Chapter 15 Deanna
The doorbell rang just as I was finishing combing through my client list for Black Ember replacements. Busy work, mostly. The kind you do so you don’t have to think about how small a man’s “family values” can make you feel.
I stretched, working out the ache in my lower back, then waddled to the door. At twenty-three weeks with twins, “walking” was a distant memory.
A package sat innocuously on my doorstep, the small brown box sealing whatever impulse purchase my pregnancy brain had forgotten ordering.
I checked the label, which had both my name and address. I carried it to the kitchen counter and sliced through the tape with scissors.
Inside were books about marriage and babies. Not just any books, books about maintaining romance while parenting, keeping marriages strong after children arrive, and sex after pregnancy.
I flipped through one titled “And Baby Makes Three.” The chapter headings alone made me giggle: “Rekindling Physical Intimacy,” “Communication in the Bedroom,” “Managing Desire During Pregnancy.”
There was a gift note tucked at the bottom of the box.
Essential reading for our future. - A
“That arrogant, presumptuous—” I stopped mid-sentence when a thump-thump started against my ribs. My hand went automatically to my belly. “I’m not lying. Your father is an arrogant, controlling ass.”
The baby kicked again, harder this time, as if protesting my characterization. “Don’t you start taking his side too,” I whispered, rubbing the spot where an elbow or heel had just jabbed me.
From upstairs came the low murmur of Aris on a business call.
The previous afternoon, a desk, an ergonomic chair, and an oversized computer monitor were delivered and installed in his bedroom, transforming it into his executive office.
He’d worked through the night and most of today, emerging briefly for breakfast before returning to his back-to-back conference calls.
My stomach growled loud enough to drown out my annoyance. These babies were like tiny dictators demanding food every two hours.
I yanked open the refrigerator door and pulled out ingredients for an omelet. Without thinking, I grabbed a second pan.
Aris had been on calls since six this morning. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The hospitality Mama Nettie had drilled into me wouldn’t let me ignore that fact.
Making him food didn’t mean anything. It just meant I wouldn’t let anyone go hungry in my house, not even an arrogant Greek man.
I lifted the trash lid to dump the vegetable scraps and froze. There, staring up at me, were my books.
He’d thrown away my books and replaced them with his marriage propaganda.
Oh, hell no. This man has lost his entire mind.
“Aristides!” I called up the stairs.
“Yes?” His voice floated down from upstairs.
“Can you come here, please?” I didn’t bother hiding my irritation.
I reached in and pulled out the books, stacking them on the counter. The covers were smudged with coffee grounds, but otherwise intact.
“Why are my books in the trash?” I demanded when he appeared.
He stood in the kitchen doorway, all six-foot-something of Mediterranean perfection. His dark eyes flicked from the rescued books to my face.
“I disposed of them, yes.”
“You threw the books I purchased with my hard-earned money.”
“The titles, they were inaccurate for our situation,” he said with that infuriating calm. “You are not parenting alone.”
“You came into my house, went through my things, and decided what I should and shouldn’t read?”
“I ordered more suitable ones. They should arrive today.” He gestured toward my tablet. “Or we can access the digital versions immediately if you prefer.”
My vision actually went red around the edges. “Get out.” I pointed towards the front door. “Out of my house. Out of my space. OUT!”
“You do not mean this.” His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move a muscle, just stood there looking at me like I was overreacting.
“Try me.”
We stared at each other in a silent standoff.
“I am not leaving.” His voice was flat now, final.
“Fine.” I snatched my purse from the island. “Then I will.”
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere you’re not!”
I stormed toward the door, but he stepped in front of it, blocking my exit.
“Move, Aris.”
“Let Markos drive you, yes?” he responded. “I do not want you driving in your current emotional state.” His eyes dropped briefly to my stomach.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You can go wherever you wish. I want to ensure you and our children, you arrive safely.” The way he said our children brought an unwelcome pang to my chest, but I pushed it down.
I glared at him, then at the keys in my hand. Kandi’s place was a good twenty-minute drive across town. “Fine. But I’m not coming back until you’re gone.”
“I am not leaving.” Aris pulled his phone from his pocket and spoke rapidly in Greek before switching back to English.
The sound of his native language sent a ripple of heat through me. The way the syllables rolled off his tongue reminded me of whispered promises and pleasures from last summer.
Everything about him was designed to distract from his controlling tendencies. The accent, the looks, the competence. They were all weapons in his arsenal to make me forget that he thought he knew what was best for me.
“Markos, he will drive you,” he said, pocketing his phone and opening the front door.
I stalked outside, my belly making the dramatic exit less effective than intended. A black Olympus SUV idled at the curb, and Markos climbed out to open the rear door.
“Good afternoon, Ms. White.”
“Hi.” I slid into the backseat.
The SUV was ridiculously comfortable, with butter-soft leather seats and enough legroom for a basketball team. I tried not to think about how this level of luxury had become normal last summer, how easy it would be to get used to again.
“Where to, Ms. White?” Markos asked, his accent much thicker than Aris’s.
I rattled off Kandi’s address and texted her to let her know I was on my way.
Twenty minutes later, Markos opened my door outside Kandi’s townhouse in the newer development on the east side of town. He offered his hand to help me out, and I accepted.
“I’ll be right here when you’re ready, Ms. White,” he said.
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll get an Uber home.”
“Mr. Christakis’s instructions were clear.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course they were. Fine. Do whatever you want.”
He moved back to the driver’s seat and pulled out a tablet, clearly prepared to wait however long it took.
Kandi must have been watching from the window because she threw open the front door before I reached the porch.
“Friend, you look ready to commit murder,” she said, steering me toward her living room. “Sit. I’m finishing up with supper.”
Her townhouse was what she called “intentionally chaotic”. There were throw pillows in every color, plants on every surface, and enough candles to stock a small boutique.
I sank into her overstuffed couch. Immediately, one of the twins started performing somersaults.
Kandi returned with two bowls and curled up on the opposite end of the couch. The scent of soy-ginger glaze and fresh scallions made my stomach growl loud enough that Kandi laughed.
“You made teriyaki chicken bowls?” I stared at the perfectly arranged grilled chicken, avocado, and the golden-brown meat drizzled with glossy sauce. “Kandi, I love you.”
“Save the love confessions for after I solve your problems.” She pointed her fork at me. “Spill.”
I scooped up a bite and moaned as the flavors hit my tongue. The babies had turned me into a bottomless pit, and the warm, savory chicken was exactly what I needed.
After three more bites, the events of the past hour poured out.
“Your future husband threw away your books?”
I ignored the future husband part. The more I told her to stop, the more she’d continue. “All of them. Every single one.”
“The audacity.” But Kandi’s tone suggested she was more amused than outraged.
“Don’t you dare take his side.”
“I’m not! I’m just saying...” She trailed off, shoving another bite into her mouth.
“What?”
“Nothing. Eat your food.”
“Kandi.”
She sighed. “Fine. When’s the last time a man actually gave a damn about what you needed?”
I didn’t answer.
“Kevin sure as hell didn’t. That man couldn’t be bothered to remember your birthday, but he expected you to drop everything when he wanted something.”
“This isn’t about Kevin.”
“Isn’t it, though? Because you spent nearly a decade with a man who couldn’t care less what you wanted, and now someone actually does and you’re running scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Then what are you?” Kandi’s voice was gentle but direct. “Are you protecting yourself? Or are you making sure the thing your most afraid of comes true?”
I looked down at my bowl, the words hitting closer than I wanted to admit. “Everyone leaves.”
“Girl, please. I’ve been stuck with you for twenty years.”
“Why should I let him reorganize my life, make himself important, and make me need him when I already know how this ends?”
I set my bowl aside, my appetite suddenly gone. How could I explain the certainty that lived in my bones? The kind that came from experience, not paranoia.
My parents were kids themselves when they had me. My mother took one look at motherhood and said “no thank you,” so my father stepped up. Or tried to. The man loved me. I know he did. But love doesn’t pay bills or keep you sober or stop social services from knocking on your door.
The cycle was always the same. He’d lose me to the state, get himself together enough to show up in court with a smile and promises, and get me back.
We’d have a few good months where I’d think maybe this time was different. Then whatever was broken in him would crack wide open again, and I’d be packing my stuff into a bag while a caseworker stood in the doorway pretending not to watch me cry.
Over and over. Hope, collapse, repeat. Until I was eight years old and he stopped showing up. No more court appearances or promises. Just silence.
“What makes you so sure he’s gone leave?”
“Because that’s what men do, Kandi. When things get hard, when the reality doesn’t match the fantasy—”
“When you push them away hard enough that staying becomes impossible?”
I didn’t answer. My throat suddenly felt tight.
“I’m not saying that to hurt you, friend. But when you told Aris you were pregnant, he didn’t even question paternity, his immediate response was to offer marriage so you and these babies could benefit from his wealth. Then he packed up his entire life in Greece and moved here to be with you.”
“It took him two weeks to do that, though.”
Kandi raised an eyebrow. “The man could’ve sent child support checks from Greece and called it a day. But he didn’t.”
Both babies kicked in tandem, as if agreeing with her. I touched my belly automatically.
“They’re really active today,” I murmured.
“They know their mama’s being stubborn.” Kandi grinned, then her expression turned more serious. “Look, I’m not saying trust him with your whole heart tomorrow. But maybe... don’t push him away.”
I thought about the elevator. About his hand covering mine on my belly, the way his voice had gone rough when he asked about naming our daughter. About how he’d noticed I was tired before I’d even said anything.
“I don’t know how to be the woman he wants,” I admitted.
“What makes you think you’re not already?” Kandi squeezed my hand. “That man moved across an ocean for you, Dee. Introducing you as his future wife. You.”
“But what if—”
“Stop borrowing trouble.” Her voice was firm. “Go home, talk to him and see what happens when you actually let someone put you first.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Kandi’s eyes suddenly lit up.
“Wait. I just thought of something.”
“What?”
“That contract you’ve been stressing about. Black Embers?” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “Didn’t you say you needed a husband to get the contract?”
The implication that my pregnancy and single status somehow made me less qualified, despite my proven track record, still stung. “Yeah.”
“So... what if you weren’t single?” Kandi wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully.
“What are you suggesting?” But I already knew, and the idea was simultaneously terrifying and brilliant.
“That man is living in your house, Dee. You need a husband for appearances, and he wants to be involved...” She spread her hands wide. “Seems like a perfect plan to me.”
“You want me to ask Aris to pretend to be my husband? For a business contract?”
The words sounded ridiculous out loud, but my mind was already racing with possibilities. This could solve my most pressing problem.
If I could convince him.
“Why not? He gets practice as your husband, and you get that seven-figure contract. It’s a win-win.”
“We would have to spend an entire weekend together. Possibly sharing a bed.” The thought sent an unwelcome flutter through my belly.
“So what? Wasn’t the dick good? He even made you squirt.
” Kandi’s bluntness made me laugh out loud because she was right.
“Sex aside, business is something he definitely understands.” She looked entirely too pleased with herself.
“And who knows? Maybe playing house will help you figure out if you actually want the real thing.”
“I don’t know…” But even as I voiced my doubt, my mind was already calculating the odds of success.
“Think about it, but it’s worth a shot,” Kandi urged, standing and pulling me up with her. “Let’s get you home before that man drives himself crazy wondering if you’re ever coming back.”
“Good,” I muttered, but there was no malice in it.
My mind was already drafting the proposal I’d present to Aris. A fake marriage. What could go wrong?