Chapter Four
A Bitter Sunset
January, San Francisco, California…
Raph drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his Maserati with increasing impatience. He’d cut his last meeting in Berkeley short so he could get home to Helena, but the Friday afternoon traffic crawled along the Oakland-Bay Bridge. She’d flown in from L.A. last night, and he had the entire weekend mapped out: a romantic dinner at home tonight, the farmers market tomorrow morning, a drive up the coast to that little gallery in Mendocino she’d been wanting to visit, and finally, dinner at Atelier Venn on Sunday night where he planned to ask her to move in with him.
He knew it was soon, and that she had been putting down roots in L.A., but if this was the direction in which they were headed, shouldn’t they grow roots together? Besides, he reasoned, he and his brothers had recently been looking into buying a private jet for family use, making spending time with each other more manageable with their busy schedules. A jet on standby would make any necessary trips down to L.A. to meet with her clients almost too easy.
The fact that Helena was not technically family was a minor detail Raph planned to rectify in their near future.
Noticing the lane to his right moving faster than his, he quickly accelerated and slid into an opening––his sense of urgency quelled at least for a few moments as his speed increased from fifteen to twenty-four miles per hour.
It had only been six months since Helena had walked into his life, yet it felt as though he’d known her for years. Raph thought of her constantly when they were apart, and he was always eager to rearrange his schedule to suit hers. He had even rescheduled two international trips last month, when her travel plans in India had changed suddenly, leaving only a thirty-six-hour window for them to meet in Hong Kong. He’d been there attending a symposium on climate positive building practices, and had postponed his subsequent trips to Shanghai and Beijing just to spend a day and a half with her in the Fragrant Harbour––a stopover on her way to Mexico City for Zona Maco, the prestigious international art fair.
In the past, the women Raph had dated had always taken a backseat to business. But Helena was his priority now, and everything else fell into place around her. It didn’t matter where they were, or what they did. As long as they were together, Raph was happy.
He had fallen in love with her the moment she’d first kissed him, though he didn’t know it at the time––he’d never been in love before. Still, he’d wasted no time in taking her to meet the person whose opinion matter most to him in this world.
His grandfather’s approval had only deepened Raph’s certainty that he and Helena had been destined to meet. His heart raced whenever she was near, and his carefully constructed defenses melted away at the sound of her laughter––which came often, despite having lost her mom less than two years ago.
It had been nearly two decades since the accident that had claimed his father and grandmother, and, unlike Helena, Raph still hadn’t learned how to live without worrying when the next tragedy would strike.
Helena’s more carefree spirit had given him a new perspective on life. She softened his edges, made him want to share parts of himself he had never felt quite right sharing with anyone else. He longed to open up, take her in, and be taken in completely by her. Loving her––bringing her into his world––felt safe, and right.
His family and friends adored her the moment they met her, and just this week, Declan, his best friend, and COO, had cornered him in his office with some unsolicited advice: “Put a ring on it before someone else does.”
But he didn’t need to be told how rare a woman like Helena was. His grandfather had counseled him the night after they’d met, reminding him how in love he had been with Raph’s grandmother, Kerena. “We were married for thirty-four years, and I would give anything for just one more day with her.”
After approval from his mother and brothers last October, Raph had texted Anna to ask if she knew Helena’s ring size. He already knew she wanted a pear-cut diamond after they’d watched an online estate auction where a vintage, eight-carat, marquise white diamond ring sold for nearly one million dollars.
“I don’t care how big it is,” Helena had muttered under her breath. “A pear-cut is much more elegant.”
Raph had paid attention then, though he’d taken the liberty of upgrading her from her preferred three carats when he’d designed the one-of-a-kind engagement ring with New York’s Anouk Jewelers in November.
Raph’s hand automatically moved to his jacket pocket where the black velvet box held a flawless, five-carat, pear-cut blue diamond––an homage to the Aegean Sea of their home country, and the brilliance of her beautiful eyes. Set on a platinum white diamond encrusted band, it was the kind of ring that said “forever”, and it gave that marquise diamond a run for its money.
He’d carried the ring on him ever since it had arrived by courier three weeks ago, reminding himself to be patient. He didn’t want to rush her, but having it on hand, ready for that perfect moment, made him feel like she was already his.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Raph swayed anxiously as his private elevator whisked him to the forty-second floor of his building, depositing him in the marble foyer of his penthouse apartment where floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the bay, its lights sparkling like stardust in the twilight hour.
The house was quiet, but the scent of garlic and herbs drew him toward the kitchen, past the living room where Helena’s influence was already evident in the softer touches: fresh flowers on the coffee table, a cashmere throw draped over the leather sofa, her current read on the side table next to one of a dozen pairs of reading glasses she kept at his place.
“Hey, Marti.”
“Oh!” Martina, his housekeeper, startled as he entered. She wiped her hands on her blue checkered apron. “Mr. Giannopoulos, you’re home early.”
“Yeah, I managed to sneak out.” Raph loosened his tie and pulled the silk fabric from around his neck, draping it over the back of a kitchen stool. “I was trying to beat the traffic but still got held up on the bridge.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’ve only just started preparing dinner. It won’t be ready for at least another hour.”
“That’s fine, no need to rush it. Where’s Helena?”
“On the rooftop. She wanted to enjoy the sunset while she waited for you to arrive.”
“Thanks, Marti.” Raph turned to leave, then stopped himself. “By the way,” he said, leaning against the marble topped island. “It smells delicious in here. Have I ever told you what a goddess you are in the kitchen?”
