want to talk about.
To anyone.
Ever.
But her inexplicable infatuation for Oliver couldn’t possibly last. When she recovered from it, like someone healing from a bad cold, she’d realize she’d dodged a bullet.
As for Stavros’s secret, people would figure it out for themselves when he dropped dead. Which, according to his doctor’s prognosis, would happen in about six to nine months. He blinked.
All the life he’d left unlived…
Just a few days ago, Stavros had vaguely assumed he’d have another fifty years. Instead, he’d be unlikely to see his thirty-seventh birthday next September.
He would die alone, with no one but his lawyers and stockholders to mourn him. His company would be his only legacy. Estranged from his father, and feeling as he did about Oliver, Stavros would likely leave his shares to charity.
Poor Stavros, his ex-mistresses would say. Then they’d roll over and enjoy their hot new lovers in bed.
Poor Minos, his business associates would say. Then they’d focus on exciting new technology to buy and sell.
And he’d be dirt in the ground. Never once knowing what it felt like to commit to anything but work. Not even leaving a son or daughter to carry on his name.
Looking back, Stavros saw it all with painful clarity, now that his life was coming to an end. And he had only himself to blame. Nicole’s thoughtlessly cruel words floated back to him. Do you really want to die alone?
Christmas lights sparkled on Sixth Avenue, as yellow taxis filled with people on the way to family dinners rushed past in the rapidly falling twilight. The limo turned east, finally pulling into the entrance of the grand hotel overlooking Central Park.
“This isn’t over, Holly,” Oliver said firmly. “I’m going to persuade you.”
“You’ll come with us,” Nicole said, smiling as she smoothed back her veil.
The uniformed driver opened the back door of the limousine. Oliver got out first, then gallantly reached back to assist his glamorous bride. Nicole’s white tulle skirts swirled in a train with her fluttery white veil, her diamond tiara sparkling. Tourists gaped at them on the sidewalk. A few lifted their phones for pictures, clearly believing they were seeing royalty. The new Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Minos waved at them regally as they swept into the grand hotel to take photos before the guests arrived for a ballroom reception.
Silence fell in the back of the limo. For a moment, Holly didn’t move. Stavros looked at her.
“Don’t give in to them, Holly,” he urged in a low voice. It was the first time he’d used her first name. “Stick up for yourself. You’re worth so much more than they are.”
Her green eyes widened, then suddenly glistened with tears. She whispered, “How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true,” he said harshly. He got out of the limo and held out his hand for her.
Blinking fast, she slowly placed her hand in his.
And it happened.
Stavros had slept with many women, beautiful and famous and powerful, models and starlets and even a Nobel laureate.
But when he touched Holly’s hand to help her from the limo, he felt something he’d never experienced before. An electric shock sizzled him to his core.
He looked down at her as he pulled her to the sidewalk, his heart pounding strangely as he helped her to her feet. Snowflakes suddenly began falling as she looked up, lingering in his arms.
Then Holly’s gaze fell on the lacy white snowflakes. With a joyous laugh, she dropped his hand, looking up with wonder at the gray lowering sky.
Without her warmth, Stavros again felt the winter chill beneath his tuxedo jacket. The world became a darker place, freezing him, reminding him he’d soon feel nothing at all. He stood very still, watching her. Then he lifted his face to the sky, wondering if this would be the last time he’d feel snowflakes on his skin.
If only he could have at least left a child behind. He suddenly wanted that so badly it hurt. If only he could have left some memory of his existence on earth.
But the women he knew were as ambitious and heartless as he was. He couldn’t leave an innocent child in their care. Children needed someone willing to put their needs above her own. He knew no woman like that. None at all.
Then he heard a laugh of pure delight, and Stavros looked down at Holly Marlowe’s beautiful, shining, tenderhearted eyes.
“Can you believe it?” Stretching her arms wide, laughing like a child, she whirled in a circle, holding out her tongue to taste the snowflakes. She looked like an angel. Her eyes danced as she cried, “It’s snowing at my sister’s wedding! On Christmas Eve!”
And all of the busy avenue, the tourists, the horse-drawn carriages, the taxis blaring Christmas music, faded into the background. Stavros saw only her.
THE GRAND TWO-STORY hotel ballroom was a winter wonderland, filled with white-and-silver Christmas trees twinkling like stars. Each of the twenty big round tables had centerpieces of red roses, deep scarlet against the white. It was even more beautiful than Holly had dreamed. A lump rose in her throat as she slowly looked around her.
She’d imagined a wedding reception like this long ago, as a lonely nineteen-year-old, cutting out photographs from magazines and putting them in an idea book each night while her little sister slept in the dark apartment. Holly had been alone, her friends all in college or partying in clubs.
Holly didn’t regret her choice to give up her college scholarship and come home. After their parents had died in the car accident on their anniversary, she’d known she couldn’t leave Nicole to foster care. But sometimes, she’d felt so trapped, chained by the responsibilities of love. She’d felt so lonely, without a partner, and with a teenaged sister who’d often shouted at Holly in her own grief and frustrated rage.
So to comfort herself, Holly had created the dream book. It had kept her company, until Nicole had left for college three years ago, and Holly had started working for Oliver.
In her romantic fantasy of long ago, she’d always imagined she’d be the bride in the white princess dress, dancing with an adoring groom. Now, as she watched Nicole and Oliver dance their first dance as husband and wife, surrounded by all their adoring friends, she told herself she’d never been so happy.
“They really do make a perfect couple.” Stavros’s low, husky voice spoke beside her. Somehow, his tone made the words less than complimentary.
“Yes,” Holly said, moving slightly to make sure they didn’t accidentally touch. When he’d helped her from the limo earlier, her whole body had trembled. It was totally ridiculous. She was sure Stavros Minos hadn’t felt anything. Why would he? While Holly, hours later, still felt burning hot, lit up from within, whenever the Greek billionaire
