Free The Priest's Well (The Greek Village Collection Book 12) by Sara Alexi Page A

under her hair, she looks at him to see if truth shows in his face. He knows it does.
    ‘They might move you.’ Her eyes are so wide now, she looks scared, fragile. He wants to put his arms around her, assure her not to fear. When she is in the room, he cannot imagine being anywhere else in the world. In fact, when she is in the room, nothing else seems to matter at all: not his work, nor the bishopric, nor the ownership of the big house.
    ‘I will stay,’ he announces, and the conviction he feels inside is a revelation to him.
    She takes a step towards him, the mop bucket abandoned. His own heartbeat throbs at his temple. There is also a strange expansion in his chest which steals his breath and he recognises it as a yearning, a yearning to make her safe, take her in his arms and hold her gently, softly.
    With long fingers, she strokes the hair from her face and looks him in the eye. The fear he usually sees there is subsiding. The scar on her forehead twists its ragged way into the hairline she has made visible. His hand reaches towards it, fingers pulsating to stroke the angry reminder but he pulls his arm back to his side.
    ‘It was my home here, but with the move to the big house, I realised nothing is secure.’
    ‘I will give it to you.’ He cannot stop staring into her eyes. The rule that once ordained a priest cannot marry is a ridiculous one. In this moment, he would give up his calling to marry her. The church might be losing many good men for such a silly rule.
    ‘You will give it to me?’ A small frown flashes across her forehead but the scarred area does not move. A tractor rumbles somewhere outside in the village, but, right now, life outside of these walls has nothing to do with him. There is only Nefeli.
    ‘Yes. I will give it to you.’ The words create a smoothness to her countenance; her eyes are moist. Has he reduced her to tears? Does it mean that much to her? ‘Babis is coming round; I will ask him to make up the papers. It will be yours.’ Her eyes moisten all the more and a single tear rolls over and runs down her cheek. Again, his arm moves and his hands reaches, this time to stroke the tear away. He feels she would let him, maybe he should just do it. He lets his arm finish its upward arch and his thumb reaches her cheek. Slowly and gently, he wipes away the tear. Her whole body seems to relax and he would give anything to kiss her!
    His weight rolls onto the balls of his feet, readying him to move, to cover the small distance between them.
    A sharp rap on the door dispels the fixation, sending the room spinning into collision with reality.
    ‘Papas? It’s Babis.’
    Nefeli’s hair falls. She looks to the floor. Her limbs take on their usual tightness of movement and she takes mop and bucket to the fireside, where she resumes her work.
    Lifting the latch, Babis pushes in with briefcase and papers in each hand, heavy steps and sweating profusely. He smells of aftershave and fried food.
    ‘Kalimera ,’ he says in Nefeli’s direction and dumps everything he is carrying on the table. ‘And Kalimera to you too, Papas. I hope you are settling in alright. So, what can I do for you?’
    ‘Coffee?’ Savvas asks.
    ‘Water,’ Babis replies and before the word has left his mouth, Nefeli is taking glasses from the shelf.
    ‘My God, Papas, have you no air conditioning in here? You will roast like an Easter goat come August!’ Babis sits heavily into a chair, taking out a handkerchief to mop his forehead.
    ‘It is being arranged,’ Savvas says and looks to Nefeli to see if she is alright. The change of mood was so sudden, he feels he is reeling.
    ‘So, how can I help?’ Babis takes a fat fountain pen from his shirt pocket and a notebook from his briefcase and waits, poised.
    ‘One minute.’ Savvas goes through to the other room and takes the stamped official paper from under the diary and poetry book in the bureau. ‘This is the old agreement, of Nefeli and her mama moving into the