Read an Excerpt
The Greek Bridegroom
By Helen Bianchin Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Copyright © 2002 Harlequin Enterprises Limited
All right reserved. ISBN: 0373122845
Chapter One
There were some days when it just didn't pay to get out of bed, Rebekah groaned as she lifted her head from the pillow and caught sight of the digital clock.
It was blinking, indicating a power failure through the night had disrupted the alarm mechanism.
She fumbled for her watch, checked the time and uttered a muffled oath as she slid from the bed, then cursed out loud as she stubbed her toe on her way to the en suite.
The icy blast of water ensured the quickest shower on record, and, dressed, she raced into the kitchen, dished out fresh food for the cat, snatched a container of orange juice from the refrigerator, gulped a mouthful, then she collected her bag and took the lift down to the underground car park.
Seconds later she slid in behind the wheel of the Blooms and Bouquets van, inserted the key into the ignition ... and nothing.
Don't do this to me, she begged as the engine refused to kick over. Please don't do this to me! During the ensuing minutes she coaxed, cajoled, promised, and still it remained as dead as a doornail.
She restrained the urge to scream in frustration. Talk about having Friday the thirteenth on a Tuesday! Raising her head heavenward and praying to the deity didn't work either.
What else could go wrong? It was better she didn't ask, for it might tempt fate to fling another disaster in her path.
There was nothing else to do but get behind the wheel of her MG and send the sleek red sports car purring through Sydney's suburban streets.
Not exactly a suitable vehicle in which to transport flowers to the Double Bay florist shop she co-owned with her sister, Ana.
In the early pre-dawn hours there wasn't much traffic, and already the city was stirring to life. Pie-carts were closing up after the long night, the council street-sweeping trucks whined along, clearing debris from the gutters, and fruit and vegetable vendors transported their supplies from the city markets. Taxis carrying businessmen to catch the early flights interstate, petrol tankers beginning deliveries.
It was a time of day Rebekah enjoyed, and she activated a popular radio station on the console and felt her spirits lift with the upbeat music.
Soon the sun would lift above the horizon, and the grey shadows would disperse, bestowing everything with light and colour.
A sweeping glance was all it took at the markets to determine the best of the blooms were gone, and she figured her order, placed it, then turned the car towards Double Bay.
The shop was situated in a trendy élite area, and thanks to a bequest from her late mother the business was free from any loan encumbrances.
It was six-thirty when she unlocked the outer door and she tripped the lights, filled the coffee percolator, then set to work.
While the percolator took its time, she booted up the computer and downloaded email orders, then she checked the fax machine.
They were in for a busy day, and there was a need to adjust her order. She crossed to the phone, made the call, then she rang a mechanic to go check the van.
Hot, sweet black coffee boosted her energy levels, and she was on her third and last cup for the day when Ana arrived.
Looking at her sister was akin to seeing a mirror image of herself ... almost. They shared the same petite height, fine-boned features, slender curves and naturally blonde hair. Two years separated them in age, with Ana the eldest and twenty-seven. Their natural personalities were similar, although Rebekah felt she held an edge when it came to determined resolve.
The necessity for self-survival in an abusive relationship had provided a strength of will she hadn't been aware she possessed. It had also implanted an ingrained distrust of men.
A year's engagement to Brad Somerville, a beautiful wedding, embarking on a dream honeymoon ... nothing prepared her for the sudden change in the man she'd vowed to love and honour less than ten hours before.
At first she'd thought it was something she'd done or said. Verbal abuse was bad enough; physical abuse was something else. Jealous, possessive to the point of obsessiveness, he soon killed any feelings she had for him, and after three months of living in a hellish marriage she'd simply packed a bag and walked out of his life.
Following the divorce she'd legally reverted to her maiden name, bought an apartment, adopted a beautiful Burmilla kitten whom she'd named Millie, and lived to work.
"Hi." Rebekah summoned a sympathetic smile as she glimpsed the slight air of fatigue evident in Ana's expression. "Late night? Morning sickness?"
"That bad, huh?" her sister queried as she crossed to the computer and began cross-checking the day's orders.
"Maybe you should listen to Luc and cut down your hours."
Ana shot her a telling glance. "You're supposed to be on my side."
Rebekah wrinkled her nose in humour. "I am, believe me."
"What would I do in that great house all day? Petros is the ultimate manservant."
The phone rang, and Ana picked up, listened, then handed over the cordless receiver. "For you."
It was the mechanic with word all the van needed was a new battery, which he'd install, and mail her the account.
"Problems?"
"The van wouldn't start." She relayed the repercussions, then took the next phone call.
It didn't get better as the morning wore on. A difficult customer took most of her patience, and another complained bitterly about the cost of florists' delivery charges.
Food, she needed food. It was almost midday, and the energy boost from juice, coffee and a cereal bar had clearly dissipated.
"I'll go pick up a salad sandwich. Then you can take a lunch break."
Ana glanced up from the computer. "I can eat lunch on the run just as well as you."
"But you won't," Rebekah said firmly. "You'll buy a magazine, seat yourself at any one of the nearby café's, and take your time over a latte and something sensible to eat."
Ana rolled her eyes. "Tea," she amended with a grimace. "And if you begin treating me like a precious pregnant princess, I'll hit you!"
She laughed, a low, throaty chuckle, and her eyes held a mischievous gleam. "Petros?" she hazarded. The middle-aged manservant had been part of Luc's household for years, well before she'd first met Ana's inimitable husband. "Does he still refer to you as Ms Dimitriades?"
Ana's laughter was infectious. "He considers anything less would be regarded as undignified."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Greek Bridegroom by Helen Bianchin
Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
