That's Amore! (8 page)

Efi's mother smiled. "That's more like it. Now go help Mr. Gregoris pour the wine."

"Yes, ma'am."

CHAPTER TWO

Day two

The scent of baking
sweet bread wafted around Efi, lifting her mood. Truth was
,
she hadn't quite seen the week of festivities leading to her wedding day being so … lonely. She'd imagined herself and Nick being joined at the hip, holding hands, as the family swirled around them. Instead it seemed the family was insistent on their being apart. Of course, if the pantry incident last night had anything to do with that, she wasn't going to acknowledge it. What was wrong with her and her groom wanting a little alone time?

"It makes the wedding night that much more … meaningful," her mother had said when she'd asked the question this morning before heading off to the shop at seven.

"The fact that we'll be married should be all the meaning the night should need," Efi had answered back.

But she might as well have been speaking to a granite wall, because her mother was hearing none of it.

So she figured all this maneuvering to keep her and Nick apart was being done for
their own
good, the way their families saw it.

Better she should have a nice, full orgasm to release the stress.

Is that why brides got cold feet? Following all this well-meaning intervention, and normal nerves that went along with the planning—not to mention the monumental meaning behind the "till death do us part" event itself—she could easily see where a bride might throw up her hands and do the equivalent of quitting her own wedding.

Yes, a solid orgasm would be just what the doctor ordered.

A shiver ran over her skin at the thought of being alone with Nick for an unspecified amount of time. Five minutes, five hours, it didn't matter. Hell, at this point she'd take one minute.

She rolled out a ball of dough against the marble slab until it was a quarter of an inch thick and about two feet long. Then with a pastry knife she cut the rope into two-inch lengths and began braiding those to make
koulourakia,
what amounted to Greek sugar cookies. Her movements were quick and efficient as a result of years of making the sweet. She put the tray of cookies into the oven, then pulled another tray in front of her and began buttering sheets of phyllo dough to make baklava. Even as she sprinkled the walnut, sugar and cinnamon mixture on top of the buttered pastry sheets, she remembered when she'd asked her father if she could add drizzles of melted milk chocolate to the mix. Or, better, raspberry sauce. He'd scoffed and told her no self-respecting Greek would ever put chocolate or raspberry sauce into baklava. And just what was the matter with the traditional recipe anyway?
he'd
asked. That was the problem with the younger generation. They didn't respect tradition. Always wanted to fix things that weren't broken.

Efi rubbed her nose against her shoulder and looked around the ancient kitchen that was attached to a gloomy showroom beyond. She had a notebook burgeoning with ideas on how to make the shop more modern, more appealing, but it sat gathering dust on the makeshift desk in the corner, receipts nearly burying it. Every now and again she took it out and went over her renovation ideas. My Big Fat Pastry Shop was one idea she had, inspired by another Greek pioneer Nia Vardalos. She wanted to change the beige and more beige color scheme in the showroom to sparkling white and blue. Longed to take out the wall that separated the showroom from the not-needed supply closet and add tables where customers might enjoy their sweets with a view of the street and
Greek
Town
beyond.

"We're not a restaurant," her father had said. "This place has run just fine for twenty-five years without the fancy things you want to do. What do you think puts the food on the table? Keeps a roof over our heads?"

Efi had offered him a huge eye roll but she hadn't given up on the idea. In fact, she fully intended to launch another attack as soon as she and Nick returned from their honeymoon.

The old, rusty cowbell on the front door clanged announcing a customer. Efi wiped her hands on a towel and went out to greet the arrival.

She'd no sooner opened the swinging door than she found herself in Nick's arms.

"Good, I was hoping I'd get you alone," he said with a wicked grin.

Efi's mood soared as he backed her into the kitchen, the door swinging closed behind them. "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"It's lunchtime." He glanced at his watch over her shoulder even as he worked at undoing her apron strings. "I only have fifteen minutes. Hurry. If we're quick, we might even be able to squeeze in some foreplay."

Efi laughed as they nearly upset a tray where loaves of
tsoureki,
sweet bread, cooled. Then they shuffled toward the preparation table where she pushed the tray of baklava aside so Nick could lift her on top of the cool marble. Good thing she was wearing white jeans where the flour wouldn't show too much. Not that it mattered. Nick was determined to rid her of clothes, period, starting with her jeans.

"Mmm." She reveled in the feel of his mouth against hers. His kiss was sweeter and hotter than anything the shop had to offer, with or without chocolate.

He tugged his mouth away and she made a sound of protest, until she felt his lips against her bared right nipple. She bunched her fingers into his thick, dark hair, enjoying the myriad sensations flicking over her skin in concert with the flicks of his tongue.

Their position reminded her of their first time together. She'd been seventeen and he'd stopped by the shop to pick up a torte for his mother for a party she was throwing on his father's name day. Or at least that had been the story. From what she knew, Nick Constantinos never ran chores for his mother. It wasn't the Greek way. Greek men, it was well known, were coddled by their families until they married, and then the job was turned over to their new brides. She knew many Greek men who didn't know how to boil water, much less iron their own shirts.

Her father had gone to the bank for some financial matters and she'd been in the shop alone. And Nick made no secret that this was the moment he'd been waiting for. The time when he might sample some of the shop's offerings … directly from her skin.

She'd been wholly unprepared for the desire, the longing he'd introduced her to. The feel of his tongue against her belly as he lapped cream from her skin. The liquid that had pooled between her legs that he'd tsked about then set about cleaning up with his mouth.

It had been Efi's first sexual encounter. And it wasn't something she was soon to forget.

And it seemed Nick was determined to make sure she didn't forget this time, either, as he stoked the sparks charging through her veins into a full-out fire.

His fingers were more skilled than they'd been back then. He knew just how to touch her, where to apply pressure, where to pluck and pinch and stroke, making each time her first time.

She fumbled for the catch to his pants, needing to feel the growing length of him, evidence of his want for her. So hot … so hard…

"Condom … back pocket," he ground out, his breath teasing the sensitive skin of her neck.

She took it out and put a corner of the foil packet between her teeth … just as the cowbell on the door outside rang again.

"Efi! Come on out front. I want you to meet someone."

Her father.

"Damn." Nick leapt away and Efi jumped from the table and back into her jeans at the same time, both of them frantically putting themselves back together. If the thought of her mother seeing her in a compromising position was horrifying, having her father walk in…

Efi couldn't even bear to think of it.

She stared wide-eyed as Nick gave her a hard, fast kiss. "I'm going out the back. I'll see you later."

Efi gave him a shove. The door had barely shut behind him when she was swinging to face her father opening the other door.

She smiled at him, hoping she didn't look too flushed or flustered. "Papa. I wasn't expecting you in today."

Efi blinked. If she hadn't been expecting him in today, she certainly wasn't prepared for the person he'd brought with him. She stared at her younger cousin Phoebus, who had always been on the thin side and wore clothes that were much too big for him.

Her father put his arm over his shoulders, dwarfing the smaller man. "I figured now would be as good a time as any to bring Phoebus in to have a look around the place."

Efi's hormones were still running overtime. Especially since Nick had circled the block of buildings and popped up outside the front window, waving at her from over her oblivious father's shoulder.

"I'm not following you," she said to her father. "I thought Diana was going to fill in for me while I'm on my honeymoon."

Diana was her sister, younger than her by a year.

"She is
,
she is." He patted Phoebus's shoulder hard enough that her cousin winced. "Phoebus is going to be your permanent replacement."

A timer went off in the kitchen behind her, seeming to call an end not only to the cooking time of the
koulourakia,
but to her career as well.

"Pardon me?"

Her father had the good grace to look a little sheepish. "Your mama told me you might have a problem with the … how did she put it? Transition. Yes, transition."

"Transition into what?" Efi couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Marriage, of course. Is that something I smell burning?"

Marriage…

Was her father implying that once she and Nick were married this Sunday, she would no longer be working at the shop?

Yes, she realized, he was.

And that something burning was going to be her in two seconds flat unless he retracted his statement.

Her father mumbled something under his breath as he went back into the kitchen to save the cookies.

Efi took the opportunity to smile at her cousin, then take his arm and lead him to the door. "Thanks so much for stopping by, Phoebus, but my father's a little confused right now. It's an age thing, you know."

Her cousin nodded. "Tell me about it. My grandmother sprinkled sugar instead of salt on the salad last night. Worse, she didn't even seem to notice, saying it was the best salad she'd ever made." He skidded to a halt just inside the door. "Does this mean your father doesn't need me?"

Efi stopped herself from patting him on the head. "That's exactly what it means. Diana will fill in for me until I get back from my honeymoon."

"And then?"

And then what?
she
felt the urge to scream. "And then I'll be returning here myself."

"But…"

Efi opened the door,
then
nearly shoved him through it.

"Thanks again, Phoebus. Give your family my best, won't you? I trust we'll see you all at the wedding?"

She closed the door before he had a chance to respond and turned in time to watch her father storm through the kitchen door.

"Burned. Every last one of them."

At that moment Efi couldn't have cared less if half the shop burned to the ground.

"Where's Phoebus?" he asked.

"On his way home. Where he's going to stay."

"What did you go and do that for? I wanted you to show him some of the ropes before you leave."

"There's no need to show him the ropes, because I'm not leaving."

Her words seemed to take a minute to sink in. When her father's own personal lightbulb finally went off, the expression on his beefy, lovable face turned from confused to
exasperated
.

"Efi, you're getting married."

"Yes, I'm getting married. I'm gaining a husband, not losing my mobility."

He lifted a finger. "Ah, yes, but you'll also become a wife. A mother. You'll have different priorities after the wedding."

"I'll have more responsibilities, not different ones." She crossed her arms over her apron-covered chest. "Just when had you planned to tell me you were going to replace me?"

Her father scratched his eyebrow with his index finger. "Well … now."

"Ask a stupid question…"

Efi paced the length of the display case then back again. She stared at her father, felt nothing but frustration well up in her throat,
then
paced away again.