Chapter Six
Helen of Troy
Tele watched the first light of day creep across the mountains through the windows as Helena slept soundly in his arms, her breathing slow and even as he combed his fingers through her hair.
She fit against him perfectly, as though his body had been sculpted to cradle hers.
For a moment, he let himself imagine waking up like this every morning.
But reality rushed in like an avalanche, crushing and burying his desires.
No, he would just cover the cost of rescheduling her flight or book her on a private jet if that was what she wanted. Hell, he’d drive her to Los Angeles himself. Anything to spend just one more hour with her in his arms.
He might never get this chance again once he tells Raph what happened between them last night.
And he had to tell him.
Tele’s chest rose and fell on a deep sigh as the events of yesterday came back at him full force.
They’d spent nearly three hours at the planned construction site––walking the grounds as he outlined his vision for the innovative project, and then sitting beside the adjoining river while she talked about her plans to create an online platform to bridge the gap between wealthy and novice collectors.
“The idea that beautiful artwork needs to be expensive is ridiculous,” she’d said. “There are so many talented artists whose work deserves to be seen. I want to make it easier for them.”
It was an unseasonably warm afternoon, and they’d found a sunny spot on the grassy riverbank beneath a large oak tree. Helena had sat with her legs stretched in front of her, crossed at the ankles, and absentmindedly arranged all of the acorns within reach into a little pile between them.
Tele had stretched out on his side facing her, one hand propping up his head while he fiddled with a fallen twig as he memorized her profile. “But won’t that put you out of a job?”
Helena had merely shrugged and tossed a rotten acorn into the slow-moving river. “Then I’ll find a new one.”
The ease with which she welcomed life’s challenges, her desire to grow and move with the changing tide, and not against it, was so refreshing that Tele had wanted to wrap his arms around her right then and there.
Once the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, taking its warmth with it, he’d driven them to one of his favorite cafes in Boulder for coffee and for what he swore were the world’s best cranberry-apple muffins.
It was supposed to have been a quick stop before hopping on the Interstate back to Denver.
But even though they’d ordered their lattes and muffins to-go, they’d lingered at Mountain Mama’s Café for almost two hours.
Tucked into a quiet corner of the rustic café, they’d talked about all the places they still wanted to visit, and the adventures awaiting just beyond the horizon.
Yes, they shared a common grief, having each lost a parent, but more importantly, was their profound desire to live every moment to the fullest, knowing that any moment could be their last. They chose to honor their departed loved ones by truly embracing life and refusing to let the shadows of their pain dictate their future.
It was close to nine by the time they reached the Denver city limits.
A six-vehicle pileup on the Boulder Turnpike in Broomfield had kept them in gridlock traffic for hours.
But instead of worrying about the delay, Helena had connected her phone to Tele’s Range Rover’s audio system, and they’d belted out Brittany Spears and Marina Remos hits from the early two-thousands––off key, and without a care in the world.
As they’d neared her hotel, Tele had begun to feel relief that the day was nearly over.
He was a moderate adrenaline seeker, who usually found his rush in Colorado’s beautiful, wild landscape, yet he’d had more fun walking and talking with Helena than he’d had in years.
The thrill of being with her had satisfied his natural appetite for adventure in ways that nothing else did, but he knew he was inching dangerously close to a line he could not cross.
He would thank her for her company, tell her it was great catching up, deposit her in her hotel’s lobby, and wish her all the best in acquiring the Picasso her newest client was desperate to add to his collection.
He would ignore her calls, decline to see her in the future, and forget he’d ever met her––just as he knew Raph was trying to do––because the truth had struck Tele with the speed and certainty of a lightning bolt: he was madly in love with Helena, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He was determined to do right by Raph, but the moment Helena voiced a craving for giouvarlakia after passing a billboard for Olympia’s Table––a mediocre Greek restaurant in the Cherry Creek neighborhood, his love for her had outweighed his loyalty to his brother.
He knew exactly how Raph would feel if he found out he was spending time with his ex-girlfriend. But the opportunity to cook for her––to show off his culinary skills and satisfy her craving for the tangy meatball soup of their home country––had proved impossible to pass up.
Tele maintained his connection with Greece through food.
Some of his favorite memories were of cooking with his grandmother, washing rice for spanakorizo, or learning how to season fish with fresh herbs, onions, and peppers.
He’d loved his grandmother’s giouvarlakia and, although she’d died before she could teach him how to make it herself, he’d faithfully followed the recipes in her cookbooks, and could now prepare the meatballs, lemony sauce, and broth with his eyes closed.
They’d been mere blocks from her hotel, but instead of taking a left onto 16th Street and walking away from temptation, Tele had turned right and headed home.
Two hours later, after changing into grey sweatpants and the red Mountain Mama Café t-shirt Helena had bought him that afternoon, he and Helena were on the couch in his living room, legs folded beneath them, savoring his delicious, soul-soothing soup, and a pitcher of his homemade lemonade.
The historic textile mill on the South Platte River had been home to Tele since he’d moved to Denver three years earlier, and though his apartment covered the entire top floor of the expansive red brick building, it felt cozy and intimate inside beneath the dimmed Tiffany chandelier, casting a warm, amber light over them.
They’d talked into the early morning hours about everything and nothing at all––recent books they’d read, their favorite pizza topping combination, concert they’d attended, the merits of pebbled versus sandy beaches, favorite restaurants, and what superpower they’d choose if given the chance––lightning speed for Helena, and invisibility for Tele.
It was nearly four in the morning before either of them had noticed the time, but the sudden awareness of the hour had done little to dissuade them.
Instead, they’d inched closer, their elbows propped on the back of the sofa as they each confessed what a wonderful time they’d had, how often they had thought about each other over the past ten months, and how natural it felt to be in each other’s company again.
As their gazes locked, Tele could see their future reflected in her eyes.
The children they would have. The memories they would create.
He’d imagined a little girl with Helena’s soulful, inquisitive blue eyes, and a little boy with her lustrous brown hair.
In his mind, he had already built their dream home, had already married her, had already lived a thousand lives with Helena Christou by his side.
They had embraced without thought, drawn by something beyond their conscious control; their lips had brushed softly against each other’s necks, their skin burning with unspoken desire.
Tele had cupped her face, his thumb brushing the curve of her cheekbone, and she’d rested her forehead against his, breathing in the faint scent of his day-old cologne.
They’d stayed like that for several minutes––neither daring to do more, neither willing to pull away.
Eventually, they’d lain down on the couch, tangled in each other’s arms, and fallen asleep––but not before Helena had nuzzled her nose against his earlobe, tightened her hold around his torso, and whispered, “I love you”.
“Se periptósi pou den écho tin efkairía na to xanapó,” she’d added. In case I don’t get the chance to say it again.
Those three little words had stirred up a whirlwind of bittersweet emotions in Tele, because he knew that in the six months she had been with Raph, Helena had never said them to him.
He’d realized then that he had loved her from the first day they met in Napa––from the moment he’d shaken her hand.
He’d eventually fallen for her lively spirit, and the playful mischievous nature that matched his own, but that first touch had felt like a sonic blast, nearly knocking him over and leaving him breathless.
But the words, I love you, too, had caught in Tele’s throat, choking and clawing at him. He’d closed his eyes, unable to bring himself to say them out loud. Not now. Not when he knew what this would do to his family—what it might destroy…
Sure, Raph had been the one to break up with her, and that was nearly a year ago, but this was breaking every code––every rule in the book. There were just some things you didn’t do, and making a move on your brother’s ex-girlfriend was at the top of that list.
Now, in the harsh light of day, Tele squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images already forming in his mind: the disappointment in his mother’s eyes, the quiet disgust in Neo’s. And Raph... Christ. His rage would be volcanic.
How was he going to justify this? He hadn’t planned for any of it to happen.
After all, she had been the one to call him.
But he hadn’t done anything to stop it either.
No, he’d selfishly indulged himself at every turn, greedily devouring every precious moment, inching closer and closer to the point of no return, until the damage was absolute.
Helena stirred in his arms, her stockinged leg bending and curling around his. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer, seeking physical reassurance that, in the end, Raph and the rest of his family would understand that what he felt for Helena went beyond any code or rule book.
They’ll understand. They’ll have to understand…
He drew in a steady breath and exhaled slowly, yet he felt no less terrified of the chaos about to unfold.