All That Glitters Read online

  "Oh, he believes it, all right! It's partly my fault," she admitted miserably. "At first, when I wanted to hold him off, I let him think that I—I was frightened because I'd been mistreated. I've tried since then to explain to him, but he simply won't listen; he refuses to talk about my 'past affairs' and he's furious because I won't go to bed with him—" She stopped, aghast at what she had blurted out to his mother, but Madame Constantinos gave her a startled look, then burst into a peal of laughter.

  "Yes, I can imagine that would make him wild, because he has his father's temperament." She chuckled. "So, you must convince my blind, stubborn son that your experience is wholly fictional. Do you have any idea how you might accomplish such a thing?"

  "He'll know," Jessica said quietly. "Tonight. When he realizes that I have a right to a white wedding dress."

  Madame Constantinos gasped as at last she realized the significance of the dress. "My dear! But Robert—no, of course not. Robert was not a man to wed a young girt for physical gratification. Yes, I think I must hear how this came about, after all!"

  Quietly Jessica told her of how she had been young and alone and Robert had wanted to protect her, and of the vicious gossip she had endured. She left out nothing, not even how Nikolas had come to propose to her, and Madame Constantinos was deeply troubled when the tale ended.

  "There are times," she said slowly, "when I would like to smash a vase over Niko's head, even if he is my son!" She looked at the wedding gown. "Have you nothing else to wear? Nothing white?"

  Jessica shook her head. "No, nothing. I'll have to wear it."

  Petra brought crushed ice and folded it in hand towels to make compresses for her eyes, and after half an hour all traces of her tears had gone, but she was unnaturally pale. She moved slowly, all vitality gone from her, all sparkle killed. Gently Madame Constantinos and Petra dressed her in the peach gown and set the matching veil on her head, then they led her from the room.

  Nikolas wasn't there; he was already at the home of his godfather, but the villa was filled with relatives, aunts and uncles and cousins who smiled and chattered and patted her as she passed. None of her friends were there, she realized with a start, but then, there were only two: Charles and Sallie. That made her feel more alone, chilled as if she would never again be warm.

  Andros was to escort her down the path that led to the village, and he waited for her now, tall and dark in a tuxedo, and momentarily looking so much like Nikolas that she gasped. Andros smiled and gave her his arm; his manner had warmed over the past few days and now he was frankly solicitous as he discovered how she trembled, how cold her hands were.

  Nikolas's female relatives rushed outside to form an aisle from the top of the hill down to the village, standing on both sides of the path. As she and Andros reached them, they began to toss orange blossoms down on the path before her, and the village women were there in traditional dress, tossing small, fragrant white and pink blossoms. They began to sing, and she walked on flowers down the path to join the man she would marry, but still she felt frozen inside.

  At the door of Kyrios Palamas's house Andros gave her over to the arm of Nikolas's godfather, who led her to the altar, where Nikolas and Father Ambrose waited. The altar, the entire room, danced with candles, and the sweet smell of incense made her feel as if she was having a dream. Father Ambrose blessed the wreaths of orange blossoms that were set on their heads as they knelt before the altar, and from that moment on it was all a blur. She had been coached on what to say and she must have made the proper responses; when Nikolas made his vows, his deep, dark voice reverberated inside her head and she looked around a little wildly. Then it was over, and Father Ambrose joined hands with them and they walked around the altar three times while little Kostis, one of Nikolas's innumerable cousins, walked before them waving a censer, so they progressed through clouds of incense.

  Almost immediately the crowded room burst into celebration, everyone laughing and kissing each other, while cries of "The glass! The glass!" went up. The newly married couple was laughingly shoved to the hearth, where a wineglass was turned upside down. Jessica remembered what she should do but her reactions were dulled by her misery and Nikolas easily beat her, his foot smashing the wineglass while the villagers cheered that Kyrios Constantinos would be the master in his house. As if it could ever be any other way, Jessica thought numbly, turning away from the devilish gleam in Nikolas's black eyes.

  But he caught her back to him, his hands hard on her waist and his eyes glittering as he forced her head up. "Now you're legally mine," he muttered as he bent his head and captured her lips.

  She didn't fight him, but the response that he had always known was lacking. He raised his head, frowning when he saw the tears that clung to her lashes. "Jessica?" he asked questioningly, taking her hand, his frown deepening when he felt its iciness, though the day was hot and sunny.

  Somehow, though afterward she wondered at her stamina, she made it through the long day of feasting and dancing. She had help in Madame Constantinos and Petra and Sophia, who gently made it clear that the new Kyria was weak with nerves and not able to dance. Nikolas threw himself into the celebration with an enthusiasm that surprised her until she remembered that he was Greek to the bone, but even with all the laughing and dancing and the glasses of ouzo he consumed, he returned often to his bride and tried to entice her appetite with some delicacy he had brought. Jessica tried to respond, tried to act normally, but the truth was that she couldn't make herself look at her husband. No matter how she argued with herself, she couldn't escape the fact that she was a woman, and her woman's heart was easily bruised. Nikolas had destroyed all of her joy in her wedding day with the peach gown and she didn't think she would ever be able to forgive him.

  It was late; the stars were already out and the candles were the only illumination in the house when Nikolas approached her and gently swung her up into his arms.

  No one said anything; no jokes were made as the broad-shouldered man left the house of his godfather and carried his bride up the hill to his own villa, and after he had disappeared from view, the celebration began again, for this was no ordinary wedding. No, the Kyrios had finally taken a bride, and now they could look forward to an heir.

  As Nikolas carried her up the path with no visible effort, Jessica tried to gather her scattered wits and push her unhappiness aside, but still the cold misery lay like a lump in her chest. She clung to him with her arms around his neck and wished that it was miles and miles to the villa and perhaps then she would be more in control of herself by the time they arrived. The cool night air soothed her face and she could hear the rhythmic thunder of the waves as they pounded against the rocks, and those seemed more real to her than the flesh-and-blood man who carried her in his arms.

  Then they were at the villa and he carried her around the side of the terrace until he reached the double sliding glass doors of his bedroom. They opened silently at his touch and he stepped inside, letting her slide gently to the floor.

  "Your clothes have been brought in here," he told her softly, kissing the hair at her temple. "I know you're frightened, darling; you've been acting strange all day. Just relax; I'll fix myself a drink while you're changing into your nightgown. Not that you'll need a nightgown, but you do need some time to calm down," he said, grinning, and suddenly she wondered just how many glasses of ouzo he'd had.

  He left her and she stared wildly around the room. She couldn't do it; she couldn't share that big bed with him when she felt as she did. She wanted to scream and cry and scratch his eyes out, and in a sudden burst of tears and sheer temper she tore the peach gown off and looked around for scissors to destroy it. There were no scissors to be found in the bedroom, however, so she tore at the seams until they ripped apart, then she threw the gown on the floor and kicked it.

  She drew a deep, shuddering breath into her lungs and wiped the furious tears off her cheeks. The gesture had been childish, she knew, but she felt better for it. She hated that gown, an