and she narrowed her gaze at the other woman, as if she could discern at a glance whether she was worthy of a man like PJ. Would she love him?
Would he love her?
The question made Ally stumble as she was being led up the steps to the house by a couple of PJ’s aunts.
“Are you all right, dear?” one asked her, catching her by the elbow to make sure she didn’t fall.
“F-fine,” Ally stammered. But she wasn’t all right. The truth was that while she might be able to cope with the idea that PJ didn’t really love her, she didn’t want him falling in love with anyone else, either.
Mortifying, but true.
“Come and meet Yiayia.” The aunts drew her into the house.
The house PJ had grown up in was as lovely and warm within as it was without. There was a lot of dark wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookcases and a massive fieldstone fireplace, which could have been oppressive but was softened by overstuffed sofas and chairs and balanced and lightened by high ceilings and French doors. These faced south and opened onto a deck that led to a lawn, then down a flight of wooden steps to the sand—and the ocean and horizon beyond.
Ally, seeing that, felt a moment’s peace. She would have preferred to stop there, admire and take a breath, try to regain her equilibrium.
But the aunts were towing her on through the dining room and into the kitchen where a small still-dark-haired elderly lady was in the middle of a rather elaborate baking project. Her hands were stuck in something that looked like honey and ground nuts. A very sticky business.
Ally wondered how they would handle the requisite hug.
But though the older woman looked up when they came in, her eyes, bright and curious as they lit on Ally, she made no move to take her hands out of the bowl. She simply looked Ally over.
It was clear she needed no introduction to the new arrival. She was already assessing her carefully. She did not smile.
And Ally, who was still feeling overwhelmed, was almost grateful. And her gratitude had nothing to do with avoiding the sticky stuff.
“This is Yiayia,” one of the aunts said. “Grandma,” she translated in case Ally couldn’t.
Ally could. PJ hadn’t said much about his grandmother. He’d indicated that she would be there, but nothing more.
She smiled at the old woman who didn’t smile back. She was still studying Ally closely and in complete silence. Ally wondered suddenly if PJ’s grandmother spoke English.
Well, if she didn’t, they’d certainly figure out another way to communicate. The family seemed big on kisses and hugs. At least, all of them but Grandma.
“Hello,” she said at last, when it was clear that PJ’s grandmother wasn’t going to take the conversational lead. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’m Alice. Or Ally if you prefer. Or Al if you’re PJ,” she added with a small conspiratorial grin, inviting PJ’s grandmother to share a grin with her.
She was surprised to discover how very much she wanted the old lady to smile.
“Alice,” PJ’s grandmother said quietly at last, her gaze still fastened on Ally’s face. But even then her expression didn’t change. She turned and looked up at the aunts. “Alice will help me. Go now.”
They looked at her, then at Ally, then at each other and, with only that much hesitation, they nodded and left.
Outside Ally could hear a multitude of voices, laughter, scuffling. But no one came into the kitchen. In the kitchen it was just she and PJ’s grandmother. It felt like having an audience with the pope.
Like going to see her own father who was distant and formal and also rarely ever smiled. Ally almost breathed a little easier. This was more what she expected.
And then suddenly the door opened and PJ strode into the room. At the sight his grandmother burst into an absolutely radiant smile. And when he crossed the room in three long strides to pick her up bodily, sticky hands and all, and kiss her soundly, she crowed with laughter, then put her honey-coated hands on each of his cheeks and kissed him right back.
Ally felt her mouth drop open.
Both PJ and his grandmother turned toward her. “So, what do you think of my wife, Yiayia?” he said. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“A beauty,” his grandmother agreed. She was still smiling, still patting his cheek with her sticky hand but her eyes were shrewd when they met Ally’s. “So, this is Alice.” It sounded like a pronouncement.
PJ nodded. He was still smiling, but there was a seriousness in his expression that told Ally something else was underneath the smile.
“You went to get her?”
“She came to me.”
“Ah.” His grandmother’s brows lifted. Her gaze softened a bit, a hint of a smile touched her face. “Ne. This is better.”
Better? Than what? Ally could tell there was a subtext to the conversation, but neither PJ nor his grandmother enlightened her. And all the vibes she was getting said it wasn’t better at all. She was very much afraid that PJ’s grandmother, like his sister Cristina, was misunderstanding the situation.
“So, you have come,” the old lady said, approvingly. “At last.”
“Don’t give her a hard time, Yiayia. She’s had things to do.”
“More important than her husband?”
“Important for her,” PJ said firmly. “Like when I went to Hawaii for school. That was important for me. You understand?”
The old lady eyed him narrowly for a long moment, then slanted a gaze of silent judgment at Ally, who stood motionless and didn’t say a word.
“Ne. I understand, yes,” she said. She sighed. “You are happy now?”
PJ grinned. “Of course I’m happy now.” He took her fingers and nibbled the honey off each one, making her laugh again. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve got two of my favorite women right here in the room with me. You’re making baklava.” He nodded at the project underway on the counter. Then he sniffed the air. “Mom’s made roast for dinner. And there’s no way Dad can foist any more women off on me.”
His grandmother laughed, reassured. “Wash your face and go help your brother with his twins. Tallie must put her feet up and rest. She’s going to be a mother again.”
“Really?” PJ was clearly delighted. “When?”
“In the spring. Go now. Leave your wife,” she said after he’d washed his hands and face and had turned toward Ally. “Alice and I will talk.”
“But—”
“Go,” his grandmother ordered. “Trust me. I will not eat her.”
Still he hesitated for a moment. “She’s worse than Cristina,”
