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WAKING UP NEWLYWED

Dani Collins

CHAPTER ONE

The music was back. Or was it the gentle trickle of a brook?

The sound was lyrical and pretty and set his world right, relaxing him the way sunshine and ouzo might, if he happened to sit outside a kafeneon after a long day in the shipyard.

He would look at the weathered faces of the men around him and wonder how they were so content in their lives—not because they worked hard labor and had limited means. That didn’t seem to bother them. No, it was the way they took for granted that they had everything they would ever need when all they had was a modest home, a wife, a few children.

He couldn’t understand it. How had they known it was enough?

Then his brother would turn up, coming from school, anxious about having to go home.

“Stay with me again,” he would say, but it was a temporary solution. Whatever he did, it was never enough to set things right.

At least Khristos was married now and he didn’t have to worry about him so much. What was his husband’s name? Julian?

Gamóto. What the hell is my name?

Panic spiked a headache into his skull, throwing white light behind his eyelids, but “Spiro” arrived.

Yes. I am Spiro. Relief washed over him and his heart settled again.

He was Spiro Mylonas, born in Elefsina. He had learned the art and business of shipbuilding from their father. Old grief slashed into his chest as he remembered that Nemo was dead.

Spiro had had to fight for control of Mylonas Shipyards and Port Management, but he’d won. MSPM was a world leader now with two dozen shipyards globally, each specializing in the design, building and repair of large vessels like tankers, bulk carriers and cruise ships. A secondary branch built and managed ports. Another transported goods around the world.

There was so much to do. Where was he at with it all? The last thing he remembered was heading to the shipyard in Piraeus—

“Agapi mou?” It was the melodic sound again. A woman’s voice, he realized, one that he knew in his bones, but couldn’t place. What was her name?

“What happened? Is he waking up?” That devious, masculine voice made Spiro’s muscles bunch reflexively. His blood pressure pushed the headache deeper into his skull. His entire body ached, luring him to sink back into the emptiness where he felt no pain, but instead of succumbing to it, he fought it.

“He’s squeezing my hand.” Hope laced her voice. “Agapi mou, are you coming back to me?”

Spiro had thought he was holding a bouquet of wildflowers. Why he would do such a thing, he had no idea, but he eased his grip, fearful of bruising soft stems. A leaf grazed his cheek. Cool petals touched his brow. The fragrance of orange groves and sea air wafted into his nostrils, deeply familiar yet tantalizingly mysterious.

Who is she?

“Now we will see about this marriage, won’t we?” the bullish voice said, sounding so antagonistic it raised Spiro’s protective hackles.

That bastard would trample the flowers and turn off the music and block out the warmth of the sun, purely to prove he could.

Spiro’s jumbled thoughts made no sense, but his outrage was potent enough to push him toward wakefulness. He would not tolerate another loss to that man. He would fight to the death to keep what was his.

It was an illogical imperative. He knew it even as he crawled out of his stupor, through an aura of excruciating pain, so he could engage in mortal combat.

His eyelids were weighted by sandbags, his vision blurred.

Dark hair framed the face above him. She had worry-bent eyebrows in an oval face. Her complexion was a light shade of olive. Her dark brown gaze was shadowed with anxiety. Her bottom lip swept in a wide arc while the top one held a pronounced dip in the middle that was fascinating. Erotic. He wanted to trace it with his tongue. He wanted to taste her. Drink deeply.

Theé mou, he was thirsty. His mouth was dry as a desert.

But now was not the time for slaking any desire. Her expression held such fretfulness, he was compelled to reassure her. It’s all right. I won’t let him hurt you.

There was something in his nose and throat, though. He wanted to brush it away, but couldn’t seem to lift his hand. All of him was heavy. Was he strapped down? Where was he?