Big Greek Baby Secret Page 12

  Katie must have had the same luck I did, because I looked up to see her looking at me, mouth hanging open, her finger jabbing frantically at the screen.

  The caption beneath the photo was in Greek, but I didn’t need to know the language to be able to read the names. Just below the image of Dimitri was his true name: Andreas Stanis.

  Katie and I didn’t leave the booth for two hours. The waitress kept us filled on coffee (decaf for me, which was a sad adjustment) and donuts and water while we frantically searched for every piece of information we could about Dimitri’s family. Or, rather, Andreas’ family.

  He’d told me that his parents had died, and the first article I read—my phone was able to very roughly translate the web page—confirmed that story, which was a relief. It meant that at least some of what he’d told me was true.

  Most of the articles we were able to find were old and outdated. None of them gave me any clue as to where he could be currently, which I realized was probably his intention. I now understood why he hadn’t wanted me to post our selfie online and why he hadn’t given me his name. He wanted to stay out of the spotlight, though I still didn’t understand why.

  My phone’s translator app barely worked—it only seemed to understand half of the words—but I had managed to gather that the family was rich. Like, really rich. If my euros-to-dollars conversion was right, Andreas was a billionaire. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around the number of zeroes in his family’s net worth, so I didn’t try. That was a hurdle to be jumped another day.

  “Have you seen anything from the last few years?” I asked Katie. “All I’m getting is articles from his twenties.”

  “Same,” Katie said. “He was quite the partier. I bet he didn’t mention that to you.”

  “He did, actually,” I said, feeling a little defensive. “Everything I’ve read so far matches up with what he told me. He just left out some…minor details.”

  Katie raised her eyebrows. “Some minor details? You mean like how he’s a billionaire whose family has connections to royalty? Those minor details?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, those are the minor details I was referring to.”

  “The only thing I’m consistently seeing is that he keeps his yacht in Athens. Any public sightings of him seem to happen there once very few months,” Katie said.

  “I’m seeing that, too, but I’m not sure what to do with that information.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know what to do?”

  “I mean, he doesn’t want to be found, Katie.”

  My friend screwed up her face and threw her arms into the air.

  “So?! Go to Athens and look for him. If you can’t find him, go to the press. He doesn’t want to be found, but if you think for one second he doesn’t have a news alert set up for his name in the press, you’re insane. You could do one interview with the local media and he’d seek you out. If he likes you as much as you like him, he won’t hide from you.”

  I wanted to believe Katie was right, but there was another issue.

  “I don’t have any money. I can’t fly to Athens—I quit my job. I have a baby on the way.”

  Katie reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “I have been putting away money for years in hopes of buying a house one day. I’ll lend you some for your ticket.”

  I shook my head. “No, absolutely not. I can’t let you do that.”

  “Take it,” Katie said, her eyes hard as stone.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.”

  She smiled. “Honey, your baby daddy is a billionaire. I’m fairly certain you’re good for a few thousand dollars.”

  I looked into her eyes and knew, as I always did, that I wouldn’t be able to argue her out of her opinion. And I did want to go back to Greece. I wanted to find Dimitri…or Andreas. I needed to tell him about our baby.

  So, I took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Yeah, okay. Thank you so much.”

  Katie smiled and stood up, extending a hand out to help me up.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  She looked at me like I was crazy. “What do you mean? We have a flight to book and bags to pack. Time’s a wastin’!”

  I laughed and took her hand, feeling like I was walking through a dream. I was going to Greece. I was going to see him again!

  Chapter 14

  Maxine

  The entire flight from the U.S. to Greece, my stomach did nervous flips. The thought of seeing Andreas again would have made me nervous enough, never mind the fact that I had to tell him about the baby. I’d been thinking about him non-stop since I left, but what if he didn’t feel the same? Would he want to be part of his child’s life, or would he send me back to Wisconsin, tail between my legs? Even though he’d kept a large part of his life a secret from me, I still felt like I knew the kind of man he was, and I didn’t think he would be so cruel.

  Panicked thoughts of how he would react to seeing me again filled my head until I stepped out of the airport and into Athens.

  The city was magnificent. Old world and new blended together in a perfect juxtaposition. Modern clothing stores were set into ancient stone buildings. Shiny, expensive cars sped down brick roads worn smooth with time. Whereas the island of Barkas had given off a slow-moving, easy kind of energy, Athens buzzed with life and movement. Everyone was headed somewhere. Except for me.

  I realized pretty quickly that I didn’t have a real plan. Katie’s idea to show up and look for Andreas’ yacht had felt like a good idea until I realized how many different ports there were in Athens and how little I knew about yachts. I had a seven-year-old photo of Andreas standing next to his yacht, but I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between it and any other yacht I’d ever seen (which was none, in real life). The only way I’d know which yacht was his was if he happened to be standing right next to it.

  Katie had also had the idea of going to the media, which I knew would work, but I didn’t want to have to do that. Andreas had been trying to keep a low profile, though I still wasn’t entirely sure why. The last thing I wanted to do was show up and blow his cover, then drop life-changing news in his lap.

  If possible, I wanted to be discreet. So, I decided to ask around about him. And the first place I decided to start was with the general public. If Greece was anything like America, Greek girls would recognize the name Andreas Stanis. You couldn’t be that handsome and that wealthy without attracting a sea of admirers. So, I began stopping off at the cafés lining the city streets, holding my phone out to girls who looked to be about my age, asking whether they’d seen him anywhere. Several women at one coffee shop seemed excited when I showed them the photo, but the language barrier halted our conversation pretty quickly.

  “Do you know where he is?” I asked, saying each word slowly, as if that would somehow help them understand.

  They pointed to the screen and to their hearts, making it clear to me that they thought he was handsome, but that was as far as our approximation of sign language could get us. I smiled my thanks and moved on to the next group of girls, hoping I’d find someone who knew a lot about both Greek pop culture and English.

  I tried with a few more women, but didn’t have any better luck. Finally, after one particularly bad conversation during which a woman tried to walk away with my cellphone, I plopped down on a café table and buried my face in my arms. Non-pregnant me would have been tired after the day I’d had, but pregnant me was utterly exhausted. My feet had begun to swell from all the walking and I needed something savory and carb-based immediately.

  A woman walked up with a pad of paper and a pen behind her ear—the universal symbol for a waitress. “Can I help you?” she asked in English, her Greek accent thick.

  My head shot up. “You speak English?” She looked at me like I was dumb, and I laughed. “Of course you do. Clearly. Could you help me with something?

  “That’s what I’m here for,” she said. She was quite a few years outside of my target range. P
robably in her mid- to late-fifties. But I was desperate.

  “Do you recognize this man?” I asked, holding up the phone.

  Immediately she nodded. “Sure, the Stanis kid.”

  “Do you know where he could be right now?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t put himself in the news much these days,” she said. “So, I wouldn’t know. But if I have any advice for you, it would be to stay away from that family. He may be rich and handsome, but they are cursed with bad luck. Anyone close to them is sure to find themselves in trouble. Can I get you a drink or anything?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I said, realizing I didn’t have any money because I hadn’t stopped to convert any at the airport. “What do you mean they’re bad luck?”

  The woman shrugged. “Sorry, I have paying customers to attend to.”

  The first break I’d had in the case and it was ruined because I couldn’t afford to buy a muffin. Great.

  I was pretty sure I’d seen a bank down the block, so I lifted myself back onto my aching feet and began walking back the way I’d come. Inside the bank, I decided to convert one hundred dollars to start. I was hoping I’d find Andreas long before that money ran out.

  As I was walking back outside, stashing the money into my cross-body bag, I noticed a magazine stand straight ahead. The man inside the stand had his legs kicked up on the counter, ankles crossed. Business must have been slow. I was about to walk right past him when one of the magazines caught my eye.

  It was a picture of Andreas. Just like the photos I’d found online, he looked less broad and quite a few years younger, but it was obviously him. I slapped cash on the counter, shocking the man out of his doze, and snatched the magazine from the rack.

  I ran to the bench next to the magazine seller and began poring over the article Andreas was mentioned in. Based on the photographs, it looked like a “Where are they now?” article. I pulled out the translator app on my phone and began drudging through the two scant paragraphs about Andreas, focusing mainly on the “Now” section.

  Twenty minutes later, I’d made some sense of the first two sentences.

  Andreas Stanis is the last remaining member of the Stanis family line.

  The magazine was not as current as they thought, because the last remaining member of the Stanis family line was currently residing in my uterus, but I cut the magazine some slack and continued on.

  He has stayed out of the spotlight in recent years, but can still be found on his superyacht, which is often moored at an exclusive private marina south of Athens.

  Jackpot. I pulled out my phone and began searching for private marinas in that area. Immediately, one stood out as the obvious choice, so I rolled the magazine up, wedged it in my bag, and stepped to the curb to wave down a taxi. The driver didn’t speak English, but I held up my phone with the address for the marina on it and he gave me a thumbs-up.

  I was at the dock within thirty minutes, and as soon as I’d paid and stepped out of the car, the driver pulled away. I don’t know why I’d thought he would stick around and wait for me. I would just have to call another cab if it turned out Andreas wasn’t there.

  For the past few hours, I’d been able to focus on finding Andreas, which had helped to keep my nerves at bay. But now, when I was potentially less than a few minutes away from seeing him again, my entire body felt like a live wire. My heart hammered against my chest, feeling like it would bust right out and land on the dock like a flopping fish. And I couldn’t seem to stop biting my lower lip. I could feel the skin getting sore, but my teeth found the same spot over and over again.

  A young kid in a white polo shirt and matching shorts came out from between two of the boats. He was carrying a bucket and had various ropes and clothes slung over his shoulder.

  “Excuse me,” I said, praying he spoke English.

  “The office is up the hill,” he said in a thick accent.

  “I’m just wondering if you know where I can find Andreas Stanis?” I said. I knew the kid could think I was some crazy stalker and call the police, so I decided to take a page out of Andreas’ book and do a little lying of my own. “I’m his girlfriend.”

  The kid’s expression didn’t change, and I realized I had stumbled upon a youth with the perfect amount of boredom and apathy for my purposes. He didn’t care one way or the other whether I was a stalker or his girlfriend.

  He pointed to the end of the dock at—by far—the largest boat in the marina. “You can’t miss it,” he said before walking away.

  I turned towards the yacht and smoothed the wrinkles out of my baby blue sundress. I was only just over three months pregnant, but my stomach had already begun to pop out slightly, so I’d opted for a dress that flared away from my middle and the growing baby inside. I ran my fingers through my hair as best I could and I pinched my cheeks, trying to give myself a little color. I’d seen a woman in a movie do it once, and it felt like it added a little cinematic flair to the moment.

  Satisfied that I looked as good as I could hope after an international flight and a day wandering the city, I took a deep breath and headed for the yacht. It was time to finally meet Andreas Stanis.

  As I neared the yacht, I could see people milling around on the deck and around the gangplank. Men in blue uniforms were carrying boxes up into the hull. It appeared to be produce and cheeses and crates of alcohol.

  Apparently, Andreas was planning a trip. I was debating whether I would be able to talk my way onto the ship when I saw a woman in a blue dress the same shade as mine grab a box and walk on board. Her dress was a different cut than mine and had an embroidered label in the corner, marking her as an employee, but I hoped everyone would be distracted enough with their work not to notice. So, I walked confidently down the dock, picked up a box, and walked on board the ship.

  The inside of the yacht was incredible. It was all warm woods and low, horizontal lines, giving it a modern mid-century feel. I only had a second to look around, though, because a man behind me coughed and I realized I was holding up the line. I turned right like I’d seen the man walking in front of me do and headed down a long hallway that ran along the edge of the ship. At the end of the hallway was a swinging door, and it opened directly into the kitchen.

  Inside, crew members were bustling around. Pots were boiling and steaming on the stove, and heat radiated off of a series of ovens that took up most of one wall. One man in a white apron seemed to be the boss. He had a booming voice and a stature to match. It was a wonder the whole yacht didn’t dip under his weight. He was yelling at one man in Greek for something, and the man was cowering down in shame or fear—which, I couldn’t tell.

  I realized I needed to stay out of the man’s way. While the other crew members hadn’t noticed that my dress was hardly a uniform, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to fool the boss. So, I dropped my box and turned, trying to slip through the door, but I was stopped by a loud shout that practically shook the walls.

  Instinctively, I turned and realized the man was staring straight at me, his thick eyebrows angry slashes above his eyes. Everyone in the kitchen was staring at me. Suddenly, I felt dangerously hot. My cheeks were flushed and I didn’t know whether it was morning sickness or the heat or fear, but I felt seconds away from being sick.

  The man crossed the kitchen and grabbed the fabric of my dress, asking me an angry question in Greek. I shook my head helplessly. My disguise was ruined.

  Everyone around me was now noticing the ways in which my appearance didn’t match theirs. I was wearing open-toed sandals and my dress didn’t have any sleeves. While everyone else had their hair tucked underneath hairnets and hats, mine was hanging loose down my back. To be fair, I hadn’t attempted to disguise myself much at all, but it was because I hadn’t expected to be set upon by an angry chef.

  The crew members began to talk to one another, everyone no doubt trying to sort out how I’d come to be on board and who had let me on the ship. I could barely hear them, though. My vision was starting to blur
and I could feel bile rising up the back of my throat.

  Then, I heard a voice behind me that rose above the rest. Everyone quieted, and I knew at once who it was. I would recognize it anywhere.

  Dimitri. Or, rather, Andreas.

  As if in a slow-motion dream, I turned around. The crew members and the angry chef faded to the background as Andreas came into view. His caramel eyes landed on me and it took him a few seconds to respond to what he was seeing. But then, his eyes went wide, and I saw his lips move, but I couldn’t hear anything. I opened my mouth to say his name, but nothing would come out.

  Then, everything went black.

  Chapter 15

  Andreas

  “Maxine?” I asked, though it was obvious it was her. I would have recognized her anywhere. I was about to ask what she was doing on my boat, but then I saw her eyes begin to roll back.

  I reached out for her just as she began to slump, catching her before she could hit the floor. I lifted her up and let her legs dangle over my arms.

  “Get her some water,” I said to no one in particular. “Bring it to my room.”

  By the time we got into the hallway and away from the heat of the kitchen, she was beginning to stir.

  “Maxine? Maxine, are you all right?”

  She groaned and turned her face into my chest.

  “You’re okay,” I whispered. “You fainted.”

  When we got to my room, I sat her in the armchair in the corner, and she blinked a few times before looking up at me. Then, her eyes went wide.

  “Andreas.”

  “Yes, I’m here,” I said. And then I realized what she’d said.

  She knew my name. She’d figured it out. Is that why she’d come back? Because she’d learned I was rich and thought maybe she could cash in? I didn’t want to believe it, but it was an unpleasant possibility.

  “You know my name,” I said, my voice a little colder than I’d intended.