Home > Hold Me Today (Put A Ring On It #1)(15)

Hold Me Today (Put A Ring On It #1)(15)
Author: Maria Luis

You know, when I’m not wallowing in self-pity.

We cross the street as one, our arms linked the way we’ve done since we were kids, and hustle down a pedestrian-only walkway beside Old North Church. Smoothed cobblestones line the path with tall brick walls on either side of us.

I wait for Effie to spill her truth, knowing she’s holding back, and it’s only when we hear the music from Hanover that she finally relents. “I feel like I’m failing, you know? I love my tour company. I love storytelling and watching my guests light up when they hear a particular story that creeps them out, but . . .”

I elbow her in the faux-whalebone bodice. “But what?”

“It’s not enough, you know? And I worry that adoption agencies are going to look at my choice of career and knock us down a peg.”

It hurts my heart to hear Effie talk about herself like that—as though living her dream is somehow not enough.

It is enough. I have to believe that because otherwise I’ve been working toward something all my life, only to feel disappointed in the end.

“You can’t think like that,” I tell her firmly. “Between you and Sarah, you both bring in a great salary. You own your house and you’ve got a rooftop terrace and investments, and even though you’re self-employed, you’re putting money into a 401k.” I nudge her again, wanting to see her smile and lose the stressed-out, my-world-is-caving-in look. “You’re the most responsible person I know. Don’t ever think you’re not contributing enough when we both know you do just fine. Any adoption agency should feel grateful that you and Sarah want a kid of your own.”

The beginnings of a grin curls her lips, and she taps my side with the lantern. “Yeah, you’re right.”

I straighten my back and give a little shimmy of my hips. “Of course I’m right. Now, which pizza place of all the pizza places is calling our name?”

We end up at a restaurant with the same slate floors I wanted in Agape, and rustic shiplap on the walls. Tapered candles sit in the center of every table and the air is a scented combination of pizza, garlic, and oven-baked bread.

It smells like a food orgasm—if food orgasms were a thing.

“Okay,” Effie says after we’ve broken fast with a deep red wine that carries a hint of blackberry, “unload your burdens.”

We tap wine glasses in a toast. “You told your brother about me.”

She quirks a brow. “You need to be more specific than that. There are many things my brother knows about you. Including the fact that you’ve got an outie belly button.”

Along with the precise shade of my nipples.

Those summers spent in Greece were a host of embarrassing moments, one after another, usually with me at the center of unwanted attention.

I swirl the wine in the bowl of the glass and let my shoulders droop. “He knows. About”—I lean forward after casting a quick glance over my shoulder—“the fact that I liked him. Back in high school.”

Effie’s mouth purses. “You’re shaving off a few years there. Just in high school?”

“Oh, my God, do we need to go into timeline specifics here?”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” Her hands come up in mock-innocence. “All I’m saying is that you were still pining after him in your early twenties.”

My ass slumps farther down on the wooden chair. “Okay, yes, I still—maybe—kinda liked him then too.” Though I never once made a move because he was dating Brynn Whitehead. Slim, blonde Brynn, with her button nose and her narrow hips and her thighs that did not touch. “The specifics don’t matter. What matters is the fact that he knows and I agreed to ‘fake date’”—I throw up air quotations—“him while he deals with the press after that dating show you never mentioned to me.”

Her shoulders hike up sheepishly. “It wasn’t my story to tell.”

“You tell me everything.”

“Did you really want to hear about how my brother wants to settle down with the whole nine yards? A wife and kids and the white picket fence?”

Probably not.

She knows me too well, dammit.

“Anyway,” she goes on, “no one knew besides the immediate family. My yiayia was beside herself.” She pauses, then winces. “We may have told her that he was going into an arranged marriage.”

“An arranged marriage?” I down more wine because even the thought has me shaking with empathy. “Remember that time when my dad tried to pair me off with his single friend? Ermione, he said, Stavros is the perfect, nice, Greek man. He goes to ecclesia. Father Valtaros loves him.”

“Oh, the sign of every good future spouse,” Effie drawls, lifting her glass in another toast, “a man who’s in with the priest, has gray hair growing like a second mustache out of his nostrils, and doesn’t speak a lick of English.”

It’s the last one that gets me.

If sitting in Algebra and English felt like punishment most days growing up, then trying to learn a new language felt damn near impossible. The number of hours I sat holed up in my bedroom, trying to memorize what letter matched to which sound was . . . my stomach sinks with the memory—the utter hopelessness I’d felt knowing I was a complete disappointment, somehow less Greek than my peers because the language remained a barrier I could never quite cross. Katya and Dimitri picked it up easily—born-naturals, I guess—and that felt like more salt in the wound.

Forget about the drastic age gap, marrying a man like Stavros would have been misery personified on the most basic, fundamental levels of communication. I shudder at the thought. “Your grandmother would be a better match for him.”

“Oh my God, I know, right?” Effie’s grin deepens. “But let’s get real, she’s putting all the weight on Nick’s shoulders. She’s convinced he’s her last hope for grandchildren.”

“Is she still working under the crazy assumption that you and Sarah can’t have kids?”

She rolls her eyes. “Interventions. We’ve literally sat down with her multiple times to tell her that yes, she will be getting a grandkid from us, but she’s so old school—”

“It’s the village in her speaking,” I cut in, wanting to soothe my best friend’s annoyance. “Not that it’s an excuse, but hey, the woman still thinks your dad should have gone to school for business instead of opening a pizza joint, and he opened House of Stamos, what? Like twenty years ago? And, I mean, she actually thought Nick was entering an arranged marriage. Nick of all people—actually, no, I can see it.” I tap my nose. “So orderly, so easy. How has this not happened already?”

That pulls Effie out of her funk. She laughs so hard that when the server comes around with our meat lovers’ pizza, she nearly tips over her wineglass. “Forget that, how about the fact that my mom is having ‘family’ dinner this weekend all so she can introduce my big brother to yet another girl.”

The cheese sticks to my molars as I swallow hastily. “Oh?”

“Yup.” Effie plucks a piece of sausage off her pizza and pops it into her mouth, chewing. “How’s that fake relationship working out for you two? Can you bust him out of family dinner? Also, I just want to point out how crazy cliché fake dating is. What? Are you practicing for a role in a Hallmark movie or something?”

I can’t manage to withhold a snort. “Hey, don’t look at me. It was all your brother’s thinking.”

“Figures. If it was up to me—”

“If it was up to you, I’d be married to your brother because you don’t do anything in half measures. Why stop at dating when you could complete the cliché circle and get me to exchange rings?”

She points her pizza crust at me. “I’ve got your best interests at heart.”

“My best interests or yours?”

“Well, mine, obviously. I’ve always wanted a sister. Nick doesn’t cut it. Too hairy.”

And, because Effie and I have known each other since before even puberty, I point at my freshly waxed upper lip. “We’re all too hairy. It’s the Greek blood.”

“Mediterranean,” she corrects, “the Italians and Lebanese are in the same boat as us.”

I scratch my chin, pretending to think hard. “New idea. I’m bringing in an esthetician into the salon—it’s a surefire way to guarantee I’ll never go out of business.”

Effie and I break out into laughter, and it’s not until we’re settling the bill and leaving the restaurant that she grabs my hand. When I meet her gaze, she squeezes my fingers. “You know I love you, right?”

I tilt my head to the side. “I mean, there were a few times over the years when I wasn’t too sure—”

“Mina.”

The joke dies on my tongue. “Yeah, Effie,” I say, “I know. You’re my best friend.”

“Then, as your best friend, just hear me out.” When I say nothing, she releases me and twines her fingers through her scarf. “I know you used to like Nick, but I . . .” Her dark eyes search my face. “I love you both, and you know I want to see you happy, but I don’t think he’s that guy for you. He’s not the one.”

My shoulders stiffen at her earnestness. Little pinpricks latch onto my heart, and I mentally pluck them off, one by one, until they’re all figuratively gone. This is Effie, and I know she doesn’t mean to upset me. “I’m not looking for the ‘one.’” I throw up bunny quotes just to emphasize my point. “I’m focused on Agape, and only on Agape.”

She doesn’t look like she believes a word I’m saying. “I know you secretly love those romance audiobooks you listen to all day, but Nick’s not one of your book boyfriends. He annoys you and you annoy him, and the two of you are just—”

“Opposites.”

“Yes!” She snaps her fingers. “Total opposites. And that’s not a bad thing, but you don’t want to get married or have kids—you’ve always said so—and Nick . . . it’s all he wants. All he’s ever wanted. I love you both, but you’ve never once wavered with your opinion on marriage. It’s not just that you two are opposites, it’s that you have different dreams in life.”

   
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