My Big Fat Christmas Wedding: A Funny And Heartwarming Christmas Romance. Samantha Tonge
Niko’s smile became lopsided.
‘It’s great, my inventive Pippa. A unique twist on the usual Christmas market, no? But whether it is enough to make a difference…’ He stared out to sea. ‘I no recognise my country any more. Yes, the sea swells. The sun shines. But people’s hearts no longer sing. Their eyes dull.’
I tried to imagine this country’s turmoil happening back in England, and my chest squeezed.
‘Why don’t we hold a meeting in the taverna tomorrow evening and see what the villagers think?’ I said gently.
He turned and stared deep into my eyes for a moment. ‘You right. And we need to work out the number of stalls, where to pitch them, how to cost products, promote our local theme, what to do if it rains…’
I hugged him. It was great to brainstorm a project, just like I used to, on a daily basis, back in London. Don’t get me wrong, I loved running the teashop and expanding the business, but my mathematical mind kind of flexed occasionally, as if asking for more challenging equations to solve. Whereas my ex, Henrik, and I would talk late into the night about stockmarket price fluctuations and sell-offs, Niko was often too tired for much chat after a day out at sea, although…my stomach fluttered…he often found renewed energy once we slipped between the sheets, his kisses as light as snowflakes falling on every centimetre of my—
‘We must circulate flyers to attract the tourists in Kos Town,’ I suggested. Best to keep some memories about Niko to myself!
‘Flyers? Strange word, dear Pippa,’ said a deep voice. Georgios’ bald head appeared from the distance. With his generous eyebrows and moustache he took on an almost werewolf appearance in the dim light. He yawned and tightened his scarf – hand-knitted by Grandma of course. Ooh, she could knit a range of winter wear for the market and… I took a deep breath. Okay. With only three weeks to go, my plans had to stay realistic.
‘Papa? Everything okay?’ said Niko and brushed sand off the back of his trousers.
Georgios pulled down his woollen hat. ‘Very. Your mother so happy that the Marine Museum building work is finally showing real signs of progressing, with the foundations finished today. Now she in one of her ouzo moods.’
We laughed. Sophia didn’t drink much and it only took a couple of those liquorice drinks to bring out her creative side – in other words some sharp dance moves.
‘I’ve come to call you in,’ he said and rubbed his hands together. ‘It is unusually cold this evening, no?’
‘We are in our twenties – not twelve!’ Playfully Niko lifted his arms into the air. ‘You don’t need to fetch us home.’
Despite the chilly air, warmth surged through my limbs as the men clapped each other’s shoulders. Family values meant everything in this village and made up for the lack of fashion stores, cinemas and gyms and…okay. I admit it – after four months now on the island, just sometimes I missed my old life. In the summer, Taxos hadn’t seemed so utterly different to busy London, due to chatting villagers out in the sun, along with the soundtrack of mopeds, braying donkeys and cicadas, plus shop owners and fishermen shouting to one another. But in the quiet winter, and despite the more dynamic atmosphere of nearby Kos Town, my thoughts occasionally focused on what I’d left behind. A sigh escaped my lips – like the eclectic London architecture, the adrenaline-fuelled pace of city life, with its tube trains, black taxis and red buses. I also missed spontaneous spending, Niko was loath to accept help from my savings. I’d longed to travel just to Athens last month, for a famous harvest festival, but could tell Niko was worried about the expense with Christmas and our wedding looming. He knew better than to try to tell me what to do – and vice versa. I’d still bought that new winter jacket last month and he’d ignored me last week when I said the sea was too rough for him to go out. Yet lately I’d sensed an undercurrent of…of something deeper dividing us.
I inhaled. Honestly, talk about wedding nerves. Everything would be fine! I linked arms with both men and we trudged across the sand. An owl hooted. Mmm. Nothing beat the smell of those briny waves, laced with wood smoke lingering from the barbecue. How could I be so silly, to miss the musty smell of the underground and exhaust-fume fragranced London pavements?
‘The market sounds like a good idea,’ said Georgios. ‘Perhaps everything look up a little, now. Word is, ThinkBig Development pushes for the Marine Museum project to be finished as quickly as possible.’ He turned to me. ‘In fact, tonight Stavros said he’d just received a text message from your old friend Henrik.’
For some reason my pulse rate increased.
‘Henrik flies over tomorrow, to make a report for ThinkBig on the next stage of development. He and Stavros will meet for lunch, to catch up.’
‘Great,’ I said, voice shrill at this unexpected mention of my ex.
The six-foot-four height, oat-coloured hair, those crinkly slate eyes – at one time all those things would have put a silly grin on my face.
Georgios turned up his collar with his free hand. ‘He is only here for two days, so I doubt we will see him.’ He chuckled. ‘And I was looking forward to getting him happy, happy on retsina again.’
My Greek family-to-be amazed me – how little propensity they had to hold a grudge. After all, only a few months ago, Henrik had arrived here all set on turning Taxos into some character-less, concrete holiday location. At least he’d finally seen the sense to back down – and accept me and Niko as a couple.
Gosh. Henrik here? I’d only seen him once since our break-up. I pulled Niko closer, as if to protect myself from any…any inappropriate feelings that might still linger. Goodness knows why, I mean honestly… I had no particular desire to see my ex again. None whatsoever.
However as Georgios and Niko laughed amiably about Sophia again, why did I suddenly experience a fizzing sensation in my chest? More likely it was because my brain twitched and a zillion questions jumped into my head that I would ask him about mutual friends, plus our favourite city spots at Christmas, his job, the latest stockmarket figures…everything that, back in London, used to turn me on.
The palm of my hand ran over the smooth surface, fingers trailing across tasty contours. Was there anything more sensuous than firm, creamy scone dough, rolled out, its bumps of coloured ingredients promising bursts of different flavours?
Okay – Niko’s chest might come a close second, taut from hauling fishing boats onto the beach. My mind filled, for a moment, with an image of the way his mouth would quirk up on one side, as if daring me to kiss the corner, although, truth be told, my knees became more wobbly at the sound of his crazily caring, Greekish tones – especially when he teased me if my baklava came out of the oven drier than a beached bunch of seaweed. There were several local dishes that still got the better of me.
Humming, I picked up the circular scone cutter. In a couple of hours the taverna would buzz with villagers, here to discuss my Christmas market idea. We’d set a meeting for late afternoon, after Saturday trade had finished. I’d already made cranberry and white chocolate scones to test out. This batch boasted festive sage and onion, plus a handful of chopped walnuts (my secret ingredient for a great British stuffing recipe).
Mmm. What a taste-bud seducing smell. Cue happy memories from Christmases past, even though Mum and Dad were never far from their smartphones and we usually ate out in a swanky restaurant. More than once I’d wished to spend the day at home, the three of us basting the turkey. I’d never seen the Queen’s speech, nor eagerly searched for chocolates on a Christmas tree. My busy parents would simply pull a ready-decorated pop-up one out of the loft.
My lips upturned. That’s why this Christmas was going to be really special. Just like the one from my childhood when we visited Taxos. Georgios and Sophia had insisted that we join their family celebrations. What fun, with everyone mucking in with cooking and washing up, before playing cards. Georgios