‘My home,’ Angelos clarified. ‘Did you not read the advertisement I placed, Miss Di Sione?’
‘Spiti,’ Talia said, remembering Sofia’s drawing, and surprise flickered in Angelos’s mahogany eyes.
‘Yes, home.’ He paused, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that made goose bumps rise on Talia’s arms. ‘So you do know a little Greek.’
‘Very little.’ Talia dragged a deep breath into her lungs and tried to force her mind to clear. She felt a hot tide of embarrassment wash over her to think how weak and helpless she must have looked to Angelos Mena, practically collapsing in his office. It was just that she hadn’t eaten anything for hours, and the emotional and physical exhaustion of dealing with so many strange things had finally overwhelmed her. But she was better now. She’d make herself be.
She straightened, putting the glass of juice on the desk with a clink. ‘Mr—Kyrie Mena, I’m afraid this has all got a little out of hand...’ She felt another blush rising as Angelos’s eyebrows snapped together in irritated confusion. If she told him the real reason for her being here now, he’d be utterly furious. She might have only met the man a few minutes ago, but she knew him well enough to understand that Angelos Mena would be enraged to learn she actually had no intention or interest in being his daughter’s nanny.
Except...could she really say that? Talia’s gaze slid to Sofia, who was watching her anxiously, her dark hair swinging in front of her face to hide her scarred cheek. Sofia met her gaze and gave a fragile smile.
‘Parakalo,’ she whispered, which Talia knew meant please. ‘Come,’ she added, her voice tentative, the English word sounding hesitant on her lips.
Talia’s heart twisted hard in sympathy, just as it had when she’d first laid eyes on this girl. Sofia wanted her to come, and it was only for six weeks. And surely in six weeks she’d find an opportunity to ask Angelos about the book, even to get him to give her the book. More importantly, she might be able to help Sofia. At least she could offer her friendship.
Why shouldn’t she accept this job?
Because it was strange and unexpected, and she’d have to deal with all sorts of things she’d avoided for the last seven years. Because she was in no position to help anyone, when she hadn’t been able to help herself. When she was already out of her depth, suffering panic attacks, afraid of the future.
And never mind her own deficiencies, by accepting this job she’d be deceiving this family, even if it was out of good intentions. She was pretty sure Angelos Mena would see her actions as questionable, perhaps even reprehensible. She was no nanny.
‘I...’ she began, helplessly, because she had no idea what to do. Sofia was gazing at her with puppy dog eyes and Angelos Mena was clearly seething with impatience. How could she refuse? How could she not?
‘You did come here to apply for the position, didn’t you, Miss Di Sione?’ Angelos demanded. ‘I am now offering you the position. Are you prepared to take it or not?’
Still Talia hesitated, caught by Sofia’s silently imploring look. She turned back to Angelos, whose gaze was narrowed, everything about his powerful form exuding impatience and irritation. ‘Yes,’ she said, the word catching in her throat. She cleared her throat, and then lifted her chin. ‘I am.’
The words seemed to set everything in motion, and the next hour was a blur as Angelos barked out orders to his assistant and Talia was shunted back to the reception area with Sofia. She got out her pad and pencils while people bustled around them, and she and Sofia took turns drawing funny pictures, laughing softly together, until Angelos stood before them, hands on trim hips, his dark and commanding gaze fastened on Talia in a way that made every thought evaporate from her brain.
‘Where are your things, Miss Di Sione?’
‘Um, back at the hotel where I checked in.’
‘And that is?’
‘Near the Acropolis...’
Angelos let out a sigh, no more than a hiss of breath. ‘The name of the hotel, please?’
‘The Adriana,’ Talia recalled, wishing she could act a bit more with it in front of Angelos Mena. She’d dealt with plenty of rich and powerful people through her work as a portrait artist, but no one had reduced her to insensible babbling the way Angelos Mena did with his narrowed gaze and overwhelming presence, not to mention his obvious annoyance. He clearly did not suffer fools gladly, and from the moment she’d entered his impressive office she’d felt like a fool.
‘I’ll arrange for someone to collect your bags,’ Angelos said. ‘In the meantime you can wait here with Sofia.’ He strode away without waiting for her reply, and Talia watched him leave. He had not even looked at his daughter, much less spared her a kind word or a smile.
She glanced at Sofia, wondering how they were going to overcome the language barrier for the next six weeks. ‘Perhaps you should teach me some Greek,’ she suggested, and Sofia’s forehead furrowed. ‘Elinika,’ she tried, fishing for the few phrases of Greek she’d learned on the plane trip over here. She touched her mouth to indicate speaking, and Sofia brightened.
‘Ne, ne.’ She pointed to her chest. ‘Speak Anglika.’
Talia nodded, smiling in understanding. ‘We can teach each other.’
They spent the next hour teaching each other words and phrases in both English and Greek, amidst much laughter when one of them, usually Talia, got it wrong.
‘Gi-neck-a,’ Talia repeated after Sofia. ‘Now what is that?’ Laughing, Sofia pointed to her. ‘Nanny?’ Talia guessed. ‘American? Foreigner?’
‘Woman,’ Angelos said quietly, and everything in Talia jolted as she turned to look at him. He was standing in front of them, gazing at her with an inscrutable expression, which was better than his usual scowl, although it still made Talia feel uncertain. ‘Gyneka,’ he added, making Talia realise she’d butchered the pronunciation once again. ‘Woman.’ For a second, no more, his gaze remained on Talia; she felt as if he’d pinned her there, so she was unable to look away, or even to breathe.
Then he flicked his gaze away, towards his daughter. Talia couldn’t understand the Greek but the quick jerk of his head towards the elevator conveyed his meaning well enough. It was time to go.
She slipped the pad and pencils back into her bag and stood with Sofia. Angelos turned back to her.
‘The helicopter is ready, and your things have been fetched from the hotel.’
‘Helicopter...’ She stared at him in alarm. ‘You didn’t say anything about a helicopter.’
Angelos frowned. ‘How else would we get to Kallos?’
‘By car?’ she guessed hopefully, and Angelos’s nostrils flared.
‘Kallos is an island, Miss Di Sione. We will travel there by helicopter. It should only take an hour.’
An island. She thought of Sofia’s drawing, the blue water, the beach. Of course it was an island.
She realised she must have been gaping at him because Angelos’s lips compressed as he looked at her. ‘Is that
