Demetria aside tomorrow and talk to her,” Mikhael said. “It would go a long way in allaying her fears.”
Kristo stared into his glass, his smile slow to come. “Yes, you’re right.”
He’d talk to her, all right. He’d let her know that he’d not tolerate her flirtations. That he’d have her watched carefully since he knew she was not to be trusted.
But the following day at the accession ceremony Demetria was embarrassingly absent.
“Please forgive her, Your Majesty,” Sandros Andreou implored as he bent in as deep a bow as a man with such a considerable girth could manage. “Demetria went on a shopping jaunt for her wedding trousseau hours before Crown Prince Gregor abdicated. I haven’t been able to reach her on her mobile phone to tell her of the news.”
“She is alone?”
The old Greek shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Don’t you know where she went?” Kristo asked, furious that the man hadn’t kept a closer eye on his daughter. “Couldn’t you send a messenger to find her?”
Sandros Andreou’s face turned an ugly purple. “I wasn’t sure where to send him, Your Majesty. Her sister thought she went to Istanbul, but the maid thought she went to Italy.”
“This is intolerable,” Kristo growled. She could be anywhere, with anyone. She could even be entertaining some man!
“Rest assured that when she returns I will have her contact—”
Kristo silenced the man with one wave of his hand that looked surprisingly like the dismissing gesture his father had employed. The wave he’d hated.
“I will see to it myself. Considering the turn of events, it would be wise if your daughter stayed here at the palace until the wedding.”
“For twelve days?” Then, as if remembering who he was addressing, Sandros quickly demurred. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“You and your family are welcome to avail yourselves of the guesthouse the day before the wedding.”
“The day before?” Andreou repeated.
“Yes. That is all.”
The old Greek attempted another bow before taking his leave.
Kristo pushed from his chair and stalked to the window, more restless than he recalled being in years. His gaze fixed on the ridge of mountains in the distance.
Graceful cypresses and thickets of olives blanketed the rugged terrain and helped to conceal Angyra’s most treasured commodity. Rhoda gold—a pure metal kissed with a rosy blush and prized all over the world.
The ore taken from the Chrysos Mine had made the Stanrakis family rich beyond measure. It had turned this island kingdom into a mecca that now brought tourists here in droves to buy a trinket made of Rhoda gold.
But an equally rare treasure was the sea turtles. Protecting their nesting ground was his personal challenge, and that had evolved into his secretly backing similar programs worldwide. But who would pick up that challenge now?
“What are you going to do?” Mikhael asked.
The answer was simple. At least to him. “Find Demetria and bring her here.”
“But the wedding is less than two weeks away. Women have much to do before such an event.”
“She can attend to anything that needs be done here.” And he could keep a close watch on her that way.
She would not take a stroll along the beach and entertain a stranger the day before their wedding!
“What if the lady refuses?”
He cut his brother a knowing look. “I am not giving her a choice.”
Mikhael’s eyes went wide. “You can’t mean to kidnap her?”
“I most certainly do.”
In a small shop in Istanbul, Demetria Andreou unwrapped a yard of Egyptian cotton from the bolt, blissfully unaware of the drama taking place on Angyra. She tested the way the soft fabric shot with silver, copper and gold flowed over her arm like a molten waterfall. Her heart raced with excitement, for when cloth seemed this much alive she knew a garment made of it would positively explode with motion.
“How many bolts of this do you have?” she asked.
“Just this one,” the Turkish supplier said. “You like?”
She loved the fabric. It fell naturally into folds when bunched, and it felt gloriously sensuous gliding against bare skin.
It was a wonderful find. To know he only had one bolt almost ensured that no other designer would come out with a garment using the exact same cloth.
Originality was further aided by the fact that she preferred buying fabric from lesser-known markets. Fabric defined style. The best designer in the world was nothing without the appropriate cloth. A design didn’t pop until the right fabric was paired with the right fashion.
That was when magic happened. That was when she knew she had created something that could eventually compete side by side with the top fashion houses.
“This is perfect,” she told the draper, and earned a smile as she handed him the bolt. “I’ll take this one.”
He laid it atop the others she’d chosen, and scampered off to select another of his high-end specialty fabrics. She ran a finger over the rich fabric, elated with her finds and yet feeling bittersweet that she wouldn’t be able to oversee the making of her designs.
How quickly life had changed for her since the King’s death.
In two weeks she’d marry Gregor and become Queen. She’d never get the opportunity to stand in the wings while willowy models sashayed down the catwalks in one of her designs.
But she could still select the fabric for her designs. The fashion show in Athens was two weeks away, and her partner would have precious little time to prepare for what was to be their debut into the fashion world.
While Yannis was living their dream in the design world, she’d be marrying King Gregor Stanrakis.
Chills danced over her skin at the thought, and with it came the flood of shame that she’d have to face Kristo again. How could she possibly marry his brother when it was Kristo she lusted for? How could she sit across a table from her husband’s brother and not be tormented by memories of him kissing and fondling her on that beach?
The answers continued to elude her as the draper bustled from the back room, bearing more bolts of fabric. She pushed her worries to the back of her mind and focused on the selections before her.
The first two bolts were easy choices, as they were exactly what she’d envisioned for several of the garments she and Yannis intended to make for their debut line. But her heart raced with delight as light played over the cloth on the last bolt. Was it blue? Green? A combination of both, plus it was shot with magenta.
A
