Page 25 of Slightly Married

The truth was far simpler and far more cowardly. I couldn’t bear the thought of touching her intimately. My marriage to Kayla had bought me a year’s reprieve from marriage to Stella and her bed.

Stella’s posture was rigid as I opened the passenger door of my car for her. I drove through the evening traffic, grateful for the distraction of navigating Athens’ busy streets while she stared out the window.

After dropping Stella off, I found an email from the fertility clinic with an appointment notification. I felt a flutter of anticipation at the prospect of seeing Kayla again.

9

Yiorgos’s villa perched on the Athenian hillside, all gleaming glass and modern angles. The view of the city below was breathtaking, but I barely had time to appreciate it before being whisked inside to his massive walk-in closet.

Two weeks had passed since our chance meeting at the boutique, and after several phone conversations, I’d accepted his job offer.

If I were to spend the next year of my life in Greece, I might as well make myself useful by doing something I enjoyed. Fashion had always been my playground, where colors and textures became a language I spoke fluently.

“This is what I’m working with?” I said, surveying the clothing with dismay. Designer labels crowded every rack yet somehow managed to form a united front of poor taste. “You’ve been shopping with your eyes closed.”

Yiorgos laughed.

For the next hour, I threw myself into sorting the closet, grateful for work demanding complete concentration. Anythingto keep my mind off the disappointment in my womb since seeing that single line on the pregnancy test two nights ago.

I created piles for donation and crafted outfit combinations to flatter his athletic build. My fingers worked quickly, my mind cataloging textures and colors.

My phone buzzed with a text from Simone. A photo of a perfectly set table for two, captioned ‘Still our secret, but I’m happy.’

I smiled, typing back a quick response before returning to the row of silk ties. “Half of these need to be burned immediately. The rest we can organize by season and occasion.”

He held up a paisley shirt I’d condemned. “Elana bought me this.”

“Your wife had questionable tastes in men’s fashion,” I said, then caught myself. “I’m sorry, that was—”

“Honest,” he finished, smiling and leaning against the doorframe. “And accurate. You’re good at this. Kostas always had an eye for quality women.”

I paused. “You know my husband?”

“Knew,” he corrected. “We were childhood friends. Kostas, Theo, my wife Elana, and I were inseparable until...” His voice trailed off.

“Until?” I prompted.

He shook his head. “Ancient history.” The abrupt shift in his demeanor only heightened my curiosity. “I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I have a few events to attend, and I need a buffer.”

“A buffer?”

“I need protection from the vultures circling since Elana died.” He gestured dramatically. “They see a poor widower and suddenly I’m drowning in invitations and low-cut dresses.”

“You’re about as poor as Midas.” I smirked, holding up a shirt against him. “This blue works with your complexion. And no, I’m not dating my boss.”

“Not dating, accompanying.” He clasped his hands in mock prayer. “Please. You’d be saving me from well-intentioned but exhausting setups. I’m not ready.”

“I’m married,” I reminded him, holding up my ring finger.

“No one knows about it yet,” he countered. “Please?”

“Fine,” I relented, already mentally assembling my outfit. “I’ll be your beard. But you’re paying for my dresses.”

“Deal.” His smile returned full force.