Then Xanti dropped into a chair and tipped it back on two legs, then took a long swallow of his beer and looked up at his son who leaned against one of the uprights that supported the veranda roof. “You’re a lot smarter than I was at your age.”
Christo raised a brow. “Doesn’t take much.”
Xanti laughed. “Probably not. Some men teach by bad example. And I did a damn good job of it for a lot of years.” Then his grin faded and his expression grew serious as he added, “But I’m glad you didn’t turn out the same way. Glad you picked the right woman the first time around.”
Christo opened his mouth—and closed it again. He couldn’t deny it, so he didn’t say anything at all. Only when Xanti looked at him quizzically, did he finally answer.
“I’m glad you approve.”
“I do.” Xanti was emphatic. “I like Natalie. She makes you smile, brings you to life—the same way Katia settles me down.”
That perception did raise Christo’s eyebrows. He would not have expected such self-awareness from his father. The first was a variation on a long-standing complaint Xanti had voiced since he was a child—that Christo was always too serious, too adult.
“Someone had to be,” had always been Christo’s retort.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Xanti said now, his mouth quirking once more into a faint grin. “And you’re right, of course. I wasn’t much of a father. I’m sorry. Maybe I’ll do better this time around.”
“This time?” Christo stared, nonplussed. “You mean—? Is Katia—?” He was speechless at the unspoken possibility Xanti hinted at, though he supposed he shouldn’t be.
“No!” Xanti said hastily. “But—” he shrugged fatalistically “—you never know the future, do you? What will be will be, they say. And what about your future? When are you tying the knot?”
Christo, distracted by the possibility of his father becoming one again, dragged his mind back to the question, and realized it was another he didn’t want to answer. “We haven’t discussed it.”
“Why not?”
Christo shrugged his back against one of the uprights of the veranda. “It’s early days yet.”
“Not as early as you think,” Xanti warned. “Don’t waste time. Don’t string her along.”
“Don’t give me advice on women,” Christo snapped.
All four legs of Xanti’s chair came back to earth with a thump. “Relax.” He held up a hand as if to back Christo off. “Just offering a suggestion. I’m only saying that your Natalie is too good to lose. You don’t want her marrying someone else.”
Christo’s teeth came together. “She isn’t marrying anyone else!”
“Of course not,” Xanti said easily. He tipped back again, sipped his beer, stared into the distance.
And Christo tried to breathe again. Tried not to think that someday, of course, she would marry someone else.
She might say she had no intention of ever marrying, but he knew better. Natalie was too loving, too giving. She would find a man to love and she would marry him. Even now he could see her in his grandmother’s kitchen, laughing with one of Katia’s cousins. One of her male cousins.
Primitive feelings of a rage that he didn’t want to examine too closely bubbled very near the surface, playing havoc with his common sense and reason. His fingers choked the beer bottle in his hand.
“So,” Xanti said, “how about a game of pool?”
“No,” Christo said. He shoved away from the upright and thumped his empty beer bottle on the table. “Natalie and I are going for a walk. She wants to see the gardens.”
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