Free The Giannakis Bride by Catherine Spencer Page B

especially not when she was trapped beside him in the intimate confines of his car. “I’m going to make a hell of a father-in-law, aren’t I?” he said.
    “I hope so,” she replied, sobering. “With all my heart, I hope we’re both going to see the day that Poppy walks down the aisle, a beautiful bride.”
    “You plan on being there for that, as well, do you?”
    “Count on it. I can’t take her mother’s place, but I can and will do the next best thing.”
    “I’ll hold you to that,” he said.
    They’d reached Kifissia by then, and the streets were just coming to life as dusk fell. The aroma of roasting meat and garlic and hot olive oil drifted from the open doors of tavernas , displacing the lingering scent of Penteli’s pine-drenched air. Groups of people sat outside, their laughter and conversation vying with the music of the bouzouki players wandering among the tables.
    Gradually, though, the noise diminished, muffled by the trees lining the streets, and when Dimitrios at last turned onto the steep crescent where the clinic stood and pulled up in the forecourt, a hush hung over the land. Stepping out of the car, Brianna caught the faint whiff of some sweet-smelling night flower. Palm trees swathed the parking area in dense shadow. Overhead, the sky had turned a soft violet. Although the hospital windows glowed softly in the encroaching dark, the raucous noise and bustle and bright lights of Athens might have been a continent away, instead of just a few miles.
    They found Poppy almost asleep, but at the sight of Dimitrios , she climbed up and reached for him over the high rails of her bed. “Papa!” she whimpered.
    Scooping her into his arms, he paced the room with her, all the while crooning softly in her ear. Eventually she grew quiet. Her little fist relaxed, its fingers spreading like pale petals against his tanned neck. Her head drooped against his chest. Her eyes fell closed. And Brianna had to turn away, so affected by the sight that her heart ached as if squeezed in a vise.
    Quietly she left the room. Now was not the time for a stranger bearing gifts to intrude on such a special moment. Nothing money could buy held a candle to the bond between this big, strong man and his tiny, fragile daughter. Leaving the music box and mobile on a table next to her purse in the anteroom, she walked to the window and stared unseeingly at the gardens below.
    She didn’t turn when she heard him leave Poppy’s room. She didn’t want him to see the tears clinging to her eyelashes. But, joining her, he noticed anyway. Without a word he put his arms around her and drew her to him. The last time he’d done that, handling her as tenderly as if she were made of spun glass, had been with the murmured promise of a future together.
    This time all he said was, “I know.”
    “Does it ever get easier,” she asked, when she was able to speak again. “Coming here and seeing her so alone and ill, I mean?”
    “No. But you get used to the pain.”
    “I don’t think I will. I’m not strong like you.”
    “You’d be surprised, Brianna, at how much a parent will endure to help his child.”
    Not very much in my sister’s case, she thought sadly, shaken by a sob she couldn’t stifle. It was all very fine to lay the blame for Cecily’s behavior at someone else’s feet, but the fact remained, she’d left her baby to be brought up by a housekeeper, and shown such disregard for her own life that it ended before her daughter had laid down any lasting memories of the woman who’d brought her into the world. What sort of legacy was that?
    “Enough now,” Dimitrios scolded. “I’m taking you home. Poppy’s asleep for the night and you’re exhausted. Tomorrow’s Saturday. We’ll come back in the morning when she’s more alert and you can give her your gifts then.”
    Still with his arm around her waist, they left the clinic.
    Soon enough, they’d left Kifissia , too, and were following the twisting mountain road