'Something special,' he went on, as if she hadn't spoken, 'for our wedding night.'
She stilled. Then, with a curious twist to her lips, she nodded.
'If you insist.'
He smiled with satisfaction. 'Oh, but I do, pethi mou, I do.'
He took her to an exclusive lingerie boutique in the chic Kolonaki shopping area of Athens. It was the kind of place, Andrea thought, where if you asked for a cotton bra and panties they would throw you out! It was also the kind of place, she realised, the moment the attentive assistant started to fawn all over her escort, where Nikos Vassilis was clearly an extremely valued customer indeed.
And it didn't take a genius for Andrea to guess just what kind of woman he bought lingerie here for!
Oh, the assistant was polite enough to her, that was for sure, but it was obvious that she regarded her actual customer as Nikos Vassilis. Andrea knew she had been labelled a passing floozy with a single glance! She let the woman take her measurements and whisk out one gauzy confection after another, but declined the offer to try anything on.
She wouldn't he wearing any of it anyway. Her wedding night would be short-—and very far from sweet.
Well satisfied with his purchases, Nikos was all set to keep going.
'Come,' he said persuasively, 'we are surrounded by designer shops—take your pick!'
'No, thanks,' she returned indifferently. 'I keep telling you I've got enough.'
'Then do me one favour, ne?” He caught her arm. 'Let me buy you a single skirt, now, to change into. You have worn trousers two days running. I far prefer women to wear skirts.'
'How surprising,' she said with a wry smile. 'Unfortunately for you, I don't wear skirts.'
He frowned. 'What do you mean, you don't wear skirts?'
'Exactly that' she replied.
'You wore an evening dress last night!'
'That was long,' she said briefly. She wanted to change the subject—fast.
Enlightenment dawned on him—and relief. For a moment he had feared that she was the type of female who made some kind of nonsensical stand about insisting on wearing trousers on principle. Nikos saw no sense in such an attitude. He was no chauvinist—Vassilis Inc was unusual, he knew, in taking a proactive stance on hiring and promoting women—but he saw no reason why a woman should think she became demeaned as a sex object just for wearing a skirt!
Now he realised this was not Andrea's attitude.
'I'm sure your legs are beautiful,' he reassured her. 'They are long and elegant and shapely—I can see that even now.'
She glanced up at him. The curious twist was on her mouth again.
'Can you? You must have X-ray vision.'
He smiled indulgently. 'Even if they are not your best point, agape mou, I can make allowances.'
The twist to her mouth deepened, but she said nothing.
'So,' he said, 'let us buy you a skirt—and I will set your fears at rest.'
Her face went blank.
'I've done enough shopping for today. I'm bored.'
His eyebrow rose. He knew of no woman who was bored by shopping—especially when it was his money they were spending. Esme, naturally, was obsessed by clothes and her own appearance—it was her profession, after all. And Xanthe adored being taken by him to her favourite jewellers' shops. She was like a magpie for jewellery, and decked herself in glitter whenever she could. For her, Nikos knew wim a cynical tightening of his jaw, it was an insurance policy for her old age, when she could no longer hold her rich lovers to her side.
Perhaps Andrea, born to expectations of vast wealth from birth, saw things in a different light.
'Well, I would hate you to be bored, so how can I amuse you?'