Free Black Widow Bride by Tessa Radley Page A

at Damon’s rudeness. He’d barely uttered a word, answering only when spoken to and leaving the conversation to herself and Demetra to carry. Not that it had been a hardship; Demetra was a delight. Already she’d offered to look after T.J. while Rebecca visited Soula in hospital later in the morning. Demetra had also confided sotto voce that she viewed the approaching wedding with dread.
    “Big, splashy functions are not me. But Savvas says his family expects it—and I know mine will, too, once they get here. So I’m relying on you, Rebecca, to make it a wonderful occasion for the parents. I don’t need to know about the choices you make. All I want to see beforehand is the final venue you choose and I’d like to help choose the cake and I want your advice with my dress. Nothing too grand. The rest is up to you!”
    “I’ll do my best to make it a wedding that you and Savvas will enjoy, as well,” Rebecca said, bemused by Demetra’s quicksilver personality.
    “All I want is Savvas—I love him!” Sincerity radiated from Demetra, and Rebecca wished she’d been blessed with the same love that Demetra shared with Savvas. “Okay,” Demetra said more loudly. “Enough of this bride stuff, I’m off for a quick workout in the downstairs gym.” And she vanished out the door.
    A silence descended in her wake.
    Rebecca started to segment the orange she had peeled, an orange she was already too full to eat. She placed two pieces in front of T.J., who attacked them with relish, juice dribbling down his chin.
    With a brooding glance in T.J.’s direction, Damon said, “The boy may be excused if he wants.”
    “T.J. His name is T.J.,” Rebecca said impatiently.
    “It’s a ridiculous name, for God’s sake.”
    “It’s his name,” she rebuked, dropping her voice. “And he can be excused after he’s finished the orange—I’ll take him up with me.”
    Damon leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “What I call him, it upsets you?”
    He hadn’t taken her advice about Fliss’s name preferences on board, so she shrugged. “He’s a person, an individual with a name chosen just for him. He’s not ‘the boy.’”
    She put another two segments on T.J.’s plate. He shoved one into his mouth with sticky fingers and picked up the remaining sliver. With a tiny-toothed grin at her, he slid from the chair before she could stop him and was around the table in a trice.
    Rebecca watched, frozen, as T.J. offered Damon his last segment of orange. There was a moment of utter silence, then T.J. pushed the messy bit of orange at Damon, insistent now. Rebecca unfroze and leaped to her feet, hurrying toward them, aware that any moment the juice would land on Damon’s expensive suit, aware that Damon was not accustomed to three-year-olds and sticky hands and that T.J. was likely to suffer the consequences of his impatience.
    Damon’s next act stunned her.
    Taking the orange, he popped the sodden mass into his mouth. Then he gave T.J. a beaming smile. “Delicious, thank you, T.J.”
    T.J. squealed with pleasure. He battered his juice-stained fists against Damon’s trousers and cackled, “Dee’icious, dee’icious.”
    Rebecca swept him up into her arms before he could do any more damage. Taking in the wet patches on Damon’s thighs with a harassed glance, she said, “I’m so sorry.”
    Damon shrugged. “No matter. The suit will clean.”
    He was still smiling at T.J., and Rebecca went utterly still, staring at him. When his head turned, she tore her gaze away. “Excuse us, please.” Without waiting for a response, she snatched a paper napkin from the table, flashed him a meaningless smile and made for the door.
    “I’ll collect you to visit my mother at noon. Be ready.” Damon’s command followed them out the room.
    As she bolted through the doorway, T.J. reached over her shoulder to wave at Damon before whispering in her ear, “I like the man.”

    It was a shock to see Soula lying so frail and passive in the high