Game Of Scones: a feel-good summer romance for 2018!. Samantha TongeЧитать онлайн книгу.
Greek village to hark back to the old days, in these economically-challenged times. Taxos didn’t look to me as if it was doing well on feelings of nostalgia and the earnings from selling fish and olives.’
My head told me he was right, but just the thought of puking, drunken tourists invading that community made me feel like throwing up. I shook myself. ‘Anyway, it’s a shame you’ve got that big contract to work on and can’t go.’ I cleared my throat. Truth was, I felt as relieved as an ice cream finding shade that I only had seven days to go until I left. With that marriage proposal on the horizon, I needed to come to a decision about him, without the distraction of his seductive slate eyes. They only reminded me of how I’d felt about him when we’d first started dating.
My own eyes misted up as I thought of struggling Taxos with its turquoise waters and shortbread sand – of my imaginary teashop where I’d do the school run, dance in the dark and wake with the birds. Oh, the hours Niko and I had spent thinking up ridiculous names for it: Scones Sweet Scones; Teacakes Ahoy; She Shells Cake; Shiver me Sandwiches. In the end, I’d plumped for Pippa’s Pantry. BORING, Niko had declared – cue a generous handful of hot sand down his back.
I leant up against Henrik, wondering if I would miss him whilst out in Greece. He wanted kids, but not until our thirties and, like my parents, thought boarding school fitted the executive life best. A bustling family home like Georgios and Sophia’s wouldn’t suit him one jot.
‘Funny you should talk of Taxos, you see my surprise…’ Henrik sat upright and turned to face me.
Eek! Greta’s words rung in my ears. Was her son about to propose and take me to Greece on honeymoon? Because his surprise certainly wouldn’t be chocolates or extravagant bouquets. Henrik wasn’t the chivalrous, romantic type, and would consider such gifts a waste of money. Which was good, right? I was a successful, independent woman, not a Disney princess – although if I was, it would have to be Snow White, with her love of birds and forest life. Not that I’ve, um, thought that through at all *clears throat*. Knights – or princes – in shining armour, I knew, belonged in fiction books. And Henrik always respected my modern outlook. He rarely gave out flowery compliments either – said I was far too intelligent to be patronised by such “tosh”. Neither of us could understand why I loved reading anything with a romantic theme.
‘Oh, goodness, is that the time…’ I rambled, desperate for a speedy exit. I moved forwards, to the edge of the sofa. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go out right now, forgot I have Zumba and–’
‘Whoa! Slow down, Pippa! Surely an exercise class can wait two minutes?’
Aarggh! There was no way out of this. As if already feeling apprehensive about an engagement ring, my left hand curled into a fist.
‘Guess what? Thanks to your parents and my boss, you’re in for a great holiday abroad.’
Like the detergent-blue Greek tide coming in, a growing sense of uneasiness washed over me.
‘As a thank you for me heading over to sort out the flooding mess, your mum and dad insist we have the villa to ourselves this summer. They will visit your aunt in Canada instead. My boss said he can just about afford to let me go for three weeks as long as…’ Henrik fiddled with his watch again, ‘…I find a few days to head off to Kos Town to tie up some business at our new offices there.’
‘Since when did ThinkBig have offices on Kos island?’ I said, for a minute forgetting my total relief at him not having proposed.
‘Ignore all that for a minute – didn’t you hear? I’m coming with you, Pips! It’ll be just us, cocktails and waves… And who knows what could happen.’
Voice husky now, Henrik took my hand and – uh oh – ran his thumb over my wedding ring finger.
‘Us split up? Why?’ said Henrik, and his well-defined jaw dropped. He put down our cases in the lounge of our villa and straightened up. His head almost touched the ceiling built by much shorter Greeks. To avoid an answer, I gazed around. Nothing much had changed since my last visit. The wooden coffee table in the middle of the floor, on top of a mosaic rug… the cream sofa and armchairs… the paintings of fishing boats on the whitewashed walls… the vases of dried flowers… I glanced over at the kitchen with its gleaming white units, deep cornflower blue cupboard doors and spotless silver appliances. Plus the sturdy, rectangular breakfast bar in the middle, surrounded by high stools. The eating area had hardly been used seeing as Mum and Dad preferred to dine out. On the rear side were French patio doors, revealing the Aegean Sea in the distance, beyond a small dusty patio edged with trees and shrubs.
‘Um… I need to stretch my legs and could pick up some essentials like bread and milk. You’ve worked so hard this last week, Henrik, why don’t you unpack and take a dip in the pool?’ I gave a bright smile, knowing this would appeal to his practical side. ‘We’ve got the next two weeks in each other’s company. A couple of hours apart won’t kill.’
What? Did you really think I’d break up with him minutes after arriving in Greece? Where would be the sense in that, and talk about cruel? Plus…*sigh*… thanks to my head and heart tug-of-war, I still hadn’t quite come to a decision.
‘Okey doke.’ He shrugged. ‘Whatever suits. I know you get twitchy if we stay anywhere that doesn’t stock flour, milk, butter and eggs.’
Which was true – the scone-maker in me was never far away.
Henrik jerked his head back towards the corridor, leading from the front door. ‘Which room is ours, that big one on the right – your mum and dad’s?’
‘No way! That would be wrong.’
Henrik grinned. ‘The English are so uptight about things like that. So what if your parents have shagged in that bed?’
My shudder only fuelled his laugh.
‘We’re in the spare room, on the left, which has a lovely big bed.’ I led the way in, walked past the huge mosquito net, draped down from the ceiling, and headed for the round window. Like a small child, trying to spot Santa’s sleigh, I peered out. Henrik came up behind me and as he let out a whistle, his breath brushed my skin.
‘I’d forgotten this view of the sea. Talk about peacock blue.’ Gently he ran a hand up and down my bare left arm. ‘Sure I can’t tempt you to stay a bit longer? I’ve been dying to get you out of those shorts ever since we got off the plane. Why don’t I turn down the bedcovers?’
He kissed my neck, pulled away and within minutes uttered an expletive. I turned to see him fighting the mosquito net. Eventually he burst out laughing.
‘Jeez! This stuff makes the best form of contraception! Just look at my cool moves.’ He karate- chopped his long arms and became even more tangled.
I couldn’t help giggling. Suddenly his phone belted out the Dutch national anthem – a nod to his roots, him being a mad fan of that country’s football team. Then, as had become his way of late, he mouthed “sorry” and after a moment’s more struggle, left the room to answer. Hooray! This gave me the perfect opportunity to head off into Taxos.
What with my doubts, I’d found it nigh on impossible recently to… well, ahem, just “go through the motions” in bed, so it really was just as well we hadn’t signed any kind of Christian Grey contract. Call me old school, but I truly believed sex went hand-in-hand with love – unless there had been partaking of Prosecco. Fizzy alcohol had a lot to answer for in my life, including a Brazilian wax, one tiny tattoo (don’t ask where) and a snog with a university professor.
My chest squeezed. Henrik being Henrik, he never complained. He’d simply ask, in his straightforward way, if it was that time of the month or bought Paracetamol when I’d pleaded stress headaches. On a relaxing holiday, sweetened by sun and cocktails, it might prove harder to avoid his flirtatious touch. Tip-toeing, I picked up my floppy hat and big bug-eye sunglasses