Aris’s. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“Kostas,” Aris acknowledged, his posture shifting subtly. “This is Dede. She is visiting Greece.” Aris’ eyes met mine. “Dede, my brother, Kostas.”
I extended my hand and flashed my best smile. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he replied.
I maintained my composure while Kostas switched to Greek, gesturing toward another table where a small group sat. I couldn’t understand the words, but I suspected he was inviting us to join them.
Aris glanced at me before responding in Greek. The exchange lasted only moments before Kostas nodded at me with a smile, then walked away.
“I apologize.” His hand found the small of my back again. “He invited us to join them for dessert.”
“And you declined,” I stated, watching his brother’s retreating form.
“I did.” His gaze traveled slowly down my body before returning to meet mine. “Tonight, it is ours, yes?”
A few days later, I was checking the weather on my phone when Katalina’s name flashed on the screen.
Odd. Tia’s best friend never called me.
“Ms. White—” Kat’s voice came out in a breathless rush. “It’s Tia. She’s in trouble. A man’s got her locked up in his house and won’t let her leave!”
My blood ran cold. “Slow down. Where is she?”
“At Santo Christakis’ estate,” Kat’s words tumbled out between sobs. “He’s manipulating her and controlling everything. Won’t let her have her phone, won’t let her come home! She’s trapped, Ms. White, I know she is—”
This was exactly why I’d come to Greece. To protect my daughter. “Give me the address. Now.”
I punched it into my GPS while Katalina stammered through the location. Forty-five minutes, maybe less.
I called Tia three times while yanking my hair into a ponytail. Each call went straight to voicemail, confirming everything Katalina had said.
My jewelry clattered onto the floor as I stripped it off and headed to the kitchen, grabbing two sharp knives before rushing for the door.
The streets blurred. I took corners too fast, barely slowing for lights. My mind cycled through worst-case scenarios of Tia hurt, scared, and calling for me.
This was why I came to Greece. Not for Aris, or adventure. For this moment, if it ever came.
I tried calling her again at a red light. Voicemail. Again. The bastard had her phone.
I pressed harder on the gas.
Forty minutes became thirty. The GPS directed me off the main road, through increasingly affluent neighborhoods until iron gates materialized ahead, cutting off a long driveway that disappeared into the property.
I couldn’t see the house from here, but the scale of the entrance alone told me everything I needed to know. A goddamn fortress.
Two uniformed guards approached my car before I’d fully stopped. The taller one barked something in Greek.
“Let me in.” My voice came out flat. “Now.”
“Identification. State your business.” His English was broken but clear enough.
“If you don’t let me in, I’m driving through this motherfucka.”
He repeated himself, saying something about protocols and proper procedures. My vision went red.
“I don’t give a shit about protocols. My daughter’s in there.” I jabbed a finger at the fence. “Open that fucking gate!”
He stepped between me and the entrance while the other spoke rapidly into his radio.
Was Tia bound? Drugged? All those times I’d told myself I was being paranoid about her coming to Greece without me now seemed like gut instinct I should’ve trusted sooner.
I cranked down all my windows and screamed her name at the top of my lungs. “TIA! BABY, I’M HERE!”
The guards exchanged amused looks as I continued hollering. Whoever had my girl was about to meet a side of me I hadn’t shown since my month-long stay in juvie.
With a sharp command, the bigger guard waved for the gate to open. I gunned the engine before they could reconsider, tires spitting gravel as I tore up the winding drive.
When the mansion came into view, I slammed on the brakes. Stone, marble, and old-world grandeur spread before me like something from another century.
Beautiful, if my daughter wasn’t trapped inside.
I abandoned the car halfway up the drive, charging toward the grand entrance where several people stood gathered on the steps. My hand brushed against the knife at my waistband.
“Where the hell is my daughter?” I demanded.
Silence. My last thread of patience snapped.
“If anyone in this house has laid a finger on my baby, I will murk everyone in this motherfucka! Don’t think I won’t!”
A woman in a robe gasped. I didn’t care. Let them clutch their pearls.
“Tia!” My voice cracked. “Mommy’s here! You can come out. Nobody will hurt you!”
Then I saw her, standing in the doorway, looking completely bewildered and unharmed. Relief flooded through me with such force I staggered.
“Mom?”
I rushed forward, pulling her into a tight embrace. “My baby,” I whispered into her braids.
I released her and held her at arm’s length, searching for any sign of distress. She looked healthy, if confused. No obvious bruises, eyes clear, and standing steadily.
“What are you doing here?” She asked, and I could hear the shock in her voice.
“I’ve come to save you,” I stated, eyeing the assembled group with suspicion.
They didn’t look like kidnappers, but appearances meant nothing. My ex-husband, Kevin, had held me through every tear when Tia was diagnosed with cancer, all while fucking Ashley.
Tia gave me a puzzled frown. “Save me? From what?”
“Katalina called me, Tia,” I said. “She told me everything.”
“What did she say?” Tia asked.