MELANIE MILBURNE - The Greek's Bridal Bargain

It was difficult not to voice her agreement but somehow she managed to remain silent.

‘It will take me the best part of that month to sort out the mess your father has made,’ he went on. ‘I have to wait until I get clearance of some international funds to relieve the situation.’

That did get her attention.

‘International funds? What international funds?’

‘I recently inherited my maternal grandfather’s estate in Greece. I have to wait until the bank clears the funds to access them.’

Bryony’s forehead creased in a frown. His maternal grandfather had been wealthy? It didn’t make sense. Why then had his mother worked her fingers to the bone cleaning?

‘I thought you didn’t know any of your relatives.’

‘I don’t, nor do I wish to. They didn’t help my mother when she most needed it so I don’t see why I should pay them any attention now.’

‘But surely if your grandfather left you his entire estate you must feel some sort of obligation to go and see the rest of the family and—’

‘My grandfather’s money is nothing more than guilt money. I’ve made my own fortune without it.’

‘Then why are you using it to sort out my father’s debts?’

‘You’re not listening, Bryony,’ he chided her. ‘I told you, my grandfather’s money is guilt money. I think it’s highly appropriate if I use it to dig your father out of the hole he dug for himself.’

Guilt money.

Her stomach churned as she thought about it.

‘Exactly whose guilt are we talking about here?’ she asked.

‘I think you know whose guilt we’re talking about,’ he answered.

She took a breath and hoped he didn’t hear the way it snagged in her throat.

‘What sort of outfit should I wear to the ceremony?’ she asked for the want of something to say to steer the subject away from the topic of guilt.

‘It’s a wedding, Bryony. Your mother will expect you to look like a bride.’

He really knew how to press her buttons. Her mother had been planning her wedding since she’d been five, her enthusiasm undaunted by her daughter’s flat refusal to select herself a groom.

‘I don’t look good in white,’ she said. ‘It’s not my colour.’

‘Wear cream, then.’

‘Shouldn’t I be wearing black?’ she asked. ‘After all, isn’t this the end of my life as I now know it?’

‘Quite frankly, I don’t care what you wear,’ he said with the first sign of impatience in his tone she’d heard. ‘Your job is to appear at the right time, say the right words and do what you’re told. If you don’t your father and mother will be cruising the exercise yard of whatever correctional facility they’re sent to instead of the Pacific Islands.’

Bryony stared at the buzzing receiver in her hand as he ended the call with an abruptness that left her feeling somehow deflated.

Her mother rang the next morning and arranged a time to meet her in the city to select the wedding finery. Bryony had to give herself a mental shake once or twice to remind herself that this wasn’t going to be a normal wedding in any shape or form, because her mother was quite clearly on a mission and had been waiting years to execute it.

‘I don’t want a huge bouquet,’ Bryony insisted in the florist’s shop.

‘You must have a big bouquet,’ Glenys said, thrusting yet another design under her nose. ‘This is the most important day of your life; you have to have everything perfect.’

Bryony stared down at the various floral arrangements in the brochure in front of her and wondered what had ever been perfect in her parents’ marriage. Her mother continually danced around her father’s demands, subsuming her own needs into the satisfaction of his. What was perfect about that?

‘I’ll have the roses,’ she told the hovering assistant. ‘Cream, not white.’

They left the florist to do yet another round of the bridal boutiques as she had been unable to find anything that suited her colouring or her figure.

‘I need to go on a diet,’ she lamented at the fifth boutique, her hands pushing against her tummy where the satin of the gown she was trying on was showing too much detail of her Christmas indulgences.

‘You worry too much about your figure,’ her mother remonstrated as she eyed the gown. ‘I was at least ten pounds heavier than you when I got married.’

‘At least you were marrying the man of your choice,’ Bryony said.

There was a funny little silence.

Bryony twirled around to face her mother, the rustle of the garment she was wearing the only sound in the changing room.

Glenys bent to the hem of the gown, fussing over some little detail which Bryony hadn’t noticed.

‘Mum?’

‘Yes, darling?’ Glenys straightened and gave her an absent look.

Bryony rolled her lips together and, taking a breath, took one of her mother’s thin hands in hers, the tendons on the back reminding her of the struts of an umbrella.

‘You do want me to marry Kane, don’t you?’

Glenys gave her a watery smile. ‘I know you don’t think much of him but he’s doing us all a favour by marrying you.’

‘You make me sound like some sort of white elephant you can’t wait to get rid of,’ Bryony said indignantly.

‘I don’t mean to, darling, but your father has…’ She inserted a little choked sob. ‘Your father hasn’t been the same since Austin…left us.’

Bryony felt like screaming with frustration.

Why couldn’t anyone in her family say the words?

Austin had died.

He hadn’t passed away.

He hadn’t left.

He’d died.

She sighed and, reaching out, gave her mother a consoling hug, catching sight of herself in the mirror opposite, the outfit she was wearing making her look like a meringue without the cream and strawberries.

‘I hate this dress.’ She released her mother and began stripping off the gown. ‘I want something simple and elegant. Is there nowhere in Sydney where I can find what I want?’

She found it in Paddington.

It was cream, it was long and voluminous, it was elegant—it was perfect.

Even if her groom wasn’t.

He rang that night as if he’d somehow sensed she’d found what she was looking for.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Bryony.’

She pursed her lips sourly. ‘Who is it?’

‘You know who I am, so stop playing games.’

‘I’m not playing games. I just wish you’d identify yourself when you call.’

‘Don’t you have caller ID?’

‘I still like to know who is speaking. Numbers mean nothing to me.’

‘You’re definitely your father’s daughter then.’

She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

She heard the rustle of papers before he spoke. ‘Your father has made the most God-awful mess of things. There are creditors breathing down my neck as we speak.’

She wasn’t sure how to respond. Should she thank him for what he was doing, even though he was taking away her freedom by doing it?

‘I had no idea…’

‘No, I imagine not,’ he said. ‘Are you doing anything right now?’

She tried to think of something that could be legitimately occupying her time at seven-fifteen in the evening but she’d already washed her hair that morning.

‘No…’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.’

‘But—’

The receiver buzzed in her hand for the second time in twenty-four hours. She put it back in its cradle and stared at her reflection in the mirror, wondering why it was that her mouth suddenly felt the urge to smile.

Bryony opened the door fourteen minutes and twenty-one seconds later to find Kane standing there dressed in a black dinner suit, his thick hair still showing the grooves of a recent comb.