Her sex pulsed as she turned onto Bollinger Ave, her palm tree-lined street in Brentwood, and her mind wandered back to the morning after Dimitris’ party, when Raph had invited her to have lunch with him and his grandfather at the Giannopoulos estate.
She’d been so apprehensive about meeting Raph’s family when she hardly knew him, but Andris Giannopoulos’ sweet nature and welcoming smile had immediately put her at ease.
“My wife, Kerena, was from Athens, too,” he’d told her over dolmades and tzatziki. “She would have liked you very much,” he’d added, as he’d given Raph an approving nod.
When Andris had asked about her father, Helena had told him the truth: she’d never known him, never even met him. The old man had reached across the table to pat her hand, his voice soft with compassion. “His loss for not knowing you, Helena.”
Her mother used to say the same thing each time she told Helena the story of Leif, the twenty-year-old Swedish backpacker who had unknowingly left a piece of himself in Athens. He’d been making his way to Turkey when he’d spent two nights at a hostel where Helena’s nineteen-year-old mother, Elena, was working at the front desk. They’d shared a brief, intense connection and before he’d left for Crete, he’d promised to come back to Athens on his way home. But he never called, and she never saw him again. He might as well have been a ghost. His name and nationality were the only details Elena had, and her beautiful, blue-eyed, brown-haired baby, the only proof that he’d ever really existed.
Raph, on the other hand, had been an open book, walking her through every stage of his life, sparing no details, as though she had been tasked with writing his biography.
Helena sighed as she parked in front of her apartment building and turned off the engine. She leaned against the headrest and instinctively reached for the silver locket that held a photo of her at age four, sitting on her mother’s shoulders in front of the acropolis.
Raph had been so guarded initially, all sharp edges and careful control—a serious, impossibly handsome man who watched her with an intensity that made her knees buckle. His reserved nature worried her, though she had to admit there had been something magnetic about that restraint, and the sense that something powerful and deep simmered just beneath the surface.
The first time she’d kissed him in the shadows of the narrow, cobblestone alleyways of Oía, she’d melted like butter the moment their lips met. His powerful grip on her backside, his erection pressing into her sex, the way he devoured her like warm, sticky honey…
Despite her coyness that night, she’d been eager to see him again, eager for them to be alone, and learn who Rapheus Giannopoulos really was. And in the weeks since, she’d watched him slowly relax.
When he talked about his brothers or his work, animation lit his features. And when he laughed—really laughed—his whole face transformed, and she caught glimpses of the laid-back man she sensed he could be. And god, he was beautiful—tall and broad-shouldered, with those striking green eyes flecked with amber, and a mouth that promised a spiritual experience.
She touched her fingers to her lips, hopeful that with each kiss, each moment they carved out of their busy, chaotic schedules to be with each other, Raph would continue to open up and let their love grow.
Love? The word echoed in her mind.
Helena pressed her hand to her chest as she rolled up her windows and gathered her cell phone and purse.
Did she really love Raph?
That question followed her like a shadow as she walked toward the entrance of her apartment building. Was it love––real love––with a man whose own personal experiences so closely mirrored her own, whose lifestyle matched hers, and who would give her the world if she asked him to? Or was it all just a long-lingering summer fling, destined to fail the test of time?
Inside the lobby, Helena gave a quick wave to, Aarón, the building concierge, and as she took the elevator to the fourth floor, she wondered when Raph would let down his guard and let her see him for who he really is beyond the carefully crafted persona he showcased to the world.
Maybe then she’d have the answer to that burning question.
Chapter Three
Mutual Affection
October, Napa Valley, California…
It was a warm autumn afternoon in Napa Valley, but that hadn’t stopped Raph’s mom, Jordan Giannopoulos, from lighting a small fire in the hearth, filling the family room of his childhood home with the bright fragrance of cedar and pine. The burning wood mixed with the lavender-scented floor polish were comforting, familiar scents that greeted him whenever he came home.
Raph admired Helena from the stool of the white, baby grand Steinway in the corner of the room. Dressed in earth-toned corduroy trousers and an ivory sweater, she stood beside the floor-to-ceiling, stone fireplace, examining the collection of framed family photographs on the mantel. Her hair caught the fading sunlight streaming through the windows as she leaned closer to study a picture of him and his brothers beside a black Mercedes, overloaded packs on their backs.
“That was taken the day they left for their first summer camp,” Jordan said, coming from the kitchen to join Helena, her brown and yellow plaid skirt brushing her stockinged legs as she walked. “God, I miss that car…” she added with a hint of melancholy, pushing up the sleeves of her blue cashmere sweater, and crossing her arms. “Raph, remember when we all used to pile in and drive out to Point Reyes.”
Raph nodded, remembering everything his mom had done to bring joy back into their lives during those first few years in California. He missed those days with his brothers, when they were all living together. Now, they didn’t even reside in the same time zone. Tele had arrived early this morning from Denver, where he managed all of G3’s Midwestern and Mountain states projects, and Neo had been here for three days already, having flown in from New York where he handled the company's east coast business.
Spread across the country, sleeping under one roof had become a rare occurrence for the triplets––a sacrifice they’d made in order to build their business––but it was Harvest Season in Napa Valley, and Raph’s favorite time of year. Without fail, in support of their mother’s position as one of the few female Master Sommeliers in the world, he, Tele, and Neo would always spend a few days at home with her. They’d visit the best wineries, cozy up in the home theater for a movie night, and stomp grapes at their favorite vineyards. That was the event they all enjoyed most––the one that took them straight back to Oía.
Raph rubbed his hands over his light blue jeans, suppressed the grief that threatened to creep into his consciousness, and returned his attention to the sight in front of him––the two woman he loved most in this world bonding over stories from his childhood just thirty minutes after he’d introduced them.
“Just look at that expression,” Helena continued, shaking her head. “Raph was so serious even then.”
“He was born serious.” Jordan chuckled, giving Raph an affectionate wink. “He was always the little protector, making sure Neo and Tele stayed out of trouble.”
“And did they…stay out of trouble?”
