Page 1 of Virgin's Night with the Greek

PROLOGUE

‘SHE’SDOINGWHAT?’

In response to the bombshell his younger sister had just dropped, Leonidas Stanhope sank into the chair behind his vast glass desk, his stomach tightening and his head already beginning to throb in a horribly familiar way.

‘She’s having herself painted,’ Daphne repeated dully in Greek as she stared out of the window at the view of London that stretched out far below in the late May sunshine. ‘In the nude. For Lazlo. As a birthday present, she said. He’s turning seventy next week.’

‘Seventy?’

‘I know,’ said Daphne. ‘I can only assume he’s a fan of Botox. I don’t know why she couldn’t simply have gift-wrapped a voucher for some more of that.’

‘That would have been far too subtle.’

As his sister muttered her agreement, Leo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose even though he knew perfectly well it would alleviate precisely nothing. He’d been firefighting his mother’s scandals for years, ever since he’d become the head of the family following his father’s sudden death twelve years ago, when he was nineteen. Some were huge, some were minor, all were exhausting.

Was there to be no end to the drama the woman caused? She was approaching sixty. At what age would dignity kick in and give him a break? No time soon, by the sound of things.

With a sigh, he fought the urge to grind his teeth, pulled himself together and redirected his attention to this latest incident. ‘I thought she and Lazlo had parted ways.’

Daphne turned from the window to take a seat on the other side of the desk. ‘That was two months ago,’ she said despondently, flopping back against the leather the colour of whisky. ‘They’ve since reconciled. She told me she was missing the sex.’

Leo winced.

‘The portrait’s to be part of an exhibition by up-and-coming young British artists at the Tate Modern. In a fortnight. Three days before my wedding. Can you believe it?’

‘Unfortunately, I can,’ he said, stifling a sigh of exasperation. ‘All too easily. She’s so self-absorbed, I doubt the timing of it would even have crossed her mind. Or the appropriateness.’

‘It’ll hit the press,’ Daphne continued, her voice becoming increasingly tremulous as her dark eyes began to shimmer. ‘The tabloids will have a field day. And the photos... God. Everyone at our wedding will be talking about it and gawping at her. As if the outfit she’s planning on wearing isn’t bad enough. I mean, white. Really? I don’t think I can stand it, Leo. I don’t know what to do. How do we stop it? Ari has no metaphorical weight to throw around and you know what Mama thinks of him. He begged her to at least hold off for a few more weeks, but she just said she wasn’t being dictated to by a waiter and hung up on him.’

‘I can imagine,’ he muttered, jaw clenched.

‘So canyoudo something about it?’

Of course he could. Fixing problems and managing people was a large part of what he did, whether as CEO of the Stanhope Kallis banking and shipping empire or as the protective eldest sibling of a large, much-loved tribe.

But more to the point, hewoulddo something because even if he was neither of those individuals, he could never have ignored the rawness in his sister’s voice. The tears and pain she was trying to suppress sliced at his chest like a knife, and a white-hot wave of frustrated anger surged through him.

Daphne had overcome so much to get to this point. Eight years ago, at the age of fourteen, she’d been diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia. She’d subsequently spent more time in hospital than out of it. She’d had blood transfusions and battled infections. She’d undergone rounds of chemotherapy and radiotherapy and suffered all the grim side effects that went with that. The initial prognosis had not been good, but despite this she’d never lost her optimism. She’d smiled her way through the most gruelling of times.

And so even though she’d eventually beaten the odds and been in remission for three years now, the outlook as positive as it could be, and even though he’d never understand the attraction of romantic love with all the hideous emotion and chaos that seemed to inevitably come with it, Leo would allow absolutely nothing to overshadow a day no one had ever thought they’d see.

‘Leave it with me.’

CHAPTER ONE

BENEATHTHESPARKLINGsurface of the gorgeously cool water, Willow Jacobs reached the end of the granite-lined pool, executed a lazy tumble turn and emerged with barely a splash to set off on another leisurely length of crawl.

The water slipped over her body like liquid pain relief. The heat of the Greek early summer sun warmed her skin like a balm. With every stroke, the tension in her hands that spread up her arms and into her shoulders and back while she worked eased. With every kick, the twinges and aches that came from sitting in one position for too long dispersed like watercolours in the rain.

She’d been working on and off for nearly a month now, with only one five-day break, which hadn’t been much of a break, but she didn’t resent the ten-hour days in the slightest. How could she when she was producing the best painting of her life? From the moment she’d put pastel to paper, the lines had come swiftly and the form had taken shape organically, as if her hands and fingers required no conscious input on her part at all.

Willow knew the rare and precious alchemy didn’t stem from her environment, luxurious and comfortable though it was. Nor was it attributable to a sudden surge of talent because she already had that in abundance. It came entirely from her subject, who was as charmingly fascinating as she was utterly self-centred.

Not only was the raven-haired, sloe-eyed Selene Stanhope exquisitely beautiful and in possession of a spectacular body that belied her age and the six children she’d borne, she was also a Greek socialite who’d lived an adventurous, glitzy life. When she wasn’t grumbling about her eldest son, about how disappointingly staid and repressed he was, about how it was his sole mission in life to pop up and spoil her fun, she liked to reminisce. At length. The stories she regaled made her sparkle and glow, and it was this inner radiance that gave the portrait such unique luminescence and vibrancy.

In that respect, it was a shame the it was nearly finished, Willow reflected as she bumped up against the wall and turned again. She could sit and listen to Selene’s exploits for ever. Parties that culminated in literal swinging from the chandeliers. Holidays on private Caribbean islands in the company of glamorous celebrities. The clothes, the extravagance, the men...

The tales were enviably bold, colourful and passionate. Bittersweet, too, since they brought back memories of Willow’s own mother, who’d died a decade ago and had been the polar opposite. And while she could see they might prove a challenge to an apparently stiff upper-lipped and emotionally barren son, they offered a tantalising glimpse into an exotic aristocratic world that a solidly middle-class, permanently broke Willow would never inhabit.

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