The Best Man's Guarded Heart (12 page)

The dance ended abruptly. Andreas walked straight off the dance floor towards Christos, his gaze never meeting hers. The crowd erupted into loud applause.

Beside her Sofia gave a soft chuckle and exhaled loudly, wiping her eyes. ‘Wow, I feel worn out! That was incredibly moving. I've seen the
zembekiko
danced many times before, but never with such raw emotion.'

Grace could only nod, her throat much too tight to utter even a few meaningless words. She stared at Andreas's back as he stood silently amongst a group of friends, wanting to go to him, to place a hand on his arm, on his back. To be with him. To be part of his life. And in that moment she knew that she was in love with him.

She closed her eyes and winced. She couldn't be. He wasn't what she wanted. He didn't want a relationship, or romance in his life.

Beside her Sofia stood and held out her hand to Grace. As Grace stood, Sofia whispered, ‘Are you okay?'

She could not burden Sofia with her problems. Anyway, what had happened between her and Andreas was too personal, too private. She doubted she would ever tell another person about what they'd shared.
Ever.
It was a secret she would hold in her heart for the rest of her life.

She forced herself to smile. ‘I think it's just culture shock—weddings in England are so much more tame in comparison to this...I hadn't realised Greek weddings were so passionate.' She paused and gestured around her at the dancers back out on the floor, the large groups laughing and hugging, dancing with abandon as though there was no tomorrow. ‘And so much fun.'

Sofia tugged her out onto the dance floor, where they joined Sofia's beaming dad. He twisted and twirled them around the floor and Grace tried to forget about the man standing in the crowd behind her, who had stolen her heart.

* * *

It was well after midnight when the band leader called Sofia and Christos to the stage. With the encouragement of the crowd Christos knelt down and helped Sofia step out of her shoes. He lifted them up to Sofia and together they inspected the soles.

Earlier that morning Grace had watched Sofia write the names of all the single woman attending the wedding onto the soles, as was tradition. Now it was time to reveal the names that were still visible on the soles—the women whose names still showed would be the next to marry.

Sitting with a group of Andreas's family, Grace watched, bemused, smiling at the hopeful girls and women eagerly waiting for their names to be called out. It seemed she wasn't the only romantic in the world.

A dart of pain shot into her heart and she glanced towards Andreas, who was seated at a table with a group of fellow young and beautiful Athenians. He was engrossed in conversation with another man, oblivious to her. The group seemed so effortlessly chic and full of vitality. Inadequacy crept along her bones. She touched a hand to her hair, fixed her dress, wishing she had taken the time to check her make-up.

Sofia gave a squeal that echoed into the microphone. It hooked everyone's attention and conversations died as they all focused on the stage.

Christos stepped closer to the microphone and spoke first in Greek and then in English. ‘There's only one name remaining.' He chuckled when Sofia gave another squeal of excitement, and stepped back to allow her to speak.

Sofia scanned the terrace. When her gaze landed on her, Grace stared back, fearing her heart was about to give way.
Oh, please, would someone tell her that Sofia hadn't included her name. She didn't want attention...this number of eyes on her.

Sofia held up the shoe. ‘The only name remaining is...my bridesmaid, Grace!'

All two hundred guests turned to study her. Her heart leapt with joy for a few insane seconds, but then she pushed it away. Heat fired through her body. What was she supposed to do? Stand up and wave? Make a speech? Protest and say that it had to be a mistake...that she was the most unlikely woman to marry...that she had just fallen in love with a man who didn't want to be in a relationship, never mind marry?

She grimaced at Sofia, silently warning her best friend that she would get her back for this. Sofia responded with a defiant grin. Grace squirmed, and wished that people would stop staring in her direction. Her cheeks burnt brightly. Vulnerability swept through her and she wished she was anywhere but here. She forced herself to smile; to do otherwise would be churlish. She didn't dare peek in Andreas's direction.

His aunts made cooing noises of appreciation around the table, and his mother translated for her. They were saying that it would soon be Grace walking down the aisle, as hers was the only name remaining. His mother watched her curiously and she squirmed even more into her chair.

‘That's very unlikely.'

His mother translated her response back to his aunts but it was greeted with frowns and shakes of their heads. His mother didn't need to translate their words contradicting her disbelief and she sat there, dumbfounded, wondering how she had ended up in this surreal mess.

The dancing resumed and she exhaled in relief when her five minutes of attention faded. She took a sip of her white wine and glanced towards Andreas. He was staring directly at her. His expression was impossible to pin down...thoughtful...frustrated...hacked off.

He needed to know that she gave no significance to the shoe tradition. That she thought it was a silly bit of fun.

She approached his table and threw her eyes to heaven. ‘Well,
that
was embarrassing.'

‘Was it?'

‘Lord, yes...your aunts are predicting a wedding before Christmas.' She shrugged and laughed, but clearly Andreas wasn't finding it funny.

He gave her a brief, impersonal smile—the kind of smile that passed between strangers. Then he stood and gestured for her to sit on his chair. He introduced her to the others at the table and said, ‘I need to go and speak to some of the other guests.'

He walked away.

Grace sat there, randomly smiling at the people around her, trying to pretend that she didn't feel as if she had just been punched in the chest...trying to convince herself that he hadn't just blown her off.

CHAPTER TEN

G
RACE
ADJUSTED
HER
sunglasses against the glare of the afternoon sun as it bounced off the body of the helicopter and forced herself to smile and wave enthusiastically, saying goodbye to Sofia and Christos. Her throat felt as raw as sandpaper and her eyes burnt with tears.

A sharp wind whipped around her as the helicopter blades picked up speed and she backed away, glad to have an excuse to move away from Andreas who had also come to the helipad to say goodbye to the honeymoon couple.

As soon as the helicopter was in the air she gave one final wave and walked away. Andreas caught up with her on the main terrace, now restored to its original state after yesterday's wedding reception. The terrace, as with the rest of the island, both so full of chatter and merriment yesterday, now felt empty and forlorn. All the guests had left over the course of the night and this morning. Only she and Andreas remained.

‘Come and have some lunch.'

She turned at the brusque nature of his invitation. Was this the same man she had slept with, shared so much intimacy with, less than two days ago? Not trusting her own voice, she shook her head and went to follow the path back down to the workshops.

In an instant he was at her side and pulling her to a stop. He regarded her curiously. ‘Are you okay?'

Even the brief touch of his fingers on her arm made her resolve to stay away from him waver dangerously. ‘I'm fine...'

‘You obviously aren't. What's the matter?'

‘I'm just upset that Sofia's gone. Yesterday went too fast, and this morning...' Grace paused and willed herself not to blush. ‘I didn't get to speak to her for more than five minutes.'

They both knew that the reason this had been the case was because the honeymoon couple had been holed up in their bedroom all morning.

Andreas looked unconvinced by her answer. But before he could ask any further questions she turned again for the workshops, where she had already spent the morning tidying away all the floral displays from yesterday, glad to have a reason to avoid Andreas.

Not once had he spoken to her again after the ‘name on the sole' debacle last night. In fact he had barely even glanced in her direction.

She had gone to bed long before the party had ended, heart-sore and mentally shattered. At first she had fallen into an exhausted sleep, but had woken with a start to hear a female giggle as the dawn light had crept between the shutter slats. She hadn't dared move when she had heard Andreas's voice.
Was he with another woman?
The voices had quickly moved on and she had resisted the urge to peek out of her window. She was humiliated enough without adding the role of jealous lover to her repertoire.

Back at the workshop, she busied herself removing the peonies from the long length of garlands. She hesitated when Andreas appeared at the door, but forced herself not to react.

‘Did you clear away all these flowers yourself?'

She glanced up at the astonished tone of his voice. He gestured to the peonies Grace had brought back to the workshop during the course of the morning, and then pointed down to the jetty.

‘And the pots and lanterns? Who brought all of those back to the jetty?'

‘I did.'

He glared at her incredulously. ‘By yourself? What time did you start working this morning?'

‘At seven.'

‘The wedding didn't end until sunrise. What's the rush? I could have helped you if you had asked.'

She stared at him pointedly. ‘I went to bed at two. I had plenty of sleep until I was woken by voices at dawn.'

His mouth twisted and he folded his arms on his chest.

Memories of last night felt like a red-hot poker sticking into her heart. Hurt swelled inside her. ‘I've decided to leave Kasas today, so I needed to start the clean-up early. Ioannis says he can take me over to Naxos for the five o'clock ferry.'

For a moment he looked stunned, but then his eyes narrowed as though he didn't quite believe her. ‘You're leaving today? Why?'

‘Do you
really
need me to answer that, Andreas?'

He moved closer to the workbench and bent down to meet her eyes, his eyes boring into hers, his jaw working. ‘I wouldn't ask unless I needed to.'

She turned to throw some peonies that were shedding their petals into a composting bin. Her chest ached; she could barely draw in enough breath. The composting bin was starting to fill up and she studied the dying peonies with regret. Their time of beauty was much too short.

She turned and faced him with her head held high, determined she would maintain her dignity. ‘I'll be blunt. We slept together Friday night and you ignored me all day yesterday.'

‘No. I didn't ignore you. I told you we had to be careful that people didn't get the wrong impression.'

‘And what other people might believe is more important than hurting me?'

He gave a disbelieving shake of his head. ‘I hurt you? How?'

‘You shut me out completely.'

He threw his head back and stared down at her with that arrogant expression he sometimes used. ‘You're exaggerating.'

His tone reminded her of her father's belittling attitude. Fire burnt through her veins. ‘Really? You barely looked at me all day, never mind actually
talked
to me. I thought I meant a little more to you than that... And I deserve a little respect.'

‘Maybe if you hadn't blurted out about knowing what my wedding present to Christos was we wouldn't have had my mother watching us like a hawk all day, wondering what was going on between us.'

Grace marched over and grabbed a cardboard box from the floor. At the bench she began to pack her floristry equipment into it. Without glancing up, she said angrily, ‘It seems to me like you were looking for an excuse to push me away.'

‘Why would I want to do that?'

She knew she should stop—that she was only hurting herself. But a force inside her—an emotional force she didn't fully understand—pushed her to lash out, even though the rational side of her yelled at her to stop, that she was going too far.

‘I don't know. Maybe you regretted Friday night? Perhaps revised your opinion of me because I was the one who suggested it? Maybe, facing your family and friends, you suddenly realised that I was lacking? After all, I'm just a florist—which is pitiful compared to your career. And I certainly don't stack up against the women who were only too keen to grab your attention yesterday. Like the dark-haired woman in the white trouser suit. Was it
her
you were with this morning out on the terrace?'

Andreas moved forward and pushed the cardboard box away, so that nothing stood between them other than the table, which he leaned on in order to eyeball her at a closer range. His eyes were dark with fury.

‘Yes, it was. Her name is Zeta and she's my cousin. Orestis's sister, in fact.'

‘Oh.'

His lips twisted and he growled, ‘And I do
not
regret Friday night. Do you?'

She could barely breathe. In a small whisper she admitted, ‘No...'

‘What do you want from me, Grace?'

She wanted to go back to what they'd had on Friday night, as they had lain in bed together. That emotional and physical connection. A connection so deep and right and secure. She wondered now if it had all been a dream. How could they have gone from that to this so quickly?

‘I thought we were friends.'

He exhaled loudly in irritation. ‘Friends don't sleep together.'

‘Yes, they do...married couples are best friends to one another.'

He stared up towards the ceiling and rubbed a hand down over his face. ‘I forgot what a romantic you are. All of this was such a bad idea. What were we
thinking
?'

He sounded worn out. She should stop. But the force deep inside her was driving her on, wanting to test him. Wanting him to admit what was in his heart. That, yes, he
was
pushing her away. Closing himself off from her and everything that they'd shared.

‘I don't know...what were
you
thinking? Was I just another conquest for playboy Andreas Petrakis?'

He walked away from her and stood at the door. His body was rigid, his hands balled at his sides.

It was a while before he turned and said coolly, ‘I am not going to dignify that with a response. Why do I feel you're trying to back me into a corner, here? I have always been honest with you. I told you that I could never give you the type of relationship you wanted.'

He was right, in a way. She
was
trying to back him into a corner—but not to try to manipulate him into a relationship with her. No, what she wanted was him to tell her out loud that it was over, that the connection they had shared had been of no consequence to him. That without a backward glance he would walk away from her.

‘I know... I just wish I hadn't fallen in love with you.'

* * *

He felt as though someone had punched him. Every fibre of muscle in his chest constricted painfully. His ears rang. Nothing made sense.

He looked away from the pain in her eyes. He had to get away before he did something stupid. Something he would regret for ever. Like taking her in his arms and making her promises he could never fulfil.

He sucked in some air. ‘I wish you hadn't said that.'

She flinched, but said nothing.

His chest felt as if it was about to explode. He walked closer, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Why did you?'

Her eyes held his for a few moments. She was clearly bewildered by his question. And then they grew wide with shock. ‘You think that I'm
lying
?'

‘Are you?'

She stood stock-still, only her eyelids blinking, a thousand thoughts flashing in her violet eyes. Eventually he saw a grim determination take hold and she stared at him coldly. ‘No, I wasn't lying. But if you can think that I'm capable of doing so, maybe I was wrong.' She paused, her hands gripping the side of the workbench. ‘No, I'll rephrase that. Not
maybe
. I
was
wrong. I can't possibly be in love with a man who can think that I would lie about something so important.'

He didn't want her to be in love with him—and yet her words twisted in his gut. ‘Your love seems pretty fickle if you can change your mind so rapidly.'

‘Maybe you've just revealed your true self to me... Don't blame me for falling for your pretences.'

‘What pretences?'

‘That you trusted me, respected me enough to show me kindness and consideration. Yesterday just proved that you never truly did trust or respect me.'

‘Oh, come on! That's utter rubbish. Yesterday I had responsibilities that needed my attention. I was the host and the best man. I had to speak to the other guests. I'm sorry if that made you feel neglected. Added to that, I had my family breathing down my neck. Why on earth are you blaming me for trying to protect you from years of my family wondering what happened between us and if anything will happen again? Do you honestly want that speculation? That pressure? You heard Christos. He wants us all to meet here in August for a family get-together. Christos sees you as
family
now, Grace.'

Her shoulders sagged. ‘I know. And somehow we need to try and get on. Put these days behind us.'

Her voice now held sad resignation. Her anger he could handle; this pain was unbearable to witness.

She reached for some floristry wire and twisted it in her hands. ‘We have to put some distance between us. That's why I must go today.'

‘I do respect you...and I've always been honest with you.'

‘But you're not even honest with
yourself
, Andreas. How can you possibly be honest with me? You've put a barrier up against the world because you were hurt before. You put on this mask of being hard-headed and cynical. But deep inside you are kind and lovely. Or at least I thought you were. Right now I don't know who you really are. Maybe even
you
don't know.'

‘Are you suggesting that I
don't
learn from my past? From my mistakes? If you take that path, Grace, you'll be hurt time and time again. Maybe being cynical and tough is the only way to survive this world. Maybe those barriers will help me thrive. And are they any different to the romantic dreams you hold...? Aren't they a barrier in themselves? Will you ever meet your ideal man? Or will you realise we are all made with feet of clay?'

About to drop a spool of wire into the box, Grace paused and peered at him with a distracted expression, deep in thought. Any remaining fight in her seeped away.

‘Maybe you're right.'

She went into the adjoining room, returned with a sweeping brush and began to clean the floor. Exasperated, he walked out of the workshop, his fear of ever really trusting a woman battling with the desire in his heart to turn around and take her in his arms and make this mess go away.

* * *

Later that afternoon Grace sat on the side of her bed and stared down at the blank page of her notebook. She wanted to write him a note but didn't know where to start. She didn't even know if it was the right thing to do. Maybe she should go and speak to him. But her heart plummeted to her feet even at the thought.

She was in love with him. And it was so wrong. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with a man who was cynical about love, who could shut her out with such ease, with such indifference as he had shown yesterday. Unfortunately she knew that there was another side to him—a man who was fun and attentive, kind-hearted and tender. A seductive, powerful man who made her melt just by looking at her.

But he didn't love her.

In truth she had no idea what he
did
feel for her. Friday night, when they had made love, she'd thought he felt the same strength of connection. In the moonlight he had lain with her, his eyes holding hers, filled with the same happiness and amazement that had flowed through her. She had thought his feelings for her were as deep and profound as hers for him.