The Giannakis Bride

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“Yes. What comes next?”

“I’ll book you for a complete physical assessment—and I do mean ‘complete’. By the time that’s over, there’ll be nothing about your health, past or present, that we won’t know. We do this for two reasons. One is to make sure you’re a suitable donor, free of infectious diseases—this being a fairly significant factor in your case, given the amount of foreign travel your work involves—and the other is to protect you. We gain nothing by saving one life if, in doing so, we compromise another. Once we’ve cleared those hurdles, we’ll begin the actual protocol as I’ve explained it to you.”

“All right, then. When can we get started?”

Noelle smiled. “I love your enthusiasm and certainly don’t want to say or do anything to diminish it, but this whole undertaking has been sprung on you out of the blue, and I must therefore insist you take some time to absorb just what it involves.”

“How much time?”

“A few days. A week maybe.”

“But why? You’ve told me everything I need to know.”

“No. I’ve told you what to expect in terms of the surgical procedure as it affects you, should you prove to be a suitable donor.”

“Why do I get the feeling the other shoe’s about to drop?”

“Because that’s the easy part. It’s what comes, or might come next, that’s not so predictable.” She rested her forearms on her desk and fixed Brianna in a candid gaze. “Sometimes a transplant just doesn’t work. Should this happen with Poppy, it’s imperative that you understand it’s not your fault. Assuming you pass all the tests with flying colors, I’ll be booking you for a couple of sessions with our staff psychologist, just to be sure you’re prepared in the event of a negative outcome. Also, once you’re approved as a donor, I’ll ask you to sign a consent form. It’s not legally binding and you’re free to back out at any time—”

“I won’t back out, Noelle. I’m committed to doing this for that poor child.” Brianna leaned forward urgently. “Give me the form and I’ll sign it now.”

“Hear me out, please,” the doctor said, holding up her hand as if she was directing traffic. “There’s more. Once you’ve signed that document, we’ll start Poppy on a round of conditioning chemotherapy.”

Brianna sank back in her chair, the information so unexpected and shocking that she felt sick to her stomach. She had a modeling friend, a stunningly beautiful young woman, who at only twenty-three had been diagnosed with leukemia. Although she was now in remission, she’d said more than once that the cure was worse than the disease.

“For heaven’s sake, why?” Brianna cried, tears stinging her eyes. “Poppy’s just a little girl—not much more than a baby—and she doesn’t have cancer. Why do you have to do something so horribly drastic?”

“To destroy her abnormal cells and make room for your healthy replacement.”

A logical procedure from a medical point of view, Brianna supposed. Still…“How long will it take—the treatment, I mean?”

“About a week, although the aftereffects last significantly longer, but you may be sure we’ll do our best to keep her as comfortable as possible throughout that time.”

“Does Dimitrios know about this?”

“Of course. I consult with him every day.”

“It must be killing him!” And I’m not making it any easier, doing battle with him over every perceived slight.

“He’s had a hard time coming to terms with it, certainly, but given the alternative, he’s presented with little choice. However, the reason I’m bringing this up with you now, Brianna, is that the conditioning therapy also kills off the patient’s immune system. It’s therefore critical for you to understand that if you were to change your mind after this point, Poppy will almost certainly die or suffer serious delays in further treatment.” She pushed a thick folder across her desk. “And that’s why I won’t let you sign anything today. I want you to go away, read this information package and weigh what I’ve told you before you make any final decisions.”

“Poppy doesn’t have time for that.”

“We’re talking about two weeks at the most, and Poppy is relatively stable right now.”

“So stable she’s in a hospital, instead of at home!”

“To protect her from exposure to infection. Even something as simple as a cold could set her back and prevent a successful transplant. Obviously, that’s not a risk any of us is prepared to take.”

“No, of course not.” She hesitated a moment before continuing, “I’m not sure how much you know of my relationship with my sister, but you’ve probably gathered from remarks made at dinner last night that I’ve never actually met Poppy, and I’d very much like to put a face to this child who’s depending on me for so much. Is it at all possible for me to visit her?”

“I don’t see why not, as long as Dimitrios has no objection.” Noelle glanced at the clock on her desk. “He usually stops by over the lunch hour, so is probably with her now. Why don’t we go and find out?”

Brianna thought she knew all about heartache and heartbreak, but the next twenty minutes or so taught her she hadn’t begun to plumb the depths of either. Not only was Poppy hospitalized, she was in isolation—what Noelle chillingly referred to as “a sterile environment”—which meant not only that she had no other children nearby to keep her company, but also that everyone going into her room first had to follow a strict hygiene regimen.

“Doesn’t it frighten her, being surrounded by people whose faces she can’t really see?” Brianna asked, donning the required gown and mask.

“You tell me,” Noelle responded, approaching an observation window set in the wall connecting the nursery with the outer room. “Does that look like a frightened child to you?”

Following, Brianna looked through the glass, and what she saw on the other side made something deep and powerful clutch at her heart. Dimitrios sprawled in a rocking chair, reading to Poppy whom he cradled in his lap as easily, as naturally, as if it had been designed for the express purpose of holding a sick child.

His broad shoulders filled the width of his chair; his long legs, elegantly clad in finely tailored black trousers, poked out from the folds of a pale-yellow gown. Above his mask, his dark brows rose in comical dismay. Wide with feigned astonishment, his gaze swung from the book and came to rest on Poppy, and even with the barrier of glass separating them, Brianna heard her laughter.

Climbing his torso, she planted her bare little feet on his thighs and reached for the brightly colored balloon bouquet floating almost to the ceiling and anchored by ribbons to the back of the chair. From her vantage point, Brianna could see only the back of the child’s head, covered with thick black hair just like her own. And soon it would be gone, falling away in clumps….

Again tears threatened, but she blinked them back and managed a shaky smile when she saw that Dimitrios had glanced up and was gesturing for her and Noelle to join him.

Poppy turned at the sound of the door opening, and for a moment, Brianna froze. Even allowing for illness robbing her of so much, the child was exquisite, her delicate little face dominated by enormous eyes the exact same shade of blue as her own and Cecily’s—but with an innocence to them that Cecily had lost at a very early age if, indeed, she’d ever possessed it at all.

“Kalimera,” Dimitrios said. “Hi. This is a surprise.”

Until that moment Brianna had deliberately thought of Poppy as his daughter, or the little girl, or the child, or even, may God forgive her, “the patient.” It had been, she supposed, her way of distancing herself from a set of circumstances still more painful to contemplate than they had any right to be. But now, suddenly, the words she’d avoided using were the only ones with real meaning. Closing the distance between herself and the chair, she dropped down to be at eye level with Poppy and said, “I thought it high time I met my niece. Hello, beautiful! I’m your auntie Brianna.”

Whether or not she really understood what that meant was doubtful, but after surveying Brianna for a long, quiet moment, Poppy smiled and reached out her arms to be held. Almost choking with emotion, Brianna looked to Dimitrios to gauge his reaction.

In one lithe movement, he was out of the chair. With a jerk of his chin, he invited her to take his place, and when she was comfortably seated, passed her niece to her. Brianna felt the warm little body, the painfully fragile bones, the soft skin. She felt the sweet damp draft of breath against her cheek, the trusting clutch of tiny fingers at the side of her neck.

A fresh tide of emotion rolled over her. Her entire being filled with something so visceral, so elemental, it left her breathless. Only once before had she known such an instant connection with another human being, and, as swiftly as she had the first time around, she fell in love again. Hopelessly, helplessly. And this time, forever.

I’m finally where I belong, she thought, dazed by sudden blinding insight. Not on a runway or on location for a glamorous shoot, but in a simple rocking chair, with a child in my arms. Modeling might have been my occupation, but motherhood is my true vocation.

Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes and held on: to Poppy, and to the tears she didn’t want her niece to see; to the hope that she could be the one to give this little soul the gift of life; and most of all, to the chance to make up for the years she had missed being an aunt to this adorable child. When, after struggling for an interminable minute or so, she could finally breathe again, she set the rocking chair in gentle motion and began to hum a lullaby, which she neither knew how nor when she’d committed to memory. And as if she’d finally come home, Poppy relaxed and let her head settle drowsily against Brianna’s shoulder.