Chapter 22 Aristides
The private riverboat glided down the Mississippi as New Orleans glowed in the distance. Dede stood at the railing, her hand resting on her belly, watching the city drift by.
I came up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “Happy Valentine’s Day, agápi mou.”
“So happy.” She leaned back against me. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
The afternoon had been perfect. We’d wandered through the Garden District hand in hand, laughing at my attempts to pronounce “beignet” correctly.
When we passed a boutique on Magazine Street, I caught her eyeing a burgundy leather purse in the window.
She’d protested when I bought it for her, but the smile on her face had been worth it.
While I’d been handling a work call, she’d slipped into a shop and emerged with a small bag, handing it to me with a secretive grin. Inside was a leather wallet containing a strip of photos from the photo booth we’d stumbled into earlier. Four frames of her grinning while I kissed her neck.
The Michelin chef I’d hired for the riverboat had outdone himself with course after course that made Dede close her eyes and moan with each bite. She’d savored the pralines for dessert, eyes closed, completely content.
Dede turned in my arms to face me. “I wish we could stay here forever.”
“We could, yes.” I lifted her chin up to meet my eyes. “Let us marry, Dede. Make this permanent, yes?”
Her smile faltered before she kissed me instead of answering. “Let’s just enjoy tonight,” she whispered.
I let it go. For now.
That perfect Valentine’s Day in New Orleans felt like a lifetime ago, though only a month had passed. We’d grown closer in some ways—she let me sleep in her bed every night, let me make love to her, let me question her doctors insistently. But there was no progress on the things that mattered.
Dede was now twenty-nine weeks pregnant and still insisting we had time before telling the kids and making our relationship real beyond the privacy of her bedroom. She deflected every conversation with a smile and kisses.
I was working in the guest room of her house while she and Kandi were out shopping when the video call came through from Phoibe. I almost didn’t answer. But she was my assistant, and it was nearly midnight in Athens.
I clicked accept.
Phoibe’s face filled the screen. Her makeup was smudged, and her blonde hair fell in disarray around her shoulders. The camera angle showed her sitting on what appeared to be her couch, wearing a silk robe that had fallen open to reveal a black lace bralette beneath.
“Aris.” Her voice caught on a sob. “I’m sorry to bother you. I just... I didn’t know who else to call.”
I leaned back in my chair, studying her through the screen. “What happened?”
“It’s Emmanouil.” She pressed her fingers to her cheek, where I could see slight redness. “He came by to pick up our daughter and we got into a fight about the settlement and he…” Her voice broke. “He hit me.”
I waited, saying nothing.
“I can’t believe he actually hit me.” She looked directly into the camera. “I’m so scared, Aris. What if he comes back?”
“Have you called the police?”
“I... no. I called you first.”
“Why?”
“Because I trust you.” The robe slipped further off one shoulder. “Because you’ve always been someone I could count on. Remember when we—”
“Phoibe.” I cut her off. “If your ex-husband assaulted you, you need to call the police immediately. Not me.”
“I know, but I needed to hear a friendly voice first. Someone who understands—”
“Call the police. File a report. Document the injury.” My tone was flat. “If you need legal support, I can have one of the company’s attorneys contact you within the hour.”
“That’s not—” she stopped. “I don’t want lawyers right now, Aris. I just need... could you maybe come here? I know you’re in America, but I really need—”
“If Emmanouil struck you, that’s assault. It needs to be reported through official channels.”
“So you won’t help me.” Not a question—an accusation.
“I’m offering you access to the best legal representation in Athens. I’m advising you to file a police report immediately. That is help, Phoibe.”
She adjusted her robe, pulling it closed. “I should have known better than to call you. You’re so far away, dealing with God knows what in America. I’m just your assistant. Why would you care if I’m hurt?”
“If you were genuinely hurt, you would have called emergency services, not me. If you were genuinely frightened, you wouldn’t be sitting in your apartment in lingerie making video calls.
” I paused. “And if this were a real crisis, you certainly wouldn’t be using it to ask me to come back to Athens. ”
Her face flushed red. “How dare you—”
“I am not your friend. I am not your confidante. I am your employer. If you’re in actual danger, get professional help.”
“You’re unbelievable.” Her tears had dried remarkably quickly. “I come to you hurt and scared, and you accuse me of lying?”
“I’m suggesting you handle this situation appropriately. Which doesn’t include calling your boss for emotional support while dressed for a completely different kind of call.”
“Fine.” She stood, and her robe fell fully open now in a way that seemed entirely deliberate. “I’ll handle it myself. Like I handle everything myself.”
“Good. I’ll have HR send you the crisis resources within the hour.”
“Don’t bother.” She ended the call.
I pulled out my phone and texted our HR director.
Need you to document a call I just received from Phoibe Stavrou. Will send details within the hour. Will need to discuss her continued employment.
The response came quickly.
Understood. Standing by.
Setting the phone down, I stared at the blank screen where Phoibe’s face had been moments before. This wasn’t the first time she’d tested boundaries, but it was the most blatant.
It was time to find a new assistant, and preferably someone I hadn’t slept with and who had no interest in doing so.
My phone rang. It was my mother.
I answered immediately. “Mother, is everything—?”
“Ari.” Her voice was tight. “Tia is on her way to America. Kandi phoned her from the hospital. Dede passed out at the mall and they took her to Montrose General—”
I was on my feet and out the door before she could finish.
Less than ten minutes later, I strode through the main doors of the hospital, my heart hammering against my ribs with unwelcome force.
I couldn’t remember when I’d last felt such raw terror. My woman. My babies. This could not be happening again. I refused to entertain the possibility.
At the nurses’ station, I demanded information until the woman behind the counter held up her hand, asking if I needed a translator. Only then did I realize I’d been speaking Greek. I collected myself, drew a breath, and provided Dede’s name.
“Are you a relative?” she inquired.
“No, however—”
“I’m sorry. I can only release information on a patient to immediate family.”
“I am the father of her children, yes,” I stated. “I need to know—”
“Those are the rules.” Her expression remained unyielding as she gave me a pointed look, clearly expecting me to retreat from her space.
Unlikely.
She enunciated each word slowly, as if I were dense. “I cannot discuss Ms. White’s condition.”
The formality of “Ms. White” grated on me. As if I were irrelevant. I considered my options. How quickly could I get past the nurses’ station and search the ward myself? How many security guards would it take to restrain me? More than three, certainly.
Before I could test this theory, Kandi emerged from a waiting area. “You’re here! How did you find out? I called Tia because I didn’t know how to reach you.”
“How is she?” I demanded. “What happened? The babies—”
“She had a dizzy spell while shopping and passed out. I called an ambulance.”
Insufficient. I needed details, facts, and certainty. This helplessness was foreign to me. I was accustomed to command, to immediate answers, not begging for scraps of information.
I gave Kandi my number. While she saved it, a nurse approached. “Miss? Your friend is asking for you.”
Another wave of frustration crashed over me. Kandi had access while I—
“Come with me,” she said, tilting her head toward the wards.
I followed Kandi through the corridors. The hospital’s distinct scent brought unwelcome memories of Lydia’s final days. Each step forward felt weighted.
I’d spent years building walls around my emotions, constructing a life defined by control. Yet here I was, utterly powerless, at the mercy of circumstances I couldn’t command.
At Dede’s room, I paused at the threshold. She lay connected to monitors. Despite the equipment and the fatigue evident on her face, her eyes were alert. When she spotted me, she smiled.
“C’mere!”
I moved to her side, taking her hand and pressing my lips to her knuckles. “How are you?” My eyes traveled to the blanket covering her belly. “How are they?”
“We’re all fine,” she assured me.
“I will wait for doctor’s opinion, yes.”
“Stop worrying, Aris. Honestly, we should just be glad I didn’t fall forward.”
“Do not joke about this, no.” The possibilities were too grim to contemplate.
A white-coated doctor with a heavy southern accent entered, consulting his tablet. “Your glucose levels have stabilized, Ms. White, but we need to discuss these test results.” He noticed Kandi and me and hesitated.
“Please continue,” Dede said with a quick smile.
The doctor nodded. “It appears you’ve developed gestational diabetes. That, combined with your age and carrying twins, puts you in a higher risk category.”
I listened with growing concern as he outlined necessary lifestyle modifications: dietary changes, glucose monitoring, reduced stress, increased rest. I questioned him thoroughly, and he answered with professional patience.
Dede turned to Kandi. “Being pregnant at nineteen and at forty-three hit different, don’t it?”
“I will never know. You ain’t have no business getting pregnant in the first place,” Kandi said, shaking her head but smiling back.
“That wasn’t my fault,” Dede shot back.
They both turned to me with pointed looks, as if I bore sole responsibility.
“We will go to Greece, yes.” My tone made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion. “You will be surrounded by family, with servants attending to your needs. I will ensure you have best medical care available. The doctors, they will visit our home several times weekly.
Dede glanced at Kandi. “Can we have a minute?”
“Sure, Dee. I’ll be right outside.” Kandi stood, giving me a look I couldn’t quite decipher before stepping out.
Once the door clicked shut, Dede narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind without asking what I want.”
I exhaled, fighting to maintain composure. “I learned about your hospitalization from my mother, who heard it from Tia. These are my children, yes, yet I am last to know when they are in danger. Why was I not first person called?”
She considered my words. “I’m sorry.”
But my patience had eroded. “Are you? I remain peripheral to your life and that of my own children.”
“I’ll add you to my emergency contacts.”
“What good is that? If you were unconscious and decisions needed making, I would have no voice in matters concerning you or my children.” I answered my own question. “Tia, she would determine their future, not me.”
“So this is what this is really about? You being in control?” She shifted against the pillows. “I’m not trying to cut you out. But you can’t swoop in and rearrange my whole life.”
I turned away, struggling to contain my anger and failing. “I cannot do this right now, no.”
“So you’re just gonna leave?” The hurt in her voice made me pause at the doorway, my hand on the frame. I drew a breath, fighting the urge to turn back.
“I need air, yes,” I said without looking at her, and walked out.