122
Yalda smoothed down the front of her dress as the car came to a gentle stop in front of the Andreas family estate.
It was a sprawling estate perched on the edge of a green hillside, with crisp stone walls and pillars that stood like ancient guardians. It was elegant, opulent, and unmistakably intimidating. The kind of place where deals were struck over antique wine and legacies were built one handshake at a time.
Ioannis stepped out first and reached back in to offer his hand. She took it, her fingers curling into his palm. He smiled gently.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, as if sensing the tangle of nerves sitting low in her belly. “They’re good people. Just a little… curious.”
“That’s an understatement.” She smiled weakly. “You haven’t even told them much about me.”
“On purpose,” he said, leading her toward the front doors. “I wanted you to speak for yourself. They’ll like you. I already do.”
That simple statement grounded her. He was the reason she was here, and she would stand tall. She wasn’t some fragile porcelain thing. She had survived too much to be unsettled by meeting her boyfriend's parents.
The massive wooden doors opened before they could knock, and a man in a dark suit ushered them inside with a polite nod.
The scent of lemon polish and old paper filled the hall, it was warm and almost amiliar.
She noticed art on the walls, a bronze sculpture tucked beside a staircase, and an enormous mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling. It reflected her, small and poised, and Ioannis beside her like a pillar of ease and strength.
His parents waited in the sitting room.
His mother, tall and elegant with steel-gray hair swept into a bun, rose to greet them. She wore pearls. Of course she did. His father stood as well, just a touch more reserved, but his eyes were sharp. Observant. Like the calculative business man he was.
“Mother, Father,” Ioannis said, “this is Yalda.”
“A pleasure,” his mother said, smiling as she extended her hand. Yalda took it firmly, her shoulders square.
“And you,” she replied smoothly.
“Please, sit,” his father said.
They did. And for a moment, there was only silence; polite, gauging silence.
“So,” his mother began, eyes like twin glass marbles, “tell us about yourself, Yalda. Where are you from?”
“New York,” she said. “Originally from Turkey."
His father leaned forward slightly. “And your family?”
Yalda’s smile didn’t falter. “I lost my parents in my last year of high school. I lived with extended family for a while after that.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” his mother said quietly, though her tone remained neutral. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was,” she admitted. “But it shaped me.”
There was a brief pause.
“And your education?” his father asked, taking a slow sip from the crystal tumbler in his hand.
Didn't Ioannis say they were nice and bubbly people? She hadn't expected them to be this .... deep. She felt probed.
“I went to college,” Yalda replied. “Graduated top of my class. I studied communications and administration.”
“I see,” his mother said. “And after college?”
“I worked as the executive secretary to one of the wealthiest men in New York,” she answered, her tone even. “Alexander Monroe. I handled high-level correspondence, travel schedules, event planning, contracts, and whatever he needed."
Whatever he needed.....
Pain stabbed at her heart but she tried not to let it show, she tried to not get distracted.
"I was excellent at my job, and I have references to prove it.”
His father’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Impressive.”
“Thank you,” she said, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“And what brought you to Greece?” his mother asked, though the glint in her eyes suggested she already had an assumption.
“I was taking a break,” Yalda replied. “A vacation. I'd saved up over the years and needed the distance."
“And you met my son,” his father said, no hint of amusement.
“I did,” she replied, her voice firm. “We met at a bar in the Golden Oasis hotel."
She knew they thought she was after his money. She could see it in their eyes that they thought she was some calculative golddigger, and she found it.... offensive.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Ioannis smiled. “She’s got more pride than I do, honestly.”
His mother finally leaned back, studying Yalda again, but this time, something had shifted. The mask softened. “You’re articulate. Sharp.”
“I had to be,” Yalda said honestly. “In business, in life. I was always the youngest in every boardroom, and usually the only woman. I learned quickly.”
“I like her,” his mother said finally, turning to her husband. “She’s poised.”
His father gave a short nod, the closest thing to approval. “She’s well-spoken. Confident.”
Yalda didn’t relax visibly, but inside, she felt the weight ease off her spine. She wasn’t sure if she’d won them over, but she had earned their respect, and in families like this, respect went further than charm.
And besides, why was this so intense? Wasn't this supposed to be a 'hello, hi, nice to meet you' thing?
“Would you like something to drink?” his mother asked.
“Please,” Yalda said, and Ioannis grinned smiled her like he was proud.
As conversation turned lighter; topics of art, the villa, even a funny story about Ioannis as a child, Yalda listened and responded easily. She found herself laughing softly when his mother spoke about how he used to sneak into the wine cellar and steal olives from the storage jars.
“I think he still does that,” she teased, and Ioannis rolled his eyes with a smirk.
She noticed then how relaxed his parents were becoming. The questions had been a test, and she had passed. They were protective of their son, clearly. But they weren’t cruel. Just cautious.
When it was finally time to leave, his mother walked them to the door.
“You have a strong presence,” she told Yalda. “Don’t let anyone take that from you.”
Yalda smiled, a little more genuinely this time. “I won’t. I’ve worked too hard for it.”
As they walked back to the car, Ioannis took her hand.
“You did amazing,” he said.
“I was sweating bullets,” she admitted.
“Could’ve fooled me. You impressed them. My mother just texted me.”
She blinked. “Already?”
“She said, and I quote: ‘She’s not what I expected, but she’s
more than I hoped for.’”
Yalda felt something settle in her chest, something warm.
Maybe she really could belong here.
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