Chapter Four
A Bitter Sunset
January, San Francisco, California…
Raph drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his Maserati with increasing impatience.
He’d cut his last meeting in Berkeley short so he could get home to Helena, but the Friday afternoon traffic crawled along the Oakland-Bay Bridge.
She’d flown in from L.A. last night, and he had the entire weekend mapped out: a romantic dinner at home tonight, the farmers market tomorrow morning, a drive up the coast to that little gallery in Mendocino she’d been wanting to visit, and finally, dinner at Atelier Venn on Sunday night where he planned to ask her to move in with him.
He knew it was soon, and that she had been putting down roots in L.A.
, but if this was the direction in which they were headed, shouldn’t they grow roots together?
Besides, he reasoned, he and his brothers had recently been looking into buying a private jet for family use, making spending time with each other more manageable with their busy schedules.
A jet on standby would make any necessary trips down to L.A.
to meet with her clients almost too easy.
The fact that Helena was not technically family was a minor detail Raph planned to rectify in their near future.
Noticing the lane to his right moving faster than his, he quickly accelerated and slid into an opening––his sense of urgency quelled at least for a few moments as his speed increased from fifteen to twenty-four miles per hour.
It had only been six months since Helena had walked into his life, yet it felt as though he’d known her for years.
Raph thought of her constantly when they were apart, and he was always eager to rearrange his schedule to suit hers.
He had even rescheduled two international trips last month, when her travel plans in India had changed suddenly, leaving only a thirty-six-hour window for them to meet in Hong Kong.
He’d been there attending a symposium on climate positive building practices, and had postponed his subsequent trips to Shanghai and Beijing just to spend a day and a half with her in the Fragrant Harbour––a stopover on her way to Mexico City for Zona Maco, the prestigious international art fair.
In the past, the women Raph had dated had always taken a backseat to business. But Helena was his priority now, and everything else fell into place around her. It didn’t matter where they were, or what they did. As long as they were together, Raph was happy.
He had fallen in love with her the moment she’d first kissed him, though he didn’t know it at the time––he’d never been in love before. Still, he’d wasted no time in taking her to meet the person whose opinion matter most to him in this world.
His grandfather’s approval had only deepened Raph’s certainty that he and Helena had been destined to meet. His heart raced whenever she was near, and his carefully constructed defenses melted away at the sound of her laughter––which came often, despite having lost her mom less than two years ago.
It had been nearly two decades since the accident that had claimed his father and grandmother, and, unlike Helena, Raph still hadn’t learned how to live without worrying when the next tragedy would strike.
Helena’s more carefree spirit had given him a new perspective on life.
She softened his edges, made him want to share parts of himself he had never felt quite right sharing with anyone else.
He longed to open up, take her in, and be taken in completely by her.
Loving her––bringing her into his world––felt safe, and right.
His family and friends adored her the moment they met her, and just this week, Declan, his best friend, and COO, had cornered him in his office with some unsolicited advice: “Put a ring on it before someone else does.”
But he didn’t need to be told how rare a woman like Helena was. His grandfather had counseled him the night after they’d met, reminding him how in love he had been with Raph’s grandmother, Kerena. “We were married for thirty-four years, and I would give anything for just one more day with her.”
After approval from his mother and brothers last October, Raph had texted Anna to ask if she knew Helena’s ring size.
He already knew she wanted a pear-cut diamond after they’d watched an online estate auction where a vintage, eight-carat, marquise white diamond ring sold for nearly one million dollars.
“I don’t care how big it is,” Helena had muttered under her breath. “A pear-cut is much more elegant.”
Raph had paid attention then, though he’d taken the liberty of upgrading her from her preferred three carats when he’d designed the one-of-a-kind engagement ring with New York’s Anouk Jewelers in November.
Raph’s hand automatically moved to his jacket pocket where the black velvet box held a flawless, five-carat, pear-cut blue diamond––an homage to the Aegean Sea of their home country, and the brilliance of her beautiful eyes.
Set on a platinum white diamond encrusted band, it was the kind of ring that said “forever”, and it gave that marquise diamond a run for its money.
He’d carried the ring on him ever since it had arrived by courier three weeks ago, reminding himself to be patient. He didn’t want to rush her, but having it on hand, ready for that perfect moment, made him feel like she was already his.
Twenty minutes later, Raph swayed anxiously as his private elevator whisked him to the forty-second floor of his building, depositing him in the marble foyer of his penthouse apartment where floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the bay, its lights sparkling like stardust in the twilight hour.
The house was quiet, but the scent of garlic and herbs drew him toward the kitchen, past the living room where Helena’s influence was already evident in the softer touches: fresh flowers on the coffee table, a cashmere throw draped over the leather sofa, her current read on the side table next to one of a dozen pairs of reading glasses she kept at his place.
“Hey, Marti.”
“Oh!” Martina, his housekeeper, startled as he entered. She wiped her hands on her blue checkered apron. “Mr. Giannopoulos, you’re home early.”
“Yeah, I managed to sneak out.” Raph loosened his tie and pulled the silk fabric from around his neck, draping it over the back of a kitchen stool. “I was trying to beat the traffic but still got held up on the bridge.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’ve only just started preparing dinner. It won’t be ready for at least another hour.”
“That’s fine, no need to rush it. Where’s Helena?”
“On the rooftop. She wanted to enjoy the sunset while she waited for you to arrive.”
“Thanks, Marti.” Raph turned to leave, then stopped himself. “By the way,” he said, leaning against the marble topped island. “It smells delicious in here. Have I ever told you what a goddess you are in the kitchen?”
“Sir?” Martina’s brows ruffled as she cocked her head.
“If you ever want to open your own restaurant, you have to let me back you.”
“Alright, Mr. Giannopoulos.” Martina could only manage to laugh and shake her head as she resumed preparing tonight’s vegetables. “You’re certainly in a very good mood this afternoon.”
“Well, Marti,” Raph said as he walked around the kitchen island.
“It’s a very good day for me.” He kissed his home chef on the temple, and as she laughed and blushed, he swiped half of a cherry tomato from her cutting board, popped it into his mouth, and headed toward the narrow stairway off the living room.
Raph could hear the gentle hum of the hot tub jets as he climbed the stairs to his rooftop terrace––a private oasis with lounge chairs, an open-air kitchen, and an unbeatable view of the bay.
The open door at the top let in an evening breeze that carried the scent of eucalyptus from the potted trees arranged around the perimeter of the space.
He stepped onto the concrete tiles to find Helena in the bubbling water, her phone pressed to her ear as her favorite Greek pop singer, Marina Remos, played from the integrated speakers. She was topless, with her light brown hair piled loosely on top of her head.
The sight of her should have sent heat shooting through him, but instead he froze, as though entering an Arctic tundra––her words hitting him like a physical blow.
“To xéro, Anna, but I just don’t know how to tell Raph I’m not in love with him.”
Raph was gripping the doorframe so tightly his knuckles went white.
“I know that it’s not fair, but I can’t stop thinking about him…
I feel so…alive when I see him. It’s nothing like when I’m with Raph…
” She began to cry, her sun-kissed shoulders heaving in the faint artificial light of the patio.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt him, but he’s so…
so guarded, you know? I felt it when we first met, but I thought it was because we didn’t really know each other yet.
I thought with time, he would loosen up, but it’s been six months, and I don’t feel like I know him any better. I just can’t feel him. He’s so…cold…”
Her words carved through Raph like blades, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Her beautiful, Athenian accented Greek that had made his knees buckle in Oía was now cutting him to the core.
Raph edged back inside and slumped against the wall, his chest tight and burning. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in his ears.
Helena, his first love, was in love with someone else. Someone who made her feel alive in a way he apparently couldn’t.
Who was he? Did he live in L.A.? Athens? Or one of the dozen other cities she visited for work? Had they slept together?
Does he know about me?
The questions multiplied like cancer cells, each one more painful than the last.
Raph’s hands balled into fists as his heart hammered against his ribs like a caged animal.
Six months of believing he’d found something real, something worth the risk of vulnerability, had all turned to ash in an instant.
While he’d been planning their future together, designing the perfect ring, scheduling a contactor to expand his closet, rearranging his entire life for her, Helena had been looking for a way out.
“Of course I haven’t told him how I feel, and I’m not going to! It’s impossible to think we could ever actually be together, but every time I look at Raph…” She paused, her voice choked with tears. “Anna, I just don’t know how to tell him the truth.”
The familiar numbness that had been Raph’s constant companion for most of his life, consumed his heart as he willed his pulse to slow.
He had heard enough. It wouldn’t do him any good to listen to anymore of Helena’s confession to her best friend––a woman who already knew he was planning to propose––about her love for someone else.
He didn’t want to know who the man was, he decided.
His identity didn’t matter. What mattered was that Helena didn’t want him.
Raph pushed himself away from the wall and trudged back downstairs, the velvet box––his promise to Helena––now burning a hole through his jacket pocket, and his heart.
Raph stood rigid under the blast of his ensuite shower, and surrendered to the bitter, desolate sensations building inside him.
Tears streamed down his face as he tried to come to terms with what he’d overheard.
His chest ached as though his heart had been wrenched from his body, each tear a bitter reminder of the love he thought was his.
He froze mid-breath as a shadow crossed the doorway.
He turned, and his hand balled on the marble wall when he saw Helena entering the bathroom in a short-sleeved terry robe.
Thankfully, the spray masked the tears streaming down his face, buying him the seconds he needed to reel himself back.
He forced his posture straight and his expression neutral before she could realize that he was completely undone.
“Hey, baby,” Helena said, walking toward him with that sweet, loving smile he now knew was a lie. “You’re home early.”
He stared at her through the steam, memorizing every graceful line of her face, even as his heart broke into smaller and smaller pieces.
Water droplets still clung to her arms, and he remembered how those same arms had been wrapped around his shoulders just last night, how she’d shattered beneath him with what had seemed like complete abandon.
“Can I join you?” she asked, her hands drifting to the belt of her robe, her fingers teasing the knot.
For a fleeting moment Raph almost forgot what he’d overheard.
Almost let himself believe in the fantasy for just a little longer, but the memory of her words cut through the haze like broken glass––sharp and unforgiving––steering him back to his new cold reality.
He turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower.
“Sorry, I have a few things I need to take care of before we eat,” he said, stepping around her and reaching for his towel while trying to avoid touching her at all costs.
While he dried his hair and upper body, she shed her robe and hung it from the hook that had become hers. “You sure you don’t want to join me in the shower?” she asked, her eyes raking boldly over him like he was something she possessed.
Her duplicitous gaze made him feel even more exposed and vulnerable than he already was, and he quickly wrapped the towel around his waist. “I’m very sure,” he said, moving to the marble bathroom counter, and reaching for his face cream.
“Okay…” She stepped into the shower and turned on the water, peeling of her wet swimsuit bottom and letting it drop to the shower floor. “I was thinking we could walk down to The South Cali Creamery later for sorbet.”
“Yeah, I––.” He swallowed, his gaze flickering to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips, hating how his body still responded to her even as his heart was breaking. He forced his gaze away, his chest tightening with the knowledge that everything between them had already ended.
She just didn’t know it yet.
“That sounds nice,” he said. “But I think we need to talk…”