Chapter 10 - Aristides
Several hours before the phone call…
I’d always believed a man provided for his family. Period. No negotiations, no splitting costs, no modern nonsense about fifty-fifty when it came to my responsibilities.
My future daughter-in-law’s mother had other ideas.
Theó mou, the woman was going to give me a stroke.
“She wants to pay for half of the wedding.” I kept my voice level despite the tension coiling in my shoulders as I stood at the window of my corner office, my reflection glaring back at me in the glass.
Dark eyes, too much gray creeping into the black at my temples, the face of a man past forty who’d learned that control was its own comfort.
Behind me, Dimitrios’ chair creaked. No doubt he was sprawled in it as if he were lounging at a beach club rather than in my office, dark hair trimmed short, his shirt open at the throat.
“I thought we were meeting to discuss the labor dispute. Who the fuck are we talking about now?”
“Deanna White. Tia’s mother.” I turned from the window, straightening my cuffs.
Dimitrios blinked. “And this is a problem because...?”
“Because I’m paying for my son’s wedding,” I said firmly. “The castle, the venue, the flights and accommodations for all the guests. It’s already arranged.”
“So tell her that,” Kostas added from his position on the sofa, his usual calm making him look every inch the diplomat. He’d always been the composed one.
“I did. Through Chrysanthos.” I moved to my desk, bracing my hands on the surface. “She’s not accepting it. She made it clear to Chrysanthos that she intended to contribute her fair share to the wedding.”
“Women,” Matthaios muttered from his position by the bookshelf, swirling his coffee.
My cousin had arrived unexpectedly just before Konstantin.
He had grown up with us like a fourth brother, though he was aunt Irida’s only son.
“Simone disappeared off the face of the earth, and her bratty sister won’t talk.
Not even Michail knows where she is, though he assured me she’s alive. ”
“Watch how you talk about my wife, Matthaios,” Kostas said sharply. “It’s your own fault Simone left.”
“Kayla left your ass. Why do you even care what I say about her?” Matthaios took a sip of coffee. “She is spoiled and bratty.”
“You spoke to your father?” I asked Matthaios, redirecting before they could continue.
“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.”
I placed my hands on the desk where labor contracts, facility safety reports, and proposed wage structures lay across my desk. “What kind of problem?”
He dropped into the chair across from my desk, radiating frustration. “Yiayia. She’s not just insisting Tia and I sleep in separate bedrooms, she’s moved Tia into her suite. Her suite, Father. As if Tia needs a chaperone.”
The corner of my mouth twitched despite my attempt to keep a straight face.
Chrysanthos’ eyes narrowed. “You think this is funny?”
“I think,” I said carefully, “that your grandmother is remarkably consistent.”
“Consistent?” Chrysanthos leaned forward, voice rising. “We’re getting married in eight weeks. But apparently under her roof, we’re to behave like virginal teenagers awaiting our wedding night.”
This time I couldn’t suppress the smile. “Your mother and I went through precisely the same thing with her.”
“Really?”
“When Lydia and I were engaged, your grandmother insisted she stay in her suite. Under her watchful eye.” I leaned back in my chair. “Your mother found it charming. I found it maddening.”
“What did you do?”
“I married her as quickly as she’d allow.” I met my son’s gaze. “Which, if I recall, you’re already planning to do.”
Chrysanthos slumped back in his chair. “Eight weeks feels like forever.”
“It will pass.” I paused, considering. “Though I suppose there are... practical solutions to your immediate problem.”
His attention sharpened. “Such as?”
“Have you considered that Tia might prefer to stay on Thalassía while the renovations are taking place?”
Understanding dawned slowly across Chrysanthos’s face. “The cottage...”
“Which you repaired this past summer, if I recall correctly. Fully equipped. Bedroom, kitchen, everything you two would need to live comfortably.” I met his eyes. “And completely private.”
The grin that spread across his face was pure relief. “That’s brilliant.”
“Your grandmother can hardly object to Tia staying where her work is located.”
Chrysanthos stood abruptly. “I’m going to find Tia now. Thank you, Father.”
He was halfway to the door when he stopped, turning back. “And thank you for working things out with Deanna. She’s really protective of Tia and wants our day to be perfect.”
Before I could respond, he was gone. I stared at the closed door while Chrysanthos’s words echoed in the silence.
Hearing Dede’s voice again had been pure torture. She had fought me on the wedding costs, but I offered a compromise that let her keep her pride.
She agreed to handle the bride and her wedding party’s attire, though the reluctance in her tone was clear.
Near the end, I asked if she was well. She told me she was fine, but I knew it was a lie.
I loosened my tie, then tightened it again.
“Mr. Christakis.” Phoibe entered my office, tablet in hand, heels clicking against marble. “The Thessaloniki contracts are ready for your signature.”
I glanced at my watch. “Leave them on my desk. I’ll review them this afternoon.”
She crossed the room, coming around to my side of the desk. Her perfume filled the space between us. “Here you go.”
I took the papers without moving my chair back. This was my building. I wouldn’t be the one to retreat. “Anything else?”
“I saw Santo leaving just now. He’s really engaged? To the American girl?”
“My son’s engagement is not a subject for discussion.”
“Of course not.” Her smile didn’t falter. “I only wondered... well, I’m sure your father would have had opinions about Santo marrying outside Greek culture.”
“My father is dead, and Chrysanthos’ choices are his own.”
“Even still, your father would never have approved of this. Your grandchildren will be—”
“Black?” I supplied.
“Yes!” She gestured as if I’d finally understood her point. “You have to think about your father’s legacy. About the family name. About—”
“Let me be absolutely clear, Phoibe.” My voice was soft, which made it more dangerous. “My father’s legacy is mine to protect, not yours to interpret. And if there’s one thing I despise, is outsiders who mistake gossip for insight into my family.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You meant exactly what you said.” I straightened to my full height, and she backed away from my desk. “The young woman my son has chosen to spend his life with is none of your concern.”
Phoibe’s face had gone pale. “Aris, I was only trying to—”
“Trying to what? Warn me?” I moved around the desk, closing the distance between us. “Let me offer you a warning instead.”
She pressed her lips together, finally silent.
“You’ve worked for this company for nearly fifteen years. You’re competent at your job.” I paused, letting that sink in. “None of that will matter if I hear one more comment about my son’s fiancée, or anyone else, based on the color of their skin.”
“I wasn’t being racist,” she protested weakly. “I was just concerned about—”
“About the purity of the bloodline?” My voice could have cut glass. “If you have a problem with my son’s choice of wife, with the color of my future grandchildren, or with anyone else’s ethnicity, you are welcome to seek employment elsewhere.”
“You can’t fire me for having an opinion—”
“I can fire you for creating a hostile work environment.” I met her eyes. “And make no mistake, Phoibe, if I hear that you’ve said anything—to anyone—that disparages my daughter-in-law, you will be gone before the end of the day. No severance. No recommendation. Nothing. Am I making myself clear?”
She stood frozen, tablet clutched to her chest.
“Am I making myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” she managed, her voice tight.
“Good.” I sat back down, picking up my pen. “Close the door on your way out.”