Helen’s father, on the other hand, was a powerful Greek shipping tycoon who had a very strict way of living his life. Her father was in the office each morning at six thirty and didn’t leave until seven or eight o’clock at night. When he arrived home, he expected his wife to be there, smiling with a martini in her hand, ready to hear about his day and commiserate with all of his trials and tribulations he’d experienced during his day. He was strictly regimented and had grown his empire well since he’d taken over from his father. But he expected the kind of marriage his parents had, both of whom were still living and had never approved of Elaina nor their marriage, although they doted on Helen horribly. Being the only granddaughter had its advantages.
Helen had grown up spending the school year in London with her English mother and her summers in Greece with her very Greek father. In London, she’d investigated so many neighborhoods, having lived in a different one every year of her life. Other children might become nervous of that kind of lifestyle, never feeling secure about where one would be living next. But Helen loved it. It might be because she always had her ultra steady father to ground her with solid morals and a large home she could always come back to during her summers.
It could also be because she’d learned how to genuinely appreciate life through her mother, never taking anything very seriously, and then learned to dig in and find a career that she loved and could thrive in with her father. Being a freelance photographer gave her the best of both worlds. She definitely had a career path and the ambition to sell her photos to the more prestigious magazines, even one day to publish her own book. But it also gave her the freedom to come and go as she pleased, to float from one area of the world to the next and appreciate, really look and understand what was around her.
As she stared across the table at Alec while he finished ordering the wine, she wondered what kind of upbringing he’d had. She guessed it was more along the lines of her father. With a name like Dionysius, he had to be Greek. But how “Greek” was he really? Did he believe in family the way her father did? Did he believe that connections and community were as sacred and inviolate as she considered? She doubted it. Many people could trace their ancestry to Greece, could even claim they believed in family above all things, but when it came down to it, they were much more Western than they wanted to think. And would he agree with her need for chastity until she married? She hadn’t met a man yet who understood, hence the reason she had so many male friends, and no boyfriend. Not wanting casual intimacy was a difficult conversation to undergo in a relationship. Men usually couldn’t handle it.
And to date, no man had even tempted her to challenge that.
Not that Alec was tempting her, she told herself firmly.
She sighed and adjusted the napkin nervously. She had to get out of this dinner unscathed but she wasn’t sure how she was going to do that. Looking up, her breath froze in her chest. The look he was giving her was lethal and she wanted to look away but couldn’t.
“Tell me about yourself, Helen.”
She played with the edges of the linen napkin, curling them about her fingers, re-aligning the perfectly straight flat ware, taking a sip of her water, anything that would let her avoid looking into his eyes. “What do you want to know?”
“How did you get into photography, first of all.”
She sighed. This was a safe subject at least. Leaning her elbows onto the table, she looked at him now. “That’s easy. I love looking around and seeing things. When I realized I could capture whatever I was looking at permanently on film or digitally, I couldn’t put a camera down.”
“Where did you study photography?”
She laughed softly. “Actually, I went to Harvard for university in the States and studied business. I only studied photography by sneaking into the community college during the weekends of the school year. My father wouldn’t let me study something so “flighty” as photography or anything arty is how he phrased it. So I studied business, genuinely enjoyed my classes, earned my degree and now I take the most fascinating pictures I can.” She smiled at the end of her tale as if that explained everything.
“You didn’t like business?” he asked, not accepting that as the end of the story.
“Oh, no. I love business. I find economics and math very interesting. The theory behind many of the economic models is fascinating and I use that philosophy to take better pictures. Applying economics to peoples’ motives gives the individual depth and dimension. You can’t take money out of the world. It just won’t work. Why fight it?”
“So why didn’t you get a job with some company where you could utilize your business skills?”
Helen laughed, having had this conversation with her father over and over again throughout the years. He simply couldn’t understand her need to be creative instead of numbers oriented. “It isn’t me,” she said with a slight lift of one shoulder. “What about you?”
“I went to Oxford, got out and now I use my business degree,” he said easily.
She laughed merrily at his synopsis. “And what do you do for fun? What relaxes you?”
“Sex,” he said simply, leaning forward and looking into her eyes, daring her to reply to his challenge.
Helen couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up at his response. She looked him up and down and shook her head. “I don’t believe you’re that much of a roué. You’re too intelligent to have sex as your only outlet.”
He leaned his elbows on the table, mirroring her posture. “Oh? And what else do you think relaxes me?”
She studied him for a moment. “I think you work out physically like a maniac.”
He shifted in a way that told Helen that she was right on target, and that he didn’t like that she saw through him. “And what makes you think that?”
She raised an eyebrow, a perfect imitation of his look of interest. “I felt your muscles when we were outside on the sidewalk. Don’t even try and tell me you don’t enjoy exercise. Those muscles are too hard for someone who only works out for their health.”
“Perhaps it’s a way to help me concentrate.”
“Isn’t that the basis for all enjoyment and relaxation?”
“No.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at his serious expression. “You’re wrong,” she said, shaking her head.