Single for the Summer: The perfect feel-good romantic comedy set on a Greek island Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  One: Gianni’s Trattoria, London

  Two: McKenzie Falconer Media, London

  Three: Kalami, Corfu, Greece

  Four: En route to Kalami, Corfu

  Five: Kalami Cove Apartments

  Six: Taverna Georgiou, Kalami

  Seven: Kalami Cove Apartments

  Eight: Taverna Georgiou

  Nine: Kalami Cove Apartments

  Ten: Taverna Georgiou

  Eleven: Kalami Beach

  Twelve: Taverna Georgiou

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty: Nissaki Beach

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two: The beach near the Rothschild Mansion

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four: En route to Kalami

  Twenty-five: Kalami Beach

  Twenty-six: Andras Georgiou’s home, Kalami

  Twenty-seven: Kalami Cove Apartments

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine: Isadora Georgiou’s house

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three: En-route to Kalami Cove Apartments

  Thirty-four: Andras Georgiou’s house

  Thirty-five: Kalami Cove Apartments

  Thirty-six: Taverna Georgiou

  Thirty-seven: Kalami Cove Apartments

  Thirty-eight: Paleokastritsa

  Thirty-nine

  Forty: Taverna Georgiou

  Forty-one

  Forty-two: The White House, Kalami

  Forty-three

  Forty-four: Passion Nightclub, Kassiopi

  Forty-five

  Forty-six: Kalami Cove Apartments

  Forty-seven: Taverna Georgiou

  Forty-eight: Agios Spyridon

  Forty-nine

  Fifty: Finikas Bar, Agios Spyridon

  Fifty-one: Kalami Beach

  Fifty-two

  Fifty-three

  Fifty-four

  Fifty-five

  Fifty-six

  Fifty-seven: Taverna Georgiou

  Fifty-eight: Kalami Cove Apartments

  Fifty-nine: Corfu Town

  Sixty

  Sixty-one

  Sixty-two: Vidos Island

  Sixty-three

  Sixty-four

  Sixty-five: Taverna Georgiou

  Sixty-six: Kalami Cove Apartments

  Sixty-seven: Taverna Georgiou

  Sixty-eight

  Sixty-nine

  Seventy: Andras Georgiou’s home

  Seventy-one

  Seventy-two: Kalami Bay

  Seventy-three: Agios Spyridon

  Seventy-four: Taverna Georgiou

  Seventy-five: Kalami Beach

  Epilogue: Five weeks later

  Letter from Mandy

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Tess Parks has made up her mind: love isn’t for her.

  When it comes to dating she has one rule: after six weeks with a guy, she ends it. So when her heartbroken best friend invites her for a girly getaway in Corfu, Tess is sure she can stick to their pact to stay single for the summer.

  But then she meets the gorgeous restaurateur Andras…

  To keep his overbearing mother off his back, Tess agrees to pretend to date him. But as the two spend time together, Tess begins to realise that this fake relationship is starting to feel like the best one she’s ever had…

  A feel-good escapist beach read set against a beautiful Greek island backdrop. From the award-winning author of Truly, Madly, Greekly and Those Summer Nights.

  About the Author

  Mandy Baggot is an award-winning romance writer. She loves the Greek island of Corfu, white wine, country music and handbags. Also a singer, she has taken part in ITV1‘s Who Dares Sings and The X-Factor.

  Mandy is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Society of Authors and lives near Salisbury, Wiltshire, UK, with her husband and two daughters.

  For Jenny, thank you for your never-ending support. This book couldn’t have been written without you xx

  One

  Gianni’s Trattoria, London

  There were flowers, and not the corny, wilting garage roses boyfriends think will do when they’ve forgotten an anniversary. These were bright pink, the colour of Hubba Bubba, and they were peonies, Tess’s absolute favourites.

  There were also candles, giving off a gentle scent of soft sands and vanilla, and a bottle of champagne in a silver cooler next to the table. Tess breathed in, taking in the table setting, soft Italian guitars playing familiar background music. She needed to calm, still her beating heart. She smoothed one trying-not-to-be nervous hand over her Stella McCartney trousers, closed her eyes and inhaled, tipping her head slightly, until her shoulder-length waves of blonde hair touched the middle of her back. It was only five weeks and two days. It was nothing more than Tony making an effort. Perhaps it was his birthday? Should she know when his birthday was after five weeks and two days? They had had fifteen little dates. Several dinners, a trip to see the latest blockbuster, and a lunch on the Thames. Simple. Enough.

  She looked away from the table, catching the eye of the restaurant’s owner, Gianni. He was smiling at her as he polished champagne flutes and then … he winked. Fear began to spread through her like a rampaging bush fire.

  ‘Bae!’

  Tony appeared from the direction of the toilets, wiping his hands together. She swallowed. Dressed in his trademark three-piece M&S work suit, dark grey trousers, waistcoat fully buttoned up, jacket a little too big for him. His skin tone said St Tropez – the fake tan, not the region in France – hair dark and plentiful and the smile that had caught her attention on Tinder. He had looked handsome on her arm at the last work dinner. Everyone had said so. But Tess wasn’t sure if that was entirely good when things were always destined to stay casual.

  She smiled. ‘Hello.’

  Tony slipped his arms around her, drawing her close and she breathed in the scent that had become almost familiar over the past five weeks and two days: Turtle Wax car polish and Spearmint Extra gum.

  Tony was nice. Tony was really, really nice. He didn’t belch or fart in front of her, he didn’t pretend he could cook, and he had never, ever accidentally left any item of clothing or personal paraphernalia in her apartment. He turned up when he said he was going to. He didn’t make a fuss when she had to work late. But now there were flowers! Champagne! Candles! It was ridiculous to worry though, wasn’t it? After all, it was only five weeks and two days.

  She let Tony go and steadied herself, one hand on the back of the nearest chair. ‘This is lovely.’ She nodded towards the floral display and the champagne. ‘But … I only have an hour for lunch, Tony. I have a client coming in at two thirty.’

  He touched a finger to his nose and winked. ‘Don’t worry, bae, it’s all sorted. This is a special occasion.’

  He pulled out the chair for her. Prickles spiked down her back like a dozen baby hedgehogs doing the Macarena along her spine. Special occasion. She really, really hoped it was his birthday.

  ‘Sit down, Tessa, or we’ll have to skip the starters. And believe me, you won’t want to miss them.’

  Tessa. Yes, that was an annoying tra
it he had. He might not fart or belch but he did call her Tessa, which she hated and really should have told him during at least one of their fifteen dates. It wasn’t even her name. She was Tess. Just Tess.

  She sat down, straightaway pulling her iPhone from her handbag and placing it on the table. A quick press of the home button, but no sign of a work emergency, only the wallpaper photo of her and best friend Sonya. High on vodka shots and a late-night kebab they had suffered the effects of for weeks, both of them gurning at the lens from beneath giant, pink furry sunglasses. That was one weekend in Brighton Tess would never forget. She had even met the fish and chips guy. Uncomplicated one-night-of-sex-and-a-fish-and-chips-lunch-the-next-day-guy.

  She waited for Tony to take his seat then couldn’t help herself. ‘Tony, is it your birthday?’

  ‘What, bae?’

  Bae was also a pet name that got on her nerves. And, if eavesdroppers didn’t keep up with the latest slang, they might assume she was being referred to as a body of water with a large mouth. Not exactly flattering.

  ‘Well, the flowers and the champagne …’ She swallowed. ‘The special occasion.’

  Tony reached across the table, taking her hand in his and smoothing his thumb across her palm. ‘All in good time.’

  The bush fire was spreading through her again. It was getting very near to being hotter than Idris Elba. This burning, bubbling, hellfire was close to needing water to be dropped from a squadron of planes.

  ‘So … it’s not your birthday?’ Tess asked, pushing the champagne glass forward a little in a move she hoped would spark action. She needed fortifying. And then she needed an escape plan.

  ‘No,’ Tony responded. ‘I’m a Sagittarius, bae. The archer.’ He acted out pulling back the string from a bow and shooting an arrow into Gianni’s Renaissance paintings on the ceiling.

  Impromptu mime. He did that a lot too. And he cracked his knuckles as often as other people breathed. But that was OK. Everyone had their quirks. And she had dated a lot worse. A lot worse.

  ‘Could I have some champagne?’ Tess asked, her voice a little hoarse.

  ‘Where’s my manners, eh? Not getting my lady a drink.’

  My lady. Ownership issues. It was like the sadist from Wapping all over again. She closed her eyes for a second.

  Recovering a little and refocusing, she watched Tony take the champagne out of the cooler, tear off the foil top and begin pressing and working the cork with his hands. One large pull and it popped, Tony adding the noise of an explosion for maximum effect as the frothy, bubbling liquid spilled over the top of the bottle. She could smell it. She could almost taste it. Right now, Tess had never craved a drink more. Tony had barely finished half-filling her glass when she picked it up, nuzzling the flute like a parched thoroughbred, and taking a hearty swig.

  ‘So,’ she began. ‘How’s work?’

  ‘Well,’ Tony answered, leaning a little over the table. ‘That’s partly why we’ve got champagne for lunch.’

  Relief drenched the bush fire like a large, full-to-the-brim reservoir had been dumped on top of it. He was celebrating something to do with work! Yes! He wasn’t going to ask her to move in with him. She wanted to kiss his minty breath. Sweet, very tanned, easy-going Tony. He might still make the whole six weeks after all. They could maybe fit in a final trip to the West End.

  ‘You, bae, are looking at the new manager of the Hackney branch.’

  ‘Oh, Tony,’ she exclaimed. ‘Your own showroom!’ She was pleased for him. That was another thing about Tony. He worked hard. He understood her need to work hard too. She smiled and raised her glass. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks, bae. I know it’s Hackney and not the one I’d set my sights on, but it’s a big ol’ showroom and it’s a step up the ladder.’ He smiled. ‘Bigger and better things are coming.’ He put his hands together then blew them apart with another ‘boom’.

  ‘Your starters.’

  It was Gianni, bringing scallops. Up until recently she would never have entertained eating that particularly dish but now Tess settled back in her chair, sipping some more champagne. She did so love scallops. Expensive, pint-sized, protein and cardiovascular health heavyweights that now reminded her how far she had come. Here Gianni did an amazing scallop, mushroom and parmesan recipe all parcelled back up in the shell.

  Gianni put a plate down first in front of Tony and then slid a serving in front of Tess.

  ‘Thank you, Gianni,’ she said, looking up at the restaurant owner.

  ‘Enjoy,’ he replied, smiling.

  And then it happened. Gianni winked again. Was there something in his eye? A sliver of unease edged back into Tess’s psyche. She looked across the table at Tony, only to find he was paying far more attention to her than he was to food. He usually ate with the gusto of a famished chocoholic let loose in Cadbury World.

  Now, as she studied her plate, it wasn’t just the wink that was worrying her. It was the scallop shell. And somehow, today, the shells in front of her looked bigger than ever. If a shell had the capability of looking poignant it was utterly doing its very best right now.

  Tess had found out two years ago that shells were very good for hiding things in. Romantic things. Sparkly, diamond and gold romantic things. Rings. The ring. An engagement ring. But, right now, here, it just wasn’t possible. It had only been five weeks and two days. Tony wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It was absurd to even think it. And she was so over it. She was changed.

  ‘All right, Tessa?’ Tony asked, a smile on his lips.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, slugging back some more champagne. ‘Lovely. Mmm, scallops.’ She inhaled the sea aroma mixing with the garlic and herb dressing.

  ‘You going to eat them then?’ Tony asked. ‘Or just sniff them?’

  She laughed. ‘You first.’ She looked down again at the plate. When she opened the shell there was going to be a diamond solitaire leaping out at her like a jack-in-the-box, only twice as scary. She checked herself. She was being mad. This was Tony. Tony had never even stayed the night at her apartment. She had stayed over with him, and there had been two lovely hotel breaks, but he never pushed. He seemed to know instinctively the limitations of the relationship. Which was one of the reasons why he had lasted this long. He had never got clingy or asked too much.

  Tess put her fork to one of the shells on her plate, then, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she flipped off the top. Waiting half a second, she then opened her eyes. Anxiety evaporated. Nothing. Nothing but the scallops, mushrooms and cheese. Sweet relief!

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, I do love these.’ She dug her fork into the shell and put the contents into her mouth, letting the intense flavours coat her tongue. Gorgeous, gorgeous food. Just high levels of succulent taste sensation, and no engagement ring. She almost felt like she’d won the Postcode Lottery.

  ‘So, when do you get to move to Hackney?’ she asked.

  ‘Well,’ Tony said. ‘There’s going to be a transition period with the manager who’s retiring, but it could be as soon as next month.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Tess said, smiling. ‘Will you move over there? Or commute?’

  ‘Well … that depends,’ Tony answered.

  ‘On whether you can find a nice apartment?’ God, these scallops were extra divine today. She put the last morsel of the first one in her mouth.

  ‘Yeah, maybe a house, bae. Time to move on from the ol’ bachelor pad methinks.’

  Tess smiled. ‘I hope you’re going to keep Tony’s Bar though.’ The retro eighties bar in Tony’s living space had optics, a flashing sign and a signed photograph of Rylan behind it.

  ‘Natch, bae.’

  Tess flipped the top off the second scallop shell and dug in her fork.

  ‘Tessa,’ Tony said.

  ‘Yes?’ Tess replied. She put the fork into her mouth and bit on something hard. Fuck. What the hell was that?

  ‘Christ, don’t swallow!’ Tony ordered.

  No man had ever
said that to her before. She took his advice though and spat onto the plate. For just a millisecond, she realised swallowing would have been her preferred option. Or choking. Choking might have involved a nice, dramatic, hopefully quick ride out of here in an ambulance. As it was, she was breathing – just about – and staring at a ginormous diamond ring encased in saliva-coated parmesan.

  Tess looked up, a hot flush already on her cheeks, just in time to see Tony slide from chair to parquet floor, dropping down on to one knee.

  ‘Tessa. Bae. Will you marry me?’

  This was a disaster. Maybe this wasn’t in the same league as child labour in India or Boris Johnson becoming foreign secretary, but it was close. Tess couldn’t speak. Her eyes flitted from Tony – one knee at a right angle to the rest of his body, the other suctioned to the floor – to the plate and that … foreign body. The ring that had been in her mouth.

  The sensory memory at the back of her throat was telling her it was still there. She swallowed, half-expecting to feel the giant diamond rolling over her airway like an Indiana Jones-style stone across an ancient tomb.

  ‘Bae?’ Tony said, dark eyes morphing into the sad, desperate eyes of an abandoned stray advertising Dogs Trust.

  She still couldn’t speak but she really didn’t want him to speak either. The less he said the better. Perhaps she could pretend she hadn’t heard him. She could pluck the ring from the plate and declare her angst that she had almost met her maker because of Gianni’s lack of hygiene in the kitchen. But the problem with that course of action was that Tony was still on the floor in a position that could be one of only two things: he was either proposing or taking an inordinate amount of time to tie up his shoelaces.

  She had to be brave here. Brave and kind. Let him down gently.

  ‘Tony,’ she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. He looked so expectant, so hopeful. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? She drew in a breath. Because she had only been dating him five weeks and two days and any sane person would not be considering marriage after only three Italian dinners, Tom Cruise and a couple of nights at a Radisson.

  ‘Tony, please, sit back down.’

  He smiled then. ‘Oh no you don’t. I want to do this the right way, Tessa. The traditional way.’