Chapter 7 Calli
CALLI
Ilean forward, smudging a line of eyeliner across my upper lid and muttering a curse under my breath. My hand isn't usually this shaky.
I wipe it clean and try again.
There. Done.
The dress I'm wearing hugs my curves in all the right places, or maybe all the wrong ones, depending on how you look at it.
I ordered it from a cute little boutique in Dublin that assured me they could get it shipped to me in a day.
I ordered two different sizes since I wanted to make sure it fit.
Thankfully, one did, and perfectly, might I add.
Since the night in Dublin, I've seen Niko four more times. Each day basically. And somehow, he manages to find new ways to surprise me. New places. New experiences. New foods I've never tried.
New ways to make me feel things I shouldn't.
As I look in the mirror, the Callista I see is a bit different from the version my brothers know. She looks alive. Free. Like someone who makes her own choices.
She also looks like someone who might be falling into dangerous territory, but we'll worry about that later.
I reach for my perfume when my phone lights up with Keira's FaceTime call. I tap to answer, propping it against my makeup bag.
"Hey beautiful, can't talk long. Just getting ready," I say, brushing a stray hair from my face.
Keira's face fills the screen. Her red curls are piled into some chaotic updo that somehow works for her.
"That's okay. I just wanted a peek," she says and leans closer to the screen, then gasps. "Oh my God, Calli. Are your boobs out?!"
I laugh, rolling my eyes as I adjust the neckline of my dress. It's low-cut, yes, but still tasteful. Mostly.
"Oh shut it. They are not out."
"They are trying to be," she says, laughing.
"Hey, you're the one who told me to flirt and have some fun."
She nods, smiling. "I did. And I stand by that advice. But damn, you look amazing. That man is going to lose his mind."
"Thank you," I say, applying some of the red lipstick I know he likes.
"So, how's Niko? Still think he's the worst man you could fall for?"
I turn away to hide my smile, pretending to fiddle with an earring. "He's good. I may have been a tad dramatic."
Keira snorts and lifts her brows. "A tad?"
"Well, not by much." I lower my voice even though I'm alone. "My brothers would—"
"Like I said, they won't find out," Keira interrupts firmly. "I won't tell them. Mine won't either. They don't even care enough."
"You sure about that?" I raise a brow.
"Okay, my brothers might care if I was sleeping with a sworn enemy. But just because your brothers don't like him doesn't mean he is. Who would your brothers like for you anyhow?"
"Good point."
"Anyway, on to more fun things. Where are you going tonight?" she asks.
I shrug. "No idea. He never tells me. Full of surprises."
"Damn. Dangerous and mysterious. This is like date what, ten?"
"No, five," I correct her with a laugh.
"Well, you look stunning. Have fun and call me tomorrow. Tell me everything. I'm living vicariously through you, so, you know, toss in some sex."
Heat floods my cheeks instantly and I gasp. "Keira!"
She smiles wickedly. "Kidding. Maybe. Okay. Love you."
"Love you too," I say, ending the call with a smile that quickly fades as the screen goes black.
My heart thunders in my chest. It's been like this for days now, this constant anticipation, this feeling of being pursued. No matter how I try to dismiss it, something about Niko feels different, like I'm caught in the eye of a storm I can't escape.
And with each passing day, each nice gesture and feeling he gives me, I'm not entirely sure I want to.
I'm finding that the thoughts of what scared me, like my brothers finding out, are now almost giving me a thrill. I don't do stuff like this, but the secrecy of things is starting to stoke a fire I'm not used to being lit.
I stand and spray some more perfume on my wrists and neck, jasmine and vanilla. As I slip on my heels, the doorbell rings, exactly on time.
When I open it, the sight of Niko steals whatever composure I'd managed to gather.
He's devastating in a perfectly tailored black suit that fits him like it was crafted specifically for his body.
The fabric stretches across his broad shoulders, and the white shirt beneath is open just enough to show a hint of olive skin.
Even the few strands of hair that have come untucked from behind his ears add to his look.
In one hand, he carries a bag. The other is tucked into his pocket.
God, he looks good.
Dangerously good.
He doesn't speak right away. Just lets his eyes move over me slowly, lingering with intent. His jaw muscles twitch as his gaze moves.
"You look..." he begins, then stops himself, as if whatever he was about to say was too much, even for him. "I don't even have the right word."
I step back to let him in, enjoying the way his eyes never leave me. "Thank you," I say. "And you clean up okay too."
He smiles. "Just okay?"
I close the door behind him. "Well, I can't tell you you're handsome all the time. Can't allow confidence to slip into cockiness."
"Oh, I see. Should I temper my responses then?"
"Nope," I smile. "Don't worry about me getting a big head. Women can never get enough compliments."
"Good. I wouldn't stop anyway," he says as his eyes flicker to my lips and then back to my eyes.
"So, where are we going tonight?" I ask, trying to inject some lightness into my voice even as my pulse races.
Niko sets the bag down on the kitchen counter. "Actually, nowhere. I'm cooking for you."
The surprise hits me like a physical thing, warm and unexpected. "What? Really?!"
He nods, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smile. I've noticed he does that when he's pleased with himself.
My excitement bubbles over before I can contain it, and I practically bounce as I walk toward the bag. "So what's inside?"
Niko begins unpacking items one by one. Fresh herbs, tomatoes, olive oil, ground beef, pasta, and other ingredients I can't immediately identify.
I lean closer, studying the labels, and my breath catches.
I pick up one of the packages. "Wait, this is in Greek. Did you—?"
"Of course," he interrupts smoothly, gently taking it from my hands. "I want it to be really authentic for you."
"Did you have this shipped in?"
He shrugs like it's nothing. "Overnight from Athens."
My body tingles at his words. The casual way he says it, like going to extraordinary lengths for me is the most natural thing in the world.
"Okay, Niko. I see you," I say, looking over everything spread out on the counter. "And what exactly are you making?"
"Pastitsio. Your favorite," he says as he reaches into the bag and pulls out a bottle of wine. "And I got this to go with it. Same one you liked in Dublin."
I stare at him, genuinely speechless and overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness. By the care he's taken to remember what I liked.
My hand flies to my chest. "Niko. This is like the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."
The words slip out before I can stop them, too honest and too revealing. But they're true. Family and friends shower me with expensive gifts, but they're always things they think I should want. Niko's making me something I actually told him I loved.
Before I can analyze any of this and risk my emotions from spilling over, I grab the wine from him. "I'll open this," I say quickly.
He nods, taking his jacket off and turning toward the stove. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, and for some reason even his forearms look strong. Sexy. I mean, is that a thing? It is for me now.
It takes me four attempts, but I locate a corkscrew in a drawer. The cork comes out with a satisfying pop, and I pour two glasses of the deep red wine. Handing one to Niko, our fingers brush, and I try not to notice the spark that jumps between us.
"Cheers," I say, and we clink glasses.
"Damn, this wine is good," I say as I take my heels off and take a seat on one of the barstools across from the chef to watch him work.
There's something mesmerizing about the way he moves. He starts with the tomatoes, his knife moving slowly like he's worshiping each move.
"You know," I say, taking a sip of wine and smiling, "your knife skills are pretty ehhh," I tease him.
He looks up, one eyebrow raised, amusement dancing in those dark eyes. "That's fighting words, orea mou."
"Just calling it like I see it." I grin, enjoying the way his jaw ticks when I challenge him a bit.
"Says the woman who probably burns pasta water."
I gasp in mock offense. "I do not burn pasta water. That's physically impossible."
"With you, I wouldn't put anything past the realm of possibility."
"Rude." But I'm laughing now, my teasing loosening the knots of tension in my shoulders.
He continues chopping, but his movements have sped up a bit as if my words made him want to show off a bit more.
"Come here," he says suddenly, setting down his knife. "Let me show you how it's done."
I hesitate for a moment but then slide off the stool and move beside him, acutely aware of his proximity. He hands me the knife, then positions himself behind me, his chest brushing against my back as he rests his hand on top of mine.
"I just want to point out that I have all ten fingers, and I'd like that to still be the case after this demonstration," I say, smiling.
His fingertips rub my hand holding the handle of the knife.
"Don't worry, Calli. I wouldn't let anything happen to your beautiful fingers," he says and grips my hands tight around the handle and positions it over one of the ripe tomatoes.
"Like this," he says, his breath warm against my ear. He guides me, showing me how to curl my fingers to avoid cutting myself.
I try to focus on what I’m cutting, the knife, the goddamn chopping block, but all I feel is him. The heat of his body. The strength in his hands. We're inches apart. My body sets on fire when his other hand comes to rest lightly on my hip, steadying me.
"You're doing it perfectly," he says, and my body tilts my neck, hoping for his lips. I don't even need to think about it, it just does it.
"Not bad," he says, his voice slightly rougher than before.
I turn to face him, leaning back against the counter. "I'm a quick learner. Especially when I have a good teacher."
His gaze drops to my lips for just a moment before snapping back to my eyes.
ToHe doesn't kiss me. He doesn't have to. I already feel myself buzzing with a feeling I haven't felt in a long time.
I swallow hard, trying to act unbothered, but it's impossible. I return to my wine and watch as he finishes everything.
I also think of our almost-kiss that just happened. It's the first time with him that if he would have done it, I'd have let him.
If he tries his luck, maybe Keira will get her wish after all.
The béchamel smells like heaven as he tops everything and slides the dish into the oven.
He grabs his phone and sets a timer. "So, we've got about 45 minutes," he says, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
"What do we do until then?" I ask, refilling both our glasses.
A slow smile spreads across his face as he steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"I've got an idea," he says and smiles, and I swear to God, that smile is going to be the end of me.