To Catch A Bride. Renee Roszel
was admiring him, she shifted to glare at the highway. When he didn’t respond, she had no choice but to reroute her glare in his direction. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted, “I said, do you have a name, or—”
“I heard you, Miss Angelis.”
She continued to glower at him, but refused to say another word. If he chose to be a boor, it was his business. She didn’t care if he had a name or not.
After another ponderous accumulation of minutes, he startled her with, “Some people call me Pal.”
When she stopped reeling from shock that he’d actually spoken to her, she stared at him. “No kidding?” She made a disbelieving face. “No doubt due to your laugh-a-minute personality?”
He said nothing more, just drove.
Pal? It didn’t fit with the obnoxious image she had of the man. She decided to delve into the possible spin-offs of Pal. Out loud. If nothing else, her droning on might annoy him, and that was dandy with her. “One thing we can cross off the list is ‘Pal’ as in buddy or friend. The reasons for ruling them out are so laughably obvious I won’t even go there.”
She wanted to peek at him to see if his jaw muscles reacted to that dig, but she resisted. “Let’s see. Pal…” She scrunched up her forehead. “This is a hard one.” She peered at him. “Care to give me a hint?”
His only reaction was to check the rearview mirror and slide into the passing lane. What was this? Speeding up in order to get rid of her that much quicker? Her antagonism kicked into high gear along with the sports car. “I’ve got it!” She snapped her fingers and beamed at his profile. “You’re nicknamed after the palm crab! The reasons for that would be self-explanatory. And—no, wait, Paltry! That’s it!” She clapped her hands together with glee. “Paltry—meaning wretched, pettifogging and contemptible!”
She presented him with a victorious grin. Proud of herself and her wit, she was positive she’d showed ol’ “Pal” here, a thing or two about exactly who he was dealing with. “Am I right, or am I right?” she asked, a jubilant lilt in her tone.
“Pettifogging?” He stared at her for an instant as he downshifted at an exit.
“It’s a word,” she shot back, her triumphant smile intact. “It means trashy, shoddy—”
“Pal is short for Palikaraki. A nickname from my grandfather. “
“Palikaraki?” Kalli’s smile mutated into a confused frown. “But—but that’s Greek for ‘little hero.”’
The sports car sped along a hilly country road winding through a forest of pines and California live oak. As her companion drove, he slowly and deliberately lowered his head, then raised it. Kalli had to assume the move was a nod.
“Little hero?” She gave him another once-over. “Well, without getting into the delusions of your grandfather—does that mean you’re, by some freaky chance—Greek?”
Again he did that slow up and down thing with his head, another positive, if mute, response.
“I’m Greek, too.” She eyed him with curiosity, concluding it wouldn’t be strange for Mr. Varos to have other Greeks in his employ. There were probably lots of Greeks in California. As a matter of fact, it would make perfect sense. On two levels.
If Mr. Varos would go to the extreme of marrying a woman he didn’t know just because she was Greek, he would surely hire Greeks. And that solved the other burning question. How anybody as bad-tempered as Pal, here, could even get a job—certainly only by playing the Greek card.
“And I thought ‘little hero’ was just a good guess.” He glanced her way. “I’m disappointed.”
Her annoyance flared at his taunt. “You’re disappointed?” she said. “You’re disappointed! Well, Pal, let me tell you about disappointment!”
They came to a stop before a towering wrought-iron gate. Beautiful and ornate, it depicted scrolls, gilded flowers and acanthus leaves. The iron barrier was set in massive stone posts, topped with elaborate wrought-iron lanterns.
Kalli noticed Pal turn and glance up to his left. She followed his gaze, but didn’t see anything at first. After a minute of puzzled scrutinizing, she spotted a small camera mounted unobtrusively in a niche on the pillar, nearly hidden by branches of a towering cedar.
After a short pause, the gate began to open to the accompaniment of a low mechanical hum.
Kalli was surprised Pal didn’t have to say anything. “Do they have eyeball prints of every employee, or something?”
He drove through the open gate without responding to her wisecrack.
She shifted to look back, and watched as the magnificent iron blockade made its ponderous return trek to block access to the Varos property.
“You were telling me something about disappointment, Miss Angelis?”
“Oh!” She jumped in surprise, something Pal seemed everlastingly good at making her do. She couldn’t recall reacting so powerful to any other man who merely initiated a conversation. What was it about Pal that could coax her to the brink of a conniption fit.
“Disappointment?” She shook her head, trying to refocus. The sight of the majestic gate had reminded her why she was here, and she experienced a surge of excitement about the project for the first time since—well, since the proposition of refurbishing the property had been made via Mr. Varos’s lawyers, when the marriage deal was being hammered out.
She swallowed, her throat dry. It was hard to believe she’d even considered such a daft idea as an arranged marriage. “Oh—right. Disappointment.”
She strained to see over the treetops, and thought she spied a spire here and a chimney there. She would see the house very soon. Her heartbeat sped up and she gave Pal a disgruntled peek. She would be rid of her disagreeable escort, too.
That knowledge made her bold.
“I’ll tell you about disappointment!” she said, allowing her resentment free access to her mouth. “Disappointment is being picked up at the airport by a big, grouchy bear. Disappointment is having to spend these past two, unending hours with a snarling sorehead. And real disappointment is discovering that same big, grouchy bear of a sorehead is Greek, a cruel, ugly blot on an otherwise wonderful people!”
Belligerent and full of vinegar, she leaned toward him, hopeful her aggressive slant would rattle him just a little. “That’s real disappointment, buster!” She flicked him hard on the arm. “That’s bottom-line disappointment—Pal!”
They headed around a bend and up an incline. Out of the corner of her eye, Kalli saw a flash of color that wasn’t part of the verdant landscape. She turned instinctively as the Varos mansion rose before her amid a paradise of blooming shrubs, flowers and the heavy perfume of wisteria.
She sucked in a breath, experiencing a warm, rosy feeling she could only describe as love-at-first-sight. The Victorian residence had a fairy-tale quality—a delicate castle, created from a romantic marriage of brick, stone and wood.
It was a three-storied cornucopia of Victorian elements, cleverly mingled from its gables, dormers and Palladian windows to the wraparound graystone veranda and lofty tower. The dwelling was unique and whimsical—a charming reflection of childhood fantasies and make-believe.
“Oh,” she cried, her passion for her work cresting and overflowing. “There’s so much—so much—” Her voice broke, so she waved a broad arch in the air, indicating its potential. The home was not merely plaster, board and stone to Kalli. It was a living, breathing entity—a being with a soul and character, who, over the years, had been wronged and degraded with regrettable paint choices and injurious additions.
To be given the chance to save such a treasure, to restore it to its original glory, would be a dream-come-true to anyone in her profession. Kalli gawked, overwhelmed that Mr. Varos would