“What do you think?”
Raph braced himself at the sound of Neo’s voice and stood as his brother entered from the hallway that led to the four-car garage. Tele was a few paces behind him, ambling into the room with his usually carefree attitude.
This was it––the moment of truth. Would they accept Helena, see what he sees every time he looks at her, or would they clash, marking this gathering as the beginning of conflict within his family? Raph prayed for the former. His brothers’ approval meant more to him than either of them ever realized, but he knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t giving Helena up for anyone. Not even them.
In contrast to Raph’s light wash jeans and tattered blue UC Berkeley t-shirt, Neo and Tele both looked the part of the young, California entrepreneur in their matching outfits: dark jeans, Rico Jack leather boots, and grey down vests over button-down flannel shirts––green for Neo and wine red for Tele.
Unwilling to let old habits die, their mom still bought clothes for them to keep in their bedrooms here. As a result, just like when they were little, their wardrobes were in perfect sync.
“Where on earth have you two been?” Jordan asked as she made her way toward Neo, reaching for the white box he held like a prize.
“Sorry, Mom,” Neo said, kissing her cheek during the hand-off. “Lou-Ellen’s was slammed today. With all the tourists in town for the harvest, it took Lou ages to find our order.”
“Well, never mind. You’re here now.” Jordan lifted the box to her nose and breathed in deeply. “Mm, mm, mm,” she hummed, as she carried it into the kitchen.
Raph didn’t need anyone to tell him what was in the box. The order was the same every time: a triple-layer, Black Forest cake with a sour cherry sauce. It was their absolute favorite, and their mom got one from Lou-Ellen’s, the best bakery in Napa Valley, whenever her three boys were home at the same time.
“You must be the famous Helena,” Tele said, extending his hand with his trademark grin. “I’m Tele. The best-looking brother.”
“And the most modest one, clearly,” Helena replied, her laugh warm and unguarded as she shook Tele’s hand. She peered behind him. “And you must be Neo.”
“Guilty as charged.” By far the most sensitive of his brothers, Neo took two long strides and embraced Helena in a warm hug and kissed her cheek, then walked over to Raph to do the same.
Tele simply pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and tossed Raph a head nod.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you both. Although, I still can’t believe there are three of him.” She inclined her head toward Raph, still standing beside the piano. “Impossible…” she whispered under her breath as her bright eyes took in all three Giannopoulos brothers.
Neo snorted. “Did you hear that, Raph?” He leapt over the back of the large leather sectional that anchored the room, claiming his usual spot with flare. “She thinks you’re impossible.”
“That there are three of you seems impossible,” Helena corrected, glancing toward Raph with a smile that grounded him. “On his own, he’s quite manageable.”
“Manageable?” Tele raised an eyebrow, settling into one of the faux calf-skin armchairs opposite Neo. “Raph? The same guy who makes his housekeeper organize his socks by fabric, color, and thickness?”
“Rapheus, I didn’t know you were so fussy.” Helena turned to Raph with mock horror.
She’d spent plenty of blissful mornings at his San Francisco penthouse and knew perfectly well how he liked his closet kept. “It’s efficient.” Raph shrugged casually, though he couldn’t entirely suppress his smile at Helena’s playful expression.
“It’s certifiable,” Neo corrected. “Please tell us you’re going to save him from himself.”
“Perhaps he’s the one saving me.”
Raph hadn’t missed the exchange of looks between Neo and Tele, and he’d bristled slightly at his brothers’ teasing, but Helena’s response––her easy smile, her knowing wink––were like a soothing balm for his nerves.
“Well,” Jordan said, re-entering the room and breaking the slight awkwardness that had settled in the air, “Georgia says dinner won’t be ready for another hour or so.” She looped her arm through Helena’s and led her to the sofa. “Helena, why don’t you tell us all about yourself? Raph says you work in art acquisitions?”
She nodded. “My mother was a painter, so I guess you could say it’s in my blood,” Helena explained as they all settled into the sofa around the oak coffee table where Georgia, Jordan’s housekeeper, had already arranged bottles of wine, glasses, and hors d’oeuvres.
Tele reached for their first bottle of Fisherhill Chardonnay, opening it with the ease of someone who’d been doing it all his life, and filled the empty glasses, just as Raph took his place on the other side of Helena, and draped his arm around her shoulders.
Helena leaned into his side as she spoke about her work with unmistakable confidence––her travels around the globe meeting veteran and emerging painters, managing and meeting the expectations of The Marlowe Group’s wealthy clients. And Raph relished the way his family listened with earnest interest as she spoke.
“You’re fluent? Really?” Neo was filling his plate with olives and feta. “I’ve been studying Mandarin for almost two years now, and I’ve barely mastered the beginners level.”
“Ni xuyào zhao yigè gèng hao de daoshi.”
Tele snickered. “Did you catch that, Neo?” he asked, gleefully sipping his wine.
“Nope.” Neo popped a stuffed green olive into his mouth and sat back into the couch. “Did you?”
