Chapter 10 Calli
CALLI
Niko's head jerks up, and we both whip around toward the kitchen.
"Oh shit," I gasp, the scent of burning food finally registering through my post-orgasm haze. "The pastitsio!"
I scramble to yank my tank top over my head, not even bothering with my bra or leggings. Niko doesn't grab anything, and we both dash toward the kitchen, our intimate moment shattered by the smell of charred food.
He reaches the oven first, and thick smoke billows out when he yanks it open.
I start coughing immediately. It's like something from a comedy sketch, except it's not quite as funny when you can't breathe.
"Shit!" he yells, grabbing a dish towel.
I cover my mouth and nose with my hand and rush to fling open the nearest window, then move to the next, letting the cool Irish air flow in. I'm still coughing, eyes watering, as I watch Niko battle the rising cloud of smoke.
He pulls out the dish and sets it on the stovetop with a loud clang. The top of the pastitsio looks like a charred brick. The once-creamy béchamel is now charcoal, with a dash of what looks like volcanic ash.
"Dammit," he says, looking over it.
He then shoots me a glance and through the smoke, we break.
At the same time, we start laughing.
"I set a timer on my phone, but didn't start it,” he says smiling. “I spent like 300 bucks having these ingredients shipped overnight too.”
"Guess we're not that different in the kitchen after all," I manage to say, wiping tears from eyes from laughing so hard.
"I was distracted," he says, tossing the towel on the counter.
"Oh really?"
His gaze sweeps over me. "Yes, a very demanding goddess needed my attention."
"You're ridiculous.”
He smiles. "You're blushing."
"No, I'm not," I say, even though I absolutely am.
He sighs. "I was planning to impress you," he says and turns back to the ruined dish. "Your favorite authentic Greek food cooked by a real Greek man. Now look at this shit."
I walk over and sit on the kitchen stool. "Well," I say, and pause as a few more laughs cross my lips, "you certainly did impress me. Just not with your cooking."
He turns to me, eyes dark with hunger that has nothing to do with food. "Did I?"
"Mmm hmmm," I nod, smiling up at him. "Though I am still starving. For actual food. So what now? What do we eat?"
Niko's smile turns sinful, and he leans across the kitchen island at me. "I already ate."
"Niko!"
He shrugs like it's nothing. "What? You taste better than any dinner I could've made."
"Oh my god!" I grab the nearest dish towel and throw it at his chest. "You're insane."
He smiles.
"Well, we need to eat something," I say, trying not to think about how his hair falls across his forehead when he laughs, or how the lines around his eyes crinkle. "I'm hungry."
I glance around the smoke-filled kitchen, considering our options. "Oh, there's a pizza place next to the pub. Maybe they deliver?"
Niko wrinkles his nose, looking pained at the suggestion. "Pizza."
"What's wrong with pizza?"
"Nothing."
I roll my eyes. "It won't be like in Chicago, but I've never had Irish-made pizza before."
"Fine," he says and reaches for his phone. "I'll call. What do you want?"
"Anything," I say, then reconsider. "Actually, no pineapple. I'm not a monster."
He stops and looks up at me. "Seriously? Hawaiian pizza is like the best fucking pizza. Why does everyone hate it?"
I stand and cover my mouth, acting like I'm throwing up. "I can't. What? Where are your standards, Niko? Like, why do you hate your taste buds so much?"
"Oh my god, Calli," he says and brings the phone to his ear.
As he makes the call, I take the opportunity to find some pants, feeling suddenly self-conscious about sitting half-naked in the kitchen with the windows open. When I return, Niko is still on the phone. He looks up at me and winks.
I get warm all over again.
"Thirty minutes," he says after hanging up. "They don't deliver, so I had to bribe them."
"Wow, really? Well, I guess this is a small town."
"Yeah," he says, walking toward me and kissing me. "You cold? I'm cold."
"Well, you're in boxer briefs, so…"
He laughs. "Good point. I'll get dressed and start a fire. The windows being open brought in all the cool night air."
Ten minutes later, warm flickering light fills the living room, casting golden shadows across the walls.
Niko shuts the windows now that the smoke is all out, and we sit down in front of the fire, close enough for our knees to touch. I pull the blanket over both of us. The wine glasses are refilled. The pastitsio is in the trash.
And I am as happy as I've ever been.
I tilt my head against the couch as Niko stands and watch him as he pokes at the fire with the iron rod, adjusting the wood until the flames catch higher.
"You know," I say, lost in this perfect moment, "I've never done this before."
He glances over. "Started a fire?"
I laugh. "No. This. All of it. Let someone get close enough to see me." I stop and take a drink. "I don't know why I'm saying this. Maybe it's this really good wine you got. Has secret powers."
He sets the fire iron down and rejoins me so we're face to face.
"Were you hiding?"
I shrug. "Not on purpose. I just… It's easy to be who they expect. It's hard to be anything else."
He takes his wine glass. "I've been expected to be someone my whole life," he says and takes a sip. "But the past few days, with you, I've never felt more like myself."
I meet his gaze, and my chest tightens with something sweet and terrifying. "Me too," I say.
"Even when I wrapped that cloth around your neck?" he asks, teasing.
A slow smile spreads across my face. Especially then.
He raises an eyebrow. "You liked being mine."
I blush again. "Maybe."
He brushes a strand of hair from my face and kisses my lips softly. So perfectly, I lick them to take everything I can from it.
"We could get something proper next time. Something silk. Or leather. Something that fits."
I bite my lip. "You planning to collar me like a pet?"
He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. "No. I'm planning to honor you like something sacred. Something no one else gets to touch. Not anymore."
Jesus Christ.
Pretty sure I'm getting wet again.
There's a sharp knock at the door that makes me jump, the bubble of intimate conversation momentarily bursting. Niko rises, touching my shoulder briefly.
"Pizza's here," he says.
I pull the blanket around my shoulders as I hear the door open. There are some muffled voices, then it closes. A moment later, Niko returns with two boxes, a victorious smile on his lips.
"Dinner is served," he says, setting them down in front of us. "A veggie one for you, and one properly made Hawaiian for me."
I scrunch my nose at him. "I still can't believe you're eating that abomination."
He flips open the box, revealing the steaming pizza topped with ham and pineapple. "This 'abomination' is a masterpiece of contrasting flavors. Sweet and savory."
"Keep telling yourself that," I counter, opening my own box. The aroma of cheese, vegetables, and herbs fills the air, and my stomach growls in response.
Niko laughs as he settles beside me again. He hands me a napkin and takes a slice of his pizza, biting into it with exaggerated pleasure.
"Mmm. Perfection. It's so good."
I roll my eyes and take a bite of my own slice. It's actually pretty good for a small-town Irish pizza joint. The crust is crispy, the sauce tangy.
"Not bad," I admit. "Though nothing beats Chicago deep dish."
"That's not pizza. That's a casserole," Niko says with mock seriousness.
I gasp in outrage. "How dare you? That's blasphemy in my city!"
"Your city has many virtues. Something that's 90% bread with cheese isn't one of them."
I scoff. "You're lucky you're so damn good-looking," I say and immediately feel embarrassed by the ease at which that came out.
He just looks at me and grins.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the fire crackling in front of us. I can't help but sneak glances at his profile. The strong line of his jaw, the slight shadow of stubble, even the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones.
This feels so normal. So right. Like we've been doing this forever.
"What are you thinking about?" Niko asks, catching me staring.
I take a sip of wine. "Nothing."
He gives me an are-you-kidding look.
I trace the rim of my wine glass with my finger. "I was thinking that this is nice. Just being here. With you."
His eyes darken, and he sets his pizza down, wiping his hands on a napkin before taking mine. "It doesn't have to end, you know."
My heart races. "Doesn't it?"
"No." He brings my hand to his lips, kissing it. "This could be the beginning."
I want to believe him, but reality hovers at the edges of my consciousness. My brothers. Our families.
"What would that even look like?" I ask, not sure if I'm asking him or myself. "This isn't just about us, Niko. Nothing in our world is."
"It could be." His voice is low, his eyes never leaving mine. "We could make it about us."
I nod slowly. "It's just, my brothers. With them around. It's like being wrapped in a blanket so tight you can't breathe. I love them. They'd die for me. But it's suffocating sometimes."
I stop and rub my forehead.
"They still see me as this version of myself that hasn't existed in years," I continue. "The little mafia princess who needed protecting. And maybe I did, back then. But not anymore."
Niko rubs my cheek. "They can learn to live with it," he says. "Or not. I don't particularly care."
I laugh sarcastically. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to deal with them."
"We would deal with them together," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm not afraid of your brothers, Calli."
"You should be. Do you know what Ares did for your cousin on their wedding night?"
Niko's expression doesn't change. "Let him try."
"This isn't a game, Niko," I say, because I need him to understand. "This is my family. My life."
"I know exactly what this is." He moves closer, and I can feel the heat of him even through the blanket. "Look, you can keep choosing what they want for you. Or you can choose what you want for yourself. And if that's me, I'll stand between you and anyone who tries to take you away. Anyone."
His words should scare me. Instead, they make something warm rise in my chest.
"You make it sound so simple," I say, looking down.
"It is simple," he says. "You're mine now, orea mou. It’s probably best you allow yourself to be."
I want to believe him. God, I want to so badly. But I can picture Ares's face when he finds out. Theo's. Dimitri's. The betrayal they'll feel. The rage.
"What happens when I go back to Chicago? And you to Greece?" I ask. Because I have to, eventually. This cottage, this moment, it's a bubble, separate from reality.
"I won't."
"What do you mean?"
"You have to go back to Chicago. I don't have to go anywhere for now. I'll follow you. Meet you anywhere in the world, Calli. I mean, I came here."
I smile. "I know, and I'm glad you did."
He leans in and kisses me.
"So like, you want to try and what? Be together? Not just here, but when I go back?"
His smile is slow, devastating in its intensity. "Yes, that's what I've been saying."
"It won't be easy," I warn him, but I'm already leaning into him, already giving in.
"Nothing worth having ever is. We can sneak around for a bit, keep it just between us, pure from any outside influence for a while. See how things go."
Sneaking around. That sounds kind of hot.
I've gotten pretty good at that. Not so much to see men, but to get out of view from my bodyguards.
And if I'm honest with myself, I'm not ready to give this up.
Not if he wants it too. For once, this isn't something arranged or expected.
It's something I chose. Freely. And I love that.
"Okay. If you want to try. Let's do it," I say.
I settle against his chest. We sit like that for a while, watching the fire, the remains of our dinner forgotten. In this moment, it really does seem possible—the two of us, facing the world together.
And if all this is on borrowed time, and reality does tear us apart the moment we step back into it, so be it.
I lift my head, meeting his gaze. "Next time you cook, maybe make sure to set a timer before you go down on me."
He laughs. "Where's the fun in that?"