The Greek Billionair's Marriage Matchmaker(21)

When Zoey could move again, she turned round and received a second  shock. Stelios was down on one knee in the grass, holding an open jewel  box, which contained a glittering ring. It was gold, with a tiny emerald  set on each side of the massive diamond in the center.



"I lied," Stelios admitted. "This is my little secret."



Zoey couldn't speak. She could barely believe what seemed to be happening.



"Meeting you, Zoey, has been without doubt the most fulfilling  experience of my life. More than anyone, you've been my strength through  every dark hour. You've helped me to achieve things that I thought were  impossible. The way I feel when we're together is indescribable, and I  want you by my side for all of eternity. I will never meet a woman who  is wiser, funnier, or more beautiful than you are, Zoey. You've done so  much for me already, but I have one more favor to ask you. Zoey Amelia  Forde, will you marry me?"



For a moment, there was silence. The birds ceased their chirping, and not one sound could be heard from the plane and its crew.



The air crackled with tension as Zoey struggled to master her voice and  tears cascaded down her cheeks. Then she bent down to the grass and  embraced her lover, hugging and kissing him with all the joy in her  heart.



"Yes," she breathed at last. "Yes, Stelios. I'll marry you!"



The billionaire whooped for joy, and lifted her into the air, holding her close as if his life depended on it.



Suddenly, there came a smattering of applause, and the couple turned to  see Fulton and the crew of the Skylander shouting out their  congratulations



Slowly, the billionaire took the ring out of its jewel box. He held  Zoey's right hand aloft and slipped the ring onto her finger.



The crowd erupted in cheers as the two of them kissed with the kind of  eagerness usually reserved for moments without six spectators watching  and cheering one's every move.



Zoey beamed as they stood arm in arm, surrounded by nature, sure in the  knowledge that whatever lay ahead, they were ready to face it, and were  bound to triumph-because there was nothing that they couldn't do  together.





Holly Rayner





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Thank you so much for reading. As promised, here are the first few chapters of my previous book, The Sheikh's Secret Princess





ONE





Anita





It was all Anita could do to keep herself from skipping on the way to  work. The late spring Houston sun beat down on her, and a trickle of  sweat trickled down her neck as she walked towards her family's  restaurant, but she hardly felt uncomfortable. Her mood was too light.



Today was a good day. The best. The last of her grades had come in and  it was official: the college education she'd fought for, squeezing in  study between shifts at the restaurant, was finally complete.



The night ahead would be a busy one; Fridays always were. Normally, she  dreaded them; being run off her feet by this request or that one, and  trying to keep a huge number of orders straight when every table was  packed wasn't exactly her idea of a perfect start to the weekend.



Today was different. Today, nothing could ruin her mood. The hectic  night at the restaurant would only be a reminder of how lucky she and  Fadi were that Fadi's Place was in such high demand. But as she entered  the building and was greeted by the suspiciously empty hostess' station,  she found her theory put to the test.



Anita's almond-shaped green eyes scanned the room, searching for any  sign of one of their regular hostesses. Maybe she just missed them, she  thought. Maybe they had just stepped aside for a minute or two, and  they'd be back.



But there was no trace of them.



The skip vanished from Anita's step as she strode towards the kitchen,  past busy servers and busboys all preparing for the rush ahead.



"Fadi!" she called out, waiting for the call back so that she could locate her father in the crowded kitchen.         

     



 



"Anita!" came the reply, from the far left corner, many hot pans and billowing steam clouds away.



Fadi had answered in the same harassed tone as she had called to him,  and the annoyed desperation in his voice made her smile in spite of  herself.



Carefully and quickly, she wound her way through the kitchen. It would  be dangerous for someone else to so casually wander through at this  speed, but she knew this kitchen as well as she knew her own room. After  all, she'd essentially grown up in it.



When she got back to where Fadi was preparing a huge dish in advance of the night's rush, she put on her best annoyed face.



"Tell me it's not what I think it is," she said. Maybe a bit dramatic, she thought, but it got her point across.



Fadi played dumb. "What can it be? What vexes you so?"



She shot him a no-nonsense stare. "Neither of the hostesses can come in? Really?"



He shrugged, and fished out a tasting spoon. "What can I say? There must  be something going around. It's unfortunate, really. But here, try  this."



He held the spoon up to her lips, as though she was a child again and he  was making her eat her food. She wanted to refuse, but it smelled  amazing, and she found her mind changed for her.



She tasted the dish: a meaty, saucy curry with rice and chickpeas  sprinkled liberally throughout. Her eyes rolled back in her head with  pleasure as she ate it.



"That's incredible," she said. But she couldn't let herself be derailed.  "But Fadi, really …  can't one of the other waitresses cover it? I know  you're particular about who greets the guests first, but … " She could see  from his stony expression that she was making no more headway in the  conversation than the last eight times they'd had it, so she changed  tactic. "And what if I refuse?"



His expression went from stony to exaggerated outrage in a split second. "Refuse? Refuse?!"



In spite of herself, Anita began smiling at the familiar caricature her father was putting on.



"Well, then I'll send you back to Al-Dali!"



Anita tried to stifle her smile at the familiar words. "But Fadi," she said, "I cannot swim!"



He slipped a tasting spoon of his own into the dish and tasted it. He  nodded, satisfied with his work, before continuing their little ritual.



"Then I will buy you a boat!"



"But Fadi," Anita replied, "I cannot row!"



This time, there was no delay. "Then I will buy you a plane!"



"But Fadi … " Anita began.



The words that should have come next were on the tip of Anita's tongue. I  cannot fly! But she felt like mixing things up. She let herself break  out into a wide smile. "If you had enough money to buy me a plane, you'd  be able to afford to hire more workers so I didn't have to both hostess  and waitress tonight!"



Fadi laughed. Anita appreciated the way his laugh filled the kitchen.  He'd been head chef since he first opened the restaurant, back when  Anita was too young to remember, and his great, booming laugh bouncing  off the stoves and prep tables had always been one of her favorite  sounds.



"There's something different about you today, child," he said.



Anita had a brief twinge at the way he called her "child." It seemed  inappropriate, on today of all days. But she didn't correct him, only  nodded.



"Right! Of course!" he said, and then looked at her expectantly. "Have you gotten all your grades back?"



She nodded, as the large, apron-clad man stepped back from the pot and  walked around to hug her. "All A's," she said, before correcting  herself: "Well, one B, but I swear that professor had it in for me from  the start."



"Oh Anita," she heard Fadi's voice close to her ear. "Today, of all days, I am so proud of the daughter I'm blessed with."



Anita basked in his approval, but it was only a few more seconds before  the moment was over, and the chef was back about his tasks.



"Now, you'd better get ready!" he said, putting out a huge ladle to stir  the dish he was preparing. "Tonight's going to be a busy one!"         

     



 



He wasn't wrong. Anita wasn't the only one, it seemed, who was glad to  be done with classes for the year. Their usual bustling Friday crowd was  supplemented by dozens of spur-of-the-moment celebrators, and Anita  found herself rushed off her feet trying to keep track of manning the  hostess stand with every new group's arrival, as well as looking after  the tables she couldn't convince the other waitresses to take off her  hands.



But as long as nothing went wrong, she knew from experience, she would  manage to get through. Usually, nothing did, but tonight of all nights,  it seemed, they were in for something different. They were down to what  was usually the very last rush of arrivals for the night when a large  party of men entered, most of them wearing traditional Middle-Eastern  clothing.