at any time via the link in any email we send you.
To Laura Melania Kacsinta Bernal. Thanks for being such a lovely fan. This one is for you! Xx
Contents
ALLEGRA KALLAS WASN’T expecting a fatted calf or a rolled-out red carpet and a brass band. She was used to coming home to Santorini with little or no fanfare. What she expected was her father’s usual indifference. His polite but feigned interest in her work in London as a family lawyer and his pained expression when she informed him that, yes, currently she was still single. A situation for a Greek father of a daughter aged thirty-one that was akin to having a noxious disease for which there was no known cure.
Which made her wonder why there was a bottle of champagne waiting on a bed of ice in an ice-bucket with the Kallas coat of arms engraved on it and a silver tray with three crystal glasses standing nearby, and why he was gushing about how wonderful it was to have her home.
Wonderful?
Nothing about Allegra was wonderful to her father. Nothing. What was wonderful to him now was his young wife Elena—only two years older than Allegra—and their new baby Nico, who apparently weren’t expected back from Athens until later that evening as Elena was visiting her parents. And since little Nico’s christening wasn’t until tomorrow...
Who was the third glass for?
Allegra slipped her tote bag off her shoulder and let it drop to the leather sofa next to her, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing up. ‘What’s going on?’
Her father smiled. Admittedly it didn’t go all the way to his eyes, but then the smiles he turned her way rarely did. He had a habit of grimacing instead of smiling at her. As though he was suffering some sort of gastric upset. ‘Can’t a father be pleased to see his own flesh and blood?’
When had he ever been pleased to see her? And when had she ever felt like a valued member of the family? But she didn’t want to stir up old hurts. Not this weekend. She was home for the christening and then she would fly back to her life in London first thing Monday morning. A weekend was all she was staying. She found it too suffocating, staying any longer than that, and even that was a stretch. She glanced at the champagne flutes on the tray. ‘So who’s the third glass for? Is someone joining us?’
Her father’s expression never faltered but Allegra couldn’t help feeling he was uneasy about something. His manner was odd. It wasn’t just his overly effusive greeting but the way he kept checking his watch and fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, as if it was too tight against his wrist. ‘As a matter of fact, yes. He’ll be here any moment.’
Something inside Allegra’s heart kicked against her chest wall like a small cloven hoof. ‘He?’
Her father’s mouth lost its smile and a frown brought his heavy salt-and-pepper eyebrows into an intimidating bridge. ‘I hope you’re not going to be difficult. Draco Papandreou is—’
‘Draco is coming here?’ Allegra’s heart kicked again but this time the hoof was wearing steel caps. ‘But why?’
‘Elena and I have asked him to be Nico’s godfather.’
Allegra double blinked. She had thought it a huge compliment when her father and his wife had asked her to be their little son’s godmother. She’d assumed it was Elena’s idea, not her father’s. But she hadn’t realised Draco was to be Nico’s godfather. She’d thought one of her father’s older friends would have been granted the honour. She hadn’t realised he considered Draco a close friend these days, only a business associate—or rival, which seemed more appropriate. The Papandreou and Kallas names represented two powerful corporations that had once been close associates, but over the years the increasingly competitive market had caused some fault lines in the relationship.
But Allegra had her own issues with Draco. Issues that meant any meeting with him would be fraught with amusement on his part and mortification on hers. Every time she saw him she was reminded of her clumsy attempt as a gauche teenager to attract his attention by flirting with and simpering over him and, even more embarrassingly, the humiliating way in which he had put a stop to it. ‘Why on earth did you ask him?’
Her father released a rough-sounding sigh and reached for the shot of ouzo he’d poured earlier. He tipped his head back, swallowed the drink and then placed the glass down with an ominous thud. ‘The business is in a bad way. The economic crisis in Greece has hit me hard. Harder than I expected—much harder. I stand to lose everything if I don’t
