Chapter One #2
“I’m so sorry, Helena.” His heart broke for her, having experienced the debilitating pain of losing a parent himself. He wanted to reach for her hand, but instead took a half-step closer, his voice dropping to something more intimate. “What was she like––your mom?”
Helena’s entire being glowed when she spoke of her “rather bohemian” mother, a painter and sketch artist who had raised Helena on her own, surrounded by the creatives, collectors, and eccentrics who peopled the international art scene.
She told him about the months they’d spent living at a monastery in Bulgaria when she was eleven, the parties where strait-laced politicians and other public figures partied as though no one was watching, and the super yacht that had been at their disposal in Monaco—a gift from one of her mom’s adoring, wealthy benefactors.
Their conversation flowed naturally, Raph thought, like slipping into a familiar rhythm. He found himself mesmerized, hanging on her every word, before Anna eventually pulled Helena away to meet some other friends.
Throughout the evening, as the party ebbed and flowed, they found themselves drifting back toward each other like planets caught in each other’s orbit.
Raph told her about G3, the real estate development company that he and his brothers started while still undergraduates at UC Berkeley, and how with strategic planning, generous investors, passion, and a bit of luck, they’d grown it into an international enterprise, with annual revenue nearing one billion dollars, deals on three continents, and thousands of employees around the world.
And he learned that Helena had recently moved to Los Angeles, working as an art acquisition specialist for The Marlowe Group.
Her expertise in Southeast Asian and Indian antiquities, and the relationships she’d fostered with her mother’s friends, she explained, allowed her to move through the insulated cliques of the fine art world with ease, and had positioned her perfectly for a life in L.A.
“I needed a fresh start after Mama died,” she confided, as they sat on stools in the kitchen, snacking on spanakopita, the rich, salty flavors pairing perfectly with the crisp summer wine.
“L.A. gave me that—new city, new friends, new possibilities.” She absent-mindedly toyed with a silver locket necklace, her slender, French-manicured fingernails caressing the polished metal.
Raph found himself opening up more easily than usual––sharing details about the accident that claimed his father and grandmother when he was six, prompting his mother to move him and his brothers to Napa Valley where she was from originally––her version of a fresh start.
“It must have been difficult,” Helena said softly, “losing so much so young.”
And he knew she understood.
Helena may not have been as young as he and his brothers, but at least they’d had each other.
She was alone in this world. With her only relative, a much older sister of her mom’s, dying several years ago, Helena had no family to speak of, no one to love and protect her, or stand by her through life’s trials and tribulations.
No one, until now, Raph thought, feeling his life’s trajectory shift.
By the time the crowd thinned, they were wrapped within each other’s arms in a dark alley beneath Dimitris’ terrace, lips locked in a passionate, explosive kiss that stole Raph’s breath and set his nerves on fire.
His need for her was primal, and the taste of her sweet and wild––a blend of wine and want that left him dizzy as he devoured all she offered.
Their hips were in perfect alignment, and her back arched as he cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over her firm nipples through the silky material of her dress, her soft moans filling his mouth as she rubbed against his arousal.
He was aching to explore every inch of her in the privacy of his bedroom, desperate to show her with his body what words couldn’t express––that she’d awakened something fierce and consuming in him.
And the scent of her was intoxicating––rosemary and olive oil soap, evoking memories of summer evenings with his grandmother, before tragedy befell his family, and he was taken from the small, arid island of his birth, the home he still loved.
“Helena!” Anna whispered softly from the terrace above.
They broke apart, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
“Helena, we’re leaving! Meet me out front.”
Raph felt like their future hinged on this moment, and what was said and done next. He stared at her as a gentle breeze swept her hair across her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and Raph couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
Her smile was sly as she raked her nails up his arms––still wrapped around her waist. “So soon?”
“Not soon enough,” he confessed unashamedly, brushing his lips against hers, breathing in her wild essence.
They exchanged numbers, a charged silence hanging between them, speaking louder than any words, and Raph found himself memorizing the way moonlight caught in her blue eyes.
“Tomorrow?” he asked again, praying he wouldn’t have to hound Anna in the coming months to help him arrange a date with Helena. Because he knew if not tomorrow, if not the next day, his heart would shatter if he didn’t see her again.
Her slightly mischievous smile, the bright flame in her eyes, told him “yes”, though all she said was, “Call me, and we’ll see,” before she turned and slipped back up the stairs along the side of Dimitris’ house.
Raph lingered on the terrace, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat thrumming through his body.
He touched his lips, the faint taste of her kiss still there, and the fading scent of her on his skin.
He couldn't explain the overwhelming feeling in his heart, at least not with reason or logic. It was as though his world had tilted off its axis, and for the first time in his life, he felt something he couldn’t categorize or control.
He didn’t think he minded at all.