The Latin Lover Page 4

  He waited for Phoebe to tell him why she was there. His hands curled into fists as his body tensed with conflicting emotions.

  She stared at him, her dark brown eyes worried. “Is everything all right, Spiros?”

  “Yes, of course. By your dramatic entrance, I would say that you appear to be the one with the problem.”

  “Yes, I do…I am. I just…This isn’t like you.”

  “What, exactly?” As if he did not know.

  She started to speak. Stopped. Then started again. “You know me so well.” She paused and started pacing, wringing her hands as she walked a path to his window and back again. “Better than anyone else, I think. Even my parents.”

  “That is possible.” Before the kiss he would have assured her that, yes, she was right, but he had to distance himself from her, taper off the level of their intimate friendship.

  He owed it to Dimitri. He owed it to his grandfather, the one constant in his life. He owed it to his own honor.

  She stopped pacing and stared at him again.

  “There you go…doing it again.”

  “Perhaps you should get to the point of your visit?” he said, not asking again what “it” was. Safety lay in maintaining surface ignorance.

  “No…not if you’re upset about something.” She looked around, obviously distracted, her expression so troubled he was tempted to pull her into his arms for comfort. But he was smart enough to withstand the urge. She seemed to notice the still open door and moved to close it. Then she turned to face him again. “Maybe we’re worried about the same things.”

  “Perhaps we are.” She was trustworthy and very loyal. She wouldn’t want to betray Dimitri or their two families any more than he did.

  “I…it’s just…usually when I’m upset you know.”

  “Yes.”

  “But then I guess you did notice. So that’s normal. Only this isn’t.” She frowned at him.

  Again he refrained from asking what “this” was. He knew. She knew. The way he was holding himself back from asking what was wrong. The way he was holding himself back, period. He could not fix it. To do so would be to invite further intimacy—intimacy they could no longer afford.

  She chewed on her bottom lip for a count of four seconds. Yes, he kept track. That lip tasted like ambrosia, and he had to force himself to stay on his side of the desk.

  “You know usually…I mean every other time. When I come to you upset, you notice. Then—well, then…you ask me what is wrong and what you can do to fix it. I mean, that’s just what you do. Every time. But you’re not doing it now. And I need you to do that now, more than ever.” The last came out as an agonized whisper.

  Again he had to force himself to refrain from going to her. It was not easy. In fact it was almost impossible. Which further underlined the unacceptable intensity of their friendship.

  Looking back over the history of that friendship, he realized she spoke the truth. But only now did he see how dangerous that kind of behavior was. It had led to expectations she should have of Dimitri, not Spiros.

  “I hope that I am always here for you, Phoebe, but you are an adult. You must handle your own prolems.” The words were harsh, and it hurt to say them, but they had to be spoken for both their sakes. He did not bring up Dimitri because for some reason he could not make himself do so.

  “I am an adult?”

  “I just said that.”

  “You think there is something wrong with me coming to you for help?” she asked, sounding and looking hurt.

  He manfully ignored the pain in her voice and her gaze and gave a small sigh. “Not wrong, precisely, simply not appropriate.”

  “Why would it be inappropriate for me to come to the man I—to my best friend for help?”

  “As I said, you are an—”

  “Adult,” she said, interrupting. “Yes, I heard that part. But even adults sometimes need help.”

  “So what exactly do you need help with?”

  “I wish I knew why you are acting so weird,” she said, instead of answering, her eyes suspiciously moist.

  Do not cry, he silently begged her. This was difficult enough.

  “I’m sorry you think my behavior is abnormal, but I assure you everything is fine.” Or as fine as it could be with him lusting after his brother’s intended fiancée.

  “Okay. If you say so. I guess that’s good. I…um…”

  Again he waited without comment.

  Finally she continued. “My father. He invited me to his office to talk. I thought he was going to offer me a job.”

  “He did not?” Spiros asked, genuinely surprised and more than a little relieved that she had come about something so mundane.

  Not about the kiss. Not about emotions and desires that had no place in their lives.

  He could fix this easily. He would talk to Dimitri about offering her a job.

  “No,” Phoebe replied. “He said he had something more important to discuss.” Phoebe’s eyes glistened with unmistakable tears now. “He’s broke, Spiros…on the verge of losing the company.”

  He had not realized things had got so bad. His grandfather had said nothing. But then since the night his grandfather had extracted that promise from Dimitri to set a wedding date, Spiros had been avoiding them both. “Your father is a strong businessman. I am sure something can be done.”

  “He won’t take the company public.”

  “Naturally not.”

  Phoebe made a rude sound that implied she did not agree with his or her father’s views on that particular topic. “There is only one other way to raise the sort of funds he needs to save it.”

  “As I said, he is a smart man. I am not surprised he has already discovered a way out.”

  Phoebe shook her head, her obvious distress once again nearly breaking his determination not to touch her.

  “What has you so upset?” he asked instead, unable to help himself.

  “It’s the way he’s seen fit to fix the problem.” She took a deep breath that came back out in a short sob. “He wants to sell me.”

  “What?” Spiros yelled.

  “To your brother. I…I can’t do it, Spiros. Not after our kiss.”

  Spiros’s agile brain whirled with the implications of what Phoebe was saying. Apparently her marriage to Dimitri played some role in saving Leonides Enterprises. And she had a problem with that because of their kiss. He could not allow that to remain an issue.

  It was all so damn complicated. But he had to do the right thing. And there was only one right thing here, wasn’t there?

  “Of course you can marry Dimitri. I told you to forget the kiss.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You must try.”

  “Have you?” she challenged. “Forgotten, I mean?”

  And for the first time in their relationship he lied to her. “Yes.”

  Her eyes widened, as if she had not expected that answer.

  “I kiss a lot of women, Phoebe.” That at least was the truth.

  “But I thought…I mean…why can’t I marry you?” she asked, all in a rush.

  Spiros felt like she’d knocked the air out of him. “You are promised to my brother.”

  “But you’re the one I kissed.”

  “As I said, I’ve kissed many women, but I have never ended up married to one of them.”

  “But…”

  “But what? Phoebe, it was a moment of weakness on both our parts. You should not let guilt drive you into doing something rash.”

  “It’s not guilt.”

  “What else could it be?” he asked. But he had no intention of giving her a chance to answer. He couldn’t afford to. If she said the words, they were both in trouble. “Love? I don’t think so. You’re as close to being my little sister as it is possible to get without sharing a blood relationship.”

  That was also true…just not the whole truth. He felt nothing like her brother. Though he did feel like her friend. Her best friend. And, as such, it was his job to
do what was best for her…what was best for all of them.

  “So the way you kissed me—it meant nothing?”

  “It was pleasant.” Another damn lie. It had been world-shattering for him.

  Were these lies necessary? Was any of this necessary? Then he remembered the ashen tone of his grandfather’s skin due to his heart condition. Spiros reflected on Dimitri’s determination to marry Phoebe. In this situation he—Spiros—had no rights. He had to remember that as well.

  But it was so hard.

  “Pleasant? Our souls connected. You had to have felt it.”

  Now, that was not something he was willing to admit—even to himself. “You are an innocent…your reaction overwhelmed you. You must trust me when I say it was simply a kiss. As I have said, I have kissed many women and never proposed to one.”

  “Dimitri has never proposed to me either,” she said, as if that were some insurmountable obstacle.

  “I am sure he will get around to it, but until then Grandfather has acted in his stead.” He assumed that was what had happened. It was perhaps a bit old-fashioned, but certainly not beyond the realm of permissible.

  Awfully cold, though. He would have to speak to his brother at the earliest opportunity. And if the thought of advising Dimitri on how best to treat Phoebe made the bile rise in Spiros’ stomach, that was his own problem.

  “That is positively draconian.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Dimitri does not care about me.”

  “He is willing to marry you, of course he cares.”

  “He’s never kissed me, never looked out for me. You always have, and your kiss…it was more than you are willing to admit. You can deny it all you want, but I remember what you were like, and you did not kiss me like a brother!”

  “It was a one-off thing. It will never happen again and, since you will be marrying my brother, I would appreciate it very much if you never mentioned it either.” Even as he spoke the words he wondered if he was right to do so.

  Phoebe deserved better than what Dimitri had given her so far. Perhaps Spiros should speak to both his older brother and his grandfather…But if he did that, would it precipitate the heart attack they all feared? What mattered more here—his grandfather’s health and family honor or Phoebe’s feelings?

  It felt like a betrayal of the worst sort against his lifelong belief in himself and his sense of right and wrong when he could not decide.

  She stared at him, her mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out, her eyes dulling with a pain he could not stand to see.

  His resolve broke in the face of it. He started to move around the desk, but she was backing up toward the door.

  “You really want me to marry Dimitri, don’t you?”

  He couldn’t answer. Too many thoughts and feelings roiled inside him, reminding him of the days of emotional chaos when his parents were still alive. That chaos paralyzed him.

  “I guess my personal happiness doesn’t matter to anyone else but me,” she whispered, as she opened the door and backed out of it.

  Spiros stood there, stunned, unable to process the words she had just spoken. When had he ever not cared about her happiness?

  Was she saying that she would be miserable married to Dimitri? Of course she was. Hadn’t she implied as much before? But she wouldn’t. His brother would treat her well. Dimitri was a good man.

  But he wasn’t Spiros, that annoying voice whispered.

  No, damn it. He wasn’t. And she was scared. Spiros should have recognized that. She was hurting and frightened, and he’d been so worried about his responsibility to his family he’d dismissed what she needed from him.

  He had not been there for her like he usually was. Out of his own fear. Because of his inadequacy. He needed to go after her, to talk, to make her see that it was all going to be all right.

  He ran out of his office and headed for the elevators, hoping she hadn’t made it onto one yet, but she was nowhere to be seen when he got there.

  He noted from the light that the elevator was already halfway to the ground floor. He hit the wall and then stabbed the button.

  Phoebe held control by a thin thread that threatened to snap with every breath she took.

  The kiss had meant nothing to Spiros. An act that she had believed had changed her life and opened the possibilities to her most deeply held dream had been nothing more than one in a long line of similar moments for him. Considering how it had ended—with her blacking out from the pleasure and him getting nothing more out of it—he probably didn’t even have fond memories. No wonder he wanted to forget it.

  She wished she could.

  The pain was so intense she felt like she could not breathe. Nothing was as she’d believed it to be when she’d come back to Greece.

  Her father did not want her working with him. He saw her as little more than a commodity to barter for the livelihood of the family company. A company he intended to leave to her brother. It was Chrysanthos’s birthright…not hers.

  But her father’s betrayal was nothing compared to how much it hurt to realize the truth about Spiros. She’d been weaving daydreams around that kiss until she’d been almost sick with happiness. Now her heart bled from a million pricks made by the leftover shards of those dreams.

  The elevator door opened and she rushed outside, running to her car as if being chased by demons. And in a way she was. Personal demons she knew from experience she could never outdistance, but that didn’t mean she had to let everyone see her cry.

  She made it to her little car and got inside, started it and pressed on the accelerator, yanking the wheel and forcing the car into traffic amidst the cacophony of honks and rude words shouted at her. She didn’t care.

  She came within inches of smashing into another car and told herself she didn’t care about that either. But even in her current state she could not stand to be the cause of someone else’s trauma.

  She pulled into a parking garage, following the narrow lane to the very top floor. She guided her car into a spot far from the few other cars that had come to this level to find parking. With a vicious twist of her wrist she turned off her car, then leaned forward on the steering wheel and wept.

  Spiros did not love her. Not like she needed him to. How could she have been so stupid as to believe otherwise? He was not even attracted to her. Not really. He saw her as a little sister. Nothing more. He wanted her to marry Dimitri.

  Everyone wanted her to marry Dimitri…everyone except her.

  But what difference did it make? Spiros was never going to fall in love with her and she was never going to love anyone else. Dimitri might be a good man, but he was also a man who kept a mistress. If he married another woman he might hurt her with his infidelity. Phoebe didn’t care, though. Him keeping a lover wouldn’t hurt her. It simply did not matter.

  Nothing mattered.

  Why should it?

  She saw that all her fantasies about the future had been without substance…a mist easily dispelled when exposed to the burning light of reality. Impossible. All of them. But maybe she could save another woman from having her dreams shattered.

  Certainly agreeing to marry Dimitri would preserve Phoebe’s father’s hopes for the future. It would ensure her little brother his birthright. It would maintain her mother’s standard of living—Basila’s sense of her place in the world.

  Phoebe could not stand to see her father broken, as he would be if he lost the company. Nor could she allow her mother to be shamed, as she would be if that were to happen.

  She knew what she had to do. She had to be the adult Spiros had reminded her she was. But she let herself grieve the loss of her own dreams, crying until she was empty of emotion and numb to the pain.

  Then she drove home, sneaking in the back way so no one would see her with puffy eyes and streaks of mascara down her cheeks.

  That evening she told her father that she would marry Dimitri.

  He thanked her and told her he’d known she would no
t let the family down, that it was for the best. She did not disagree, but she remained stiff when he embraced her.

  It was not anger that kept her so, but apathy.

  He announced the upcoming wedding to her mother and Chrysanthos over dinner. Her brother made a joke about getting married right out of university. A few hours ago it would have stung. Thankfully, now she was too numb to be affected.

  Basila immediately began making wedding plans, asking Phoebe her opinion on this, that and the other. Only Phoebe didn’t have an opinion. She simply didn’t care. She agreed to anything her mother wanted, smiling when her mother wanted her to smile and assuring Basila that she could have free rein with the preparations.

  “You young women today—you have no sense of romance,” Basila lamented.

  Phoebe just shrugged, studiously avoiding the odd looks her father kept sending her. She didn’t see anything remotely romantic about an arranged marriage, but maybe that was just her.

  She liked the numbness, though. It was better than pain and disappointment.

  It even made it easy for her to answer Spiros’s many messages, left on her voicemail while she had been purging her emotions through tears earlier.

  “Phoebe! Are you all right?” Spiros asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  He was silent for a second. “Byba…we need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “I should have asked what was bothering you…I should not have remained so aloof in my office.”

  “It does not matter.”

  “Of course it matters.”

  “As you said, my problems are not your responsibility. I’m a grown woman and it’s time to put my childish thoughts behind me.” She had a duty to her family and she would fulfill it.

  “Uh…Phoebe…?”

  “I don’t need a shoulder to cry on.” And if she did she would never again go to him. He was off-limits. She wanted to remain numb, but more than that she wanted to stop loving him, and their friendship had only fed her feelings. It was time to starve them. “I told my father tonight that I would keep my promise to marry Dimitri.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.”