Page 17 of Slightly Married (Irresistible #2)

I sat on the back veranda of Konstantin’s Corfu estate, admiring the birds as they flitted daringly close to nibble at the many bird feeders scattered around the garden.

Konstantin had disappeared into his small home office after we got up a second time that morning, so I took the opportunity to call Simone.

“Girl, you will not believe what happened,” I said the moment she answered, sinking deeper into the cushioned chair.

“Spill it immediately,” Simone demanded.

I wasn’t sure where to begin. After everything that happened between Konstantin and me, there was almost too much to share.

“He literally threw me over his shoulder and carried me out of the estate,” I said, lowering my voice despite Konstantin being well out of earshot. “In front of his family. Then flew me to Corfu.”

“Hold up. He did WHAT?” Simone’s voice rose to a near-screech. “Are you okay?”

“I’m surviving,” I replied, running my fingers along the ornate wrought-iron table. “Though I’m down one designer dress that didn’t survive the... aftermath.”

“Oh my God,” Simone gasped, connecting the dots. “You slept with him!”

“There wasn’t much sleeping involved,” I admitted, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

“I bet.”

“It was... I can’t even describe it. Multiple times. The car, the plane, against the wall when we arrived, the bed and balcony...”

“Damn, girl! So much for your ‘keep my distance’ plan. What about his fiancée?”

“What about her?” I shot back, twisting a braid around my finger. “He’s my husband, and before I suggested IUI, she’d assumed we’d sleep together to create this baby, anyway.”

It’s what I’d been telling myself since waking up that morning in his arms to justify my actions and silence my guilt.

“I get it. The chemistry is there, but what happens after you become pregnant?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” I sighed, watching a bluebird hover near one of the feeders. “Right now, I’m just trying not to overthink what feels... surprisingly right. Which is completely backwards, I know.”

“Just be careful, sis. Your heart’s already been broken once by a man who made false promises. I don’t want to see you curl up in a ball on the couch again.”

“Trust me, I know the risks,” I said, twisting my wedding ring. “But this feels different from Josh somehow. There’s something authentic underneath all the complications. I just need to figure out what it is before I get in too deep.”

“You’re already halfway there. Just keep your parachute handy, okay? And remember, you can always come home if things get messy. The jet is fueled and ready, just say the word.”

“I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow with updates. Love you—”

“Are you talking to him?” Konstantin appeared in the doorway, his expression hardening as his eyes fixed on my phone.

I ended the call with a quick tap, setting my phone face-down on the table. “Am I not allowed to make phone calls now? Should I submit a list of approved contacts for your approval? Maybe wear an ankle monitor?” I arched an eyebrow, challenging him.

“I like the idea.” His expression remained stern as he stepped onto the veranda.

“Of course you do,” I replied with an exaggerated eye roll. Rather than drag out this testosterone-fueled confrontation, I addressed the question nagging me for weeks. “What’s your issue with Yiorgos? And don’t brush me off with some vague non-answer.”

“So you were on the phone with him.”

“K, please,” I said, softening my tone. “I was talking to Simone, if you must know. And yes, I’m working as Yiorgos’ stylist, but there’s nothing romantic between us. Zero. Zilch. Nada.”

“I heard you two have been spending a lot of time together,” he stated, moving closer. “Going out to events, sharing meals. You visit his home.”

“Because I’m redoing his closet!” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “He’s a recent widower whose wife had horrible taste, and he wanted a change. As for my accompanying him to events, it’s curtailing the single women. Apparently, wealthy widowers are prime targets. Who knew?”

“Are you sure that’s all?” His eyes remained narrowed.

“Not every man wants me, K,” I said, unable to resist adding, “And even if they did, I don’t want them.” I held his gaze meaningfully, letting him draw his own conclusions.

“You underestimate your desirability,” he said, closing the distance between us.

“I’m still waiting to hear why you and Yiorgos are no longer friends,” I pressed, refusing to be distracted by his proximity. “I asked him, but he wouldn’t tell me. And after your behavior yesterday, I think I deserve to know.”

He stood silent for a long moment. The muscles in his jaw worked as he seemed to debate with himself.

“There were four of us growing up,” he finally said. “Myself, Theo, Yiorgos, and Elana. We were inseparable from childhood through university.”

He moved to sit across from me, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the garden.

“Elana and I began dating in our final year of high school. We were together for nearly three years.” His voice carried no emotion. “I thought we were building a future together.”

I remained quiet, sensing that any interruption might cause him to stop.

“I planned a proposal,” he continued after a brief pause. “Arranged an elaborate dinner, bought the ring Yiorgos helped me choose. I had our entire future mapped out.”

His fingers drummed once on the table. “What I didn’t know was she had planned to end our relationship that same evening. She had been in love with Yiorgos for years, apparently. My closest friend.” The corner of his mouth tightened. “When I presented her with the ring, she confessed everything.”

He finally met my eyes, his expression carefully neutral despite the weight of the memory.

“They married three months later. I severed ties with both of them. Only Theo remained loyal.”

“That’s...” I searched for the right word, “incredibly shitty of both of them. I mean, feelings happen. You can’t control who you’re attracted to.

But you can control your actions. She could have broken up with you before starting something with him.

And he—” I shook my head in disbelief. “A real friend would have respected your relationship, or at least been honest.”

“You’re very certain about this,” he observed.

“Because I’ve been on the receiving end of betrayal,” I replied.

“Different circumstances, but the same sick feeling when you realize people you trusted have been lying to your face.” I thought about Josh, about the signs I’d missed or ignored.

“It makes you doubt your own judgment, doesn’t it?

Makes you wonder what was real and what wasn’t. ”

He studied me with newfound interest. “Yes,” he said simply. “It does.”

I rose slowly, moved to his side, and took his hand in mine. “That explains a lot,” I said. “I’m sorry they hurt you.” I squeezed his fingers. “But I promise you, there’s nothing between Yiorgos and me. Just a platonic work friendship. Nothing more.” I met his eyes. “I’m not Elana.”

“No, you’re not.” His eyes held mine.

“For what it’s worth,” I added, “I think they did you a favor in the long run. Anyone capable of that kind of deception isn’t someone you want to build a life with. Though I’m sure that wasn’t much consolation at the time.”

“It wasn’t,” he agreed, with a hint of amusement in his eyes. “But you’re right.” He straightened. “I still don’t want you working with him.”

“What’s for lunch?” I asked abruptly, changing the subject as my stomach growled audibly. “I can’t possibly have this conversation without food. My brain needs fuel before we debate your hypocrisy.”

“It’s the cook’s day off,” he replied, ignoring my jab.

I groaned dramatically, pressing a hand to my empty stomach. “I’m absolutely starving!”

“So am I,” he admitted.

“Is this how Greek husbands treat their wives? Whisk them away to islands and then let them waste away?”

“Can you cook something?”

I gave him the most withering side-eye I could muster. “Excuse me? Why don’t you cook something, Mr. CFO?”

“Me?” He actually looked offended. “I can’t cook.”

“Then what makes you think I can?” I challenged, crossing my arms. “Contrary to your apparent assumptions, I didn’t come with a built-in culinary feature just because I’m a woman.”

We stared at each other in a standoff before both of us burst out laughing at the absurdity of our situation.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Two fully grown adults who’d literally starve if someone else doesn’t make us food.”

Konstantin must have taken that as a challenge, because he leaped to his feet and dragged me to mine. “Not while there’s internet,” he declared with confidence. “Let’s find a simple recipe and figure out this lunch thing. Together.”

The determination on his face was endearing. I couldn’t help but smile. “Fine. But if we burn down your kitchen, I’m blaming you entirely.”

We settled on a recipe for strapatsada, an egg, and tomato dish that Konstantin said reminded him of his late grandmother. After watching the instructional video twice (and my insisting we watch it a third time), we set out the ingredients and began our culinary adventure.

An hour later, as we surveyed the absolute chaos we’d created in the kitchen, I placed my hand on my hip and gave Konstantin an appraising look.

“How’s business at Olympus? Are those cars of yours selling? Profit margins are increasing?” I wiped a smear of sticky egg white from my forearm.

He looked at me as if I’d suddenly started speaking in tongues. “Yes, why?”

“Because you should definitely stick to that,” I deadpanned. “You sure as hell aren’t going to make a living as a chef.”

His responding laughter was a rich, unreserved sound I hadn’t heard from him before. I felt a pang of longing for what we couldn’t have.

This playful domesticity felt like we were a normal couple enjoying a vacation together. But we weren’t. Our relationship had an expiration date built into the foundation.