Free The Unquiet Mind (The Greek Village Collection Book 8) by Sara Alexi Page A

him. While he eats, Babis does not talk, and Yanni encourages him to eat more. Eventually, Babis sits back, slaps his hand on his engorged stomach, and concedes defeat. The buttons of his silk shirt are straining and he undoes a notch of his belt. The tail end, which is capped in silver, clicks against the ornate clasp as he does so.
    ‘I would like to make a toast,’ Babis says, filling two glasses from the one beer bottle. ‘To cousins.’ He encourages Yanni to pick up the glass and drink. ‘Come on, to cousins! Are you not happy to be here with your cousin?’ Yanni picks up the glass and drinks, just a mouthful. ‘Oh, and to mothers. Single-handed she raised me, Yanni, and look at me now, making deals to sell houses worth hundreds of thousands, so to mamas.’ This time, Yanni only takes a sip. ‘Yanni, is that all your mama is worth? To mothers.’ Babis raises his glass and they drink again. ‘Oh yes and to work! Without which we would all starve.’ Babis clicks his glass against Yanni’s and the glasses are drained.
    ‘My first sale is going through. I told you, right? Within months, mark my words, I will be arranging the contracts for the sale of many of the houses around here. But Yanni, when I heard you were coming from Orino, I saw it all.’ He stops, takes a breath. ‘Yanni,’ he pauses, this time for effect, ‘within a year, I am going to make you a rich man, make us both rich men.’ Babis waits for a response. Yanni can think of nothing to say. The drumming in his temples has returned and he is thinking of the brief moment he felt quite pleasant after the second, or was it the third, shot of ouzo he had earlier in the day, when everything, suddenly, seemed more manageable. Babis raises his hand and clicks his fingers at Stella, who is leaning against the door post.
    ‘Two ouzos,’ he demands.

Chapter 9
    He had heard about it. Poems, both Greek and English, alluded to it, like being struck by lightning some had said, finding the other half of your soul, he had read. A feeling of completeness, his mama had confessed. Utter nonsense, his baba had countered. Yet there she is. No one ever said it would be terrifying. No one ever said he would feel consumed with horror. But he does. He feels horror at the disloyalty of his emotions to his Sophia. But also horror for ever having loved Sophia in the first place when everything in his being now urges him to take care and protect this missing piece to his life at which he is staring, just a few footsteps away.
    Stella puts the ouzo glasses down, one on either side of the table, giving Yanni a sideways glance. He can feel her eyes on him but he cannot look away from the woman across the road who is now shifting her weight onto the stool by the sandwich shop doorway. Her navy calf-length skirt wraps around her knees, her white top twists against her chest. Her face is blank, bored. Her limbs loose, tired. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail, strands broken free and creating untidy halos around her ears. Yet she is perfect in every sense of the expression.
    ‘Yanni, are you listening to me?’ Babis pulls him back to consciousness. Yanni catches Babis looking over to see what has taken his attention, but his gaze does not linger, he cannot see what Yanni can see. It surprises Yanni, but at the same time, it doesn’t. She looks his way. Yanni grabs the shot glass and downs his ouzo in one.
    ‘ Yia mas !’ Babis cries and he downs his, slamming his glass back onto the table top and attracting Stella’s attention. With a wink from Babis, she steps into her emporium and returns with the bottle, which she leaves on their table.
    ‘So what do you think?’ Babis is almost jumping about in his seat. Sweat marks are spreading in the armpits of his silk shirt and his brow is shiny in the evening’s residual heat.
    The woman has met Yanni’s gaze and Yanni is stunned. He cannot move.
    ‘Yanni, Yanni.’ Babis pulls on his shirt sleeve. ‘I don’t think