to help you?’ Anatole frowned.
She shook her head. ‘It was just Dad, Mum, and me.’
She looked at him. Nearly a glass down on the champagne and she was definitely feeling bold. This might be a daydream, but she was going to indulge herself to the hilt with it.
‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t Greek families huge?’
Anatole gave a thin smile. ‘Not mine,’ he said tersely. ‘I’m an only child too.’ He looked into his champagne flute. ‘My parents are divorced, and both of them are married to other people now. I don’t see much of them.’
That was from choice. His and theirs. The only regular Kyrgiakis family gathering was the annual board meeting when all the shareholders gathered—himself, his parents and his uncle, and a few distant cousins as well. All of them looked to him to find out how much more money he’d poured into the family coffers, thanks to his business acumen.
‘Oh,’ Tia said, sympathetically, ‘that’s a shame.’
An unwelcome flicker went through her. She didn’t want to think that fantasy males like this one could have dysfunctional families like ordinary people. Surely when they lived in fantastic, deluxe places like this, and drank vintage champagne, they couldn’t have problems like other people?
Anatole gave another thin smile. ‘Not particularly,’ he countered. ‘I’m used to it.’
Absently, he wondered why he’d talked about his family at all. He never did that with women. He glanced at his watch. They should go indoors. Dinner would be arriving shortly and he didn’t want to think about his family—or his lack of any that he bothered about. Even Vasilis, kindly though he was, lived in a world of his own, content with his books and his philanthropic activities in the arts world.
He guided his guest indoors. Dusk was gathering outside and he switched on the terrace lighting, casting low pools of soft light around the greenery, giving it an elvish glow.
Once again, Tia was enchanted. ‘Oh, that’s so pretty!’ she exclaimed, as the effect sprang to life. ‘It looks like a fairyland!’
She immediately felt childish saying such a thing, even if it were true, but Anatole laughed, clearly amused.
The house phone rang, alerting him that dinner was on its way up, and five minutes later he and Tia were seated, tucking in to their first course—a delicate white fish terrine.
‘This is delicious!’ she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she ate.
She said the same thing about the chicken bathed in a creamy sauce, with tiny new potatoes and fresh green beans—simple, but beautifully cooked.
Anatole smiled indulgently. ‘Eat up,’ he urged.
It was good to see a woman eating with appetite, not picking at her food. Good, too, to see the open pleasure in her face at dining with him, her appreciation of everything. Including the champagne as he topped up her glass yet again.
Careful. He heard the warning voice in his head. Don’t give her more than she can handle.
Or, indeed, more than he could handle either—not when he still had to get to the hotel for the night. But that wasn’t yet, and for now he could continue to enjoy every moment of their evening.
A sense of well-being settled over him. Deliberately, he kept the conversation between them light, doing most of the talking himself, but drawing her out as well, intent on making her feel relaxed and comfortable.
‘If you do ever manage to get to Greece for a holiday, what kind of thing would you most like doing? Are you a beach bunny or do you like sightseeing? There’s plenty of both across the mainland and the islands. And if you like ancient history there’s no better place in the world than Greece, to my mind!’ he said lightly.
‘I don’t really know anything about ancient history,’ she answered, colouring slightly.
She felt uncomfortable, being reminded of her lack of education. Such realities got in the way of this wonderful, blissful daydream she was having. This real-life fairytale.
‘You’ve heard of the Parthenon?’ Anatole prompted.
A look of confusion passed over Tia’s face. ‘Um...is it a temple?’
‘Yes, the most famous in the world—on the Acropolis in Athens. A lot of tall stone pillars around a rectangular ruin.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve seen pictures!’ she acknowledged, relieved that she’d been right.
‘Well, there you are, then.’ He smiled, and went on to tell her the kind of information most tourists gathered from a visit to the site, then moved on to the other attractions that his homeland offered.
Whether or not she took it all in, he didn’t know. Mostly she just gazed at him, her beautiful blue eyes wide—something he found himself enjoying. Especially when he held her gaze and saw the flush of colour mount in her cheeks, her hand reaching hurriedly for the glass of iced water beside her champagne flute.
As they moved on to the final course—a light-as-air pavlova—he opened a bottle of sweet dessert wine, calculating that she would find it more palatable than port.
Which, indeed, she did, sipping the honeyed liquid with appreciation.
When all the pavlova was gone, Anatole got to his feet. He’d set coffee to brew when he’d fetched the dessert wine, and now he collected it, setting it down on the coffee table by the sofa.
He held his hand out to Tia. ‘Come and sit down,’ he invited.
She got up from the table, suddenly aware that her head was feeling as if there was a very slight swirl inside it. Just how much of that gorgeous champagne had she drunk? she wondered. It seemed to be fizzing in her veins, making her feel breathless, weightless. As if she were floating in a blissful haze. But she didn’t care. How could she? An evening like this—something out of fairyland—would never come again!
With a little contented sigh she sank down on the sofa, the dessert wine glass in her hand, her light cotton skirt billowing around her.
Anatole came and sat down beside her. ‘Time to relax,’ he said genially, flicking on the TV with a remote.
He hefted his feet up onto the coffee table, disposing of his tie over the back of the sofa. He wanted to be totally comfortable. The mix of champagne and sweet wine was creaming pleasantly in his veins. He hoped it was doing so in Tia, as well, allowing her to enjoy the rest of the evening with him before he took himself off to his hotel.
Idly, he wondered whether he should phone and tell them to expect him, but then he decided not to bother. Instead he amused himself by channel-surfing until he chanced upon a channel that made his unexpected guest exclaim, ‘Oh, I love this movie!’
It was a rom-com, perfectly watchable, and he was happy to do so. Happy to see Tia curl her bare feet under her skirt on the sofa and lean back into the cushions, her eyes on the screen.
At what point, Anatole wondered as he topped up her glass again, had he moved closer to her? At what point, as he’d stretched and flexed his legs, had he also stretched and
