Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
Oscar
Waking up to find Ilias clinging to me wasn’t as shocking the second time around. His breath was soft against my neck as he sprawled like a starfish across me and half the bed, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist like he was pinning me in place.
Gently, I tried to roll him off me by putting one hand against his shoulder and pushing, but all that did was make him grip on tighter as he burrowed his head deeper into my shoulder and let out a little snore. Unless I wanted to kick him, I was stuck until he woke up.
This wasn’t what I’d envisioned when I’d told Ilias I wanted to get to know him better. I was thinking more like twenty questions or deep conversations about things that were important to us, not being hugged to death.
“I like burritos but not avocado,” Ilias muttered, and I chuckled. That was something new. I felt him stir, then stiffen, and I assumed he’d come to and realised he was once again doing his best limpet impression.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Morning,” said Ilias as he detached himself and rolled away looking sheepish. “Sorry, I, er, I didn’t mean to do that. Again.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure? I can always sleep on the sofa next door.”
“I’m sure.” The sofas in the suite’s sitting room were fairly comfortable to sit on, but I wasn’t sure they’d be great for sleeping. Plus, the idea of Ilias spending the night next door made me uncomfortable because I didn’t have any more right to the bed than he did. “You’re not that bad, and it doesn’t wake me up.”
Ilias grinned, and I realised that probably said more about me than I’d intended. “You like me snuggling you?”
“Is that snuggling? It felt like I was being smothered.”
“If I was going to smother you, you’d know.”
“Kinky,” I said in the most deadpan voice I could manage. Ilias laughed, throwing his head back into the crisp pillows. He really was beautiful when he smiled, and his joy radiated out of him like sunshine.
“Only if you ask nicely.” He turned onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. “So, what are our plans for today?”
“What am I, your butler?”
“Do butlers keep diaries? I think that would make you my secretary.” He smirked. “You’d be a cute secretary.”
“I’d quit on day one,” I said. “You could sort out your own shit.”
“No, you’d stay forever because I’m charming and witty and you’d take pity on me.”
“How do you manage to have a job if you’re disorganised?”
“I’m not,” Ilias said. “I just like hearing you saying what we’re doing.”
“Oh…” I felt my face burning, then I swallowed. “I, er… Well, this morning we can get breakfast, then go to the beach for a bit. We’re too late for pre-breakfast yoga.”
“That’s okay. I’m not feeling yoga anyway,” Ilias said. “I think I’m still too sore from yesterday.”
I nodded because my muscles were definitely complaining, and I hadn’t even moved. “After breakfast, we can go to the beach for a bit and explore. This afternoon we’ve got snorkelling with the hotel’s marine biologist, then a few hours of downtime and then tonight we’re going stargazing at Mauna Kea.”
“Stargazing?” Ilias had a dreamy smile on his face. It was so soft and natural it caught me off guard.
“Yes, apparently the sky around here is perfect for it. We should be able to see a lot as long as it’s not cloudy.”
“Have you been before?”
“Not here,” I said. “But I went once when I was in South Africa a couple of years ago. It was…” I tried to think of a way to describe what I’d seen that night, lying on blankets on the top of the Jeep and looking up into the vastness of the universe. It had altered my perspective in a way I couldn’t explain in that it had given me a sense of how small I was. How inconsequential my existence was to the rest of the galaxy. It had been beautiful and devastating all at once. “Incredible,” I said finally. “There’s nothing like it. I can’t really describe it without spoiling it, and I think if I tried, I wouldn’t do it justice.”
“When I was little,” Ilias said, “I always wanted to be an astronaut. I thought I could go to the moon and see all the stars up close.” He shook his head, looking almost embarrassed by his statement.
“That’s sweet. What stopped you?”
Ilias shrugged, and I wondered if the question was too personal. “Dreams change, and it didn’t help that I really suck at maths. Numbers and I are not friends, and I think that’s a pretty crucial part of being fired into space. What about you? What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“Indiana Jones,” I said. Ilias chuckled.
“You’d look good in a fedora.”
“I don’t. I’ve got the wrong-shaped head.” I smiled, remembering the time Finn and Lewis had bought me one when I was seventeen. I thought I’d looked very cool, but nobody else did. “But I did want to be an explorer, to find new places and ancient ruins. Maybe teach history on the side. Then GCSE history put me off the subject for life because it was all the economics of the Second World War and the teacher sucked the life out of it. I also realised how much stuff Indy took from Indigenous peoples that belonged with them rather than in a museum. After that, I realised I’d rather see things where they were meant to be instead of in a place that was convenient.”
“Honestly, shit teachers are the worst. My physics teacher was like that. He could make the sun going supernova sound about as interesting as wet paint. And he had this really nasal voice, which I know he couldn’t help, but oh my God, it just made him sound like some sort of fly as he droned on and on.” Ilias shook his head. “I’m surprised I actually passed.”
“Same here. Although that might have been because my stepdad, Terry, is a history nut, and he managed to explain everything in a way that was actually interesting. He used props and everything—mostly leftover chocolate coins from Christmas—but I got to eat them afterwards.”
“What? You lucky fucker. I just had one of my brothers trying to help, then getting cross with me because I wasn’t as smart as him.” Ilias rolled his eyes. “I love him, but he’s a knob sometimes. He works in insurance now, and honest to fucking God, one conversation with him is enough to put you to sleep.”
“Is that the one you live with?”
“No. Dominic works in finance or something. Jerome is the insurance guy.”
“And you have three brothers?”
“Yeah,” Ilias said. “There’s also Lucas, who teaches economics. I’m the baby.” He sighed, and again, it felt like I’d nudged against a sore spot like a bruise that wouldn’t quite heal. It made me want to know more but also to take a step back. I didn’t want to hurt him, and pressing on something he didn’t want to share wouldn’t be fair. “You still got to travel though. Not quite Indy, but you’ve seen more places than most people.”
“Yeah,” I said, glad for the change of subject. “When I discovered that travel writing was a thing, that people would pay me to go to places and write about them, it was a no-brainer really. Everyone always said it was tough to break into, but it was what I wanted, so I just kept muddling through. Sometimes I think my mum expected me to give up and come home, but all I ever wanted was to be somewhere else. And now I get to be.”
Ilias was quiet for a moment, then he sat up and stretched, giving me a smile. “Come on. We should really get up. Madam Rossi would kill us if she caught us lazing around. I really need to take some photos this morning.”
“Yeah, I should probably make some notes.”
“Who knew this holiday would be work?” Ilias grinned, and I laughed as I watched him slide out of bed.
We spent the morning together but apart, taking up two beautiful loungers on the beach as we worked.
Ilias pottered back and forth, disappearing off to take photos, reappearing to swap lenses, and practically bouncing with happiness as he showed me what he’d captured so far. It was mostly pretty shots of the suite, the shoreline, and the resort, but there were also more vibrant, artistic ones of the local fauna and the waves playing across the beach.
“I can give Marcus options,” he said before raising his camera to take a photo of me tapping away on my laptop. He caught me totally by surprise, and when he looked at the picture, he laughed. “You didn’t have to pull a face.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you did.” He grinned and held the camera out for me to look at. I had a half-shocked, half-irritated look on my face, and I rolled my eyes as I handed the camera back.
“Delete it, please.”
“Nope. I’m keeping it.” He took a sip from the large glass of fresh mango and pineapple juice one of the staff had brought each of us. “I’m going exploring again. Man the fort while I’m gone. And don’t steal my juice.”
I laughed as he wandered away, his bare feet pattering against the sand and leaving a trail of footprints behind him. I was almost tempted to follow.
The snorkelling was fun, and I enjoyed listening to the hotel’s resident marine biologist, Kailani, talk about the local coastal environment, the lives and journeys of various species of fish, and ongoing conservation projects.
I made as many notes as I could in the old, battered notebook I always carried, and we had a long, in-depth conversation about tourism and its environmental effects because it was something I found myself thinking about more and more as I travelled.
I knew my career as a travel writer meant I focused on getting people to explore the world, and I was happy to play tourist if it meant I got to see the places of my dreams. But more and more, I wanted to look at ways to do that sustainably, if at all possible, and make sure I was contributing to the local economy, rather than just putting money into the pockets of billionaire resort owners.
I knew the situation was nuanced, and that I was probably a hypocrite at times, but I was trying, and I hoped that would be enough.
While we talked, Ilias slipped in and out of the water with his camera, his face a picture of delight every time he surfaced with new photos to show us. Kailani pointed out various features he’d managed to capture and gave us some great recommendations for some local places to visit for dinner, adding to Ilias’s ever-growing list of restaurants we needed to find time to visit. At this rate, we could probably spend the week going from restaurant to restaurant without doing anything else.
“Do they give us food tonight?” Ilias asked as we sat out on the suite’s terrace a couple of hours later. He sat cross-legged on one of the large, plush outdoor sofas, uploading photos to the laptop balanced across his knees. “Or do we need to get something beforehand?”
“They feed us,” I said. “I think it’s something like a vegetable lasagne.”
“Awesome.”
“Is there any food you don’t like?” I asked, sitting down on the sofa opposite him. “Apart from burger pickles, avocados, and your grandmother’s pot roast.”
“I don’t hate burger pickles. They just have to be on the right burger. They don’t go with barbecue sauce, bacon, and cheese.”
“But you do hate the pot roast.” I grinned, and Ilias scowled.
“I told you that in confidence.”
“Your grandma isn’t here.”
“True.” He tapped something on the keyboard, then frowned as if he was trying to remember something. “How did you know about the avocados?”
“Er… you talk in your sleep.”
“Motherfucker,” Ilias hissed, and I laughed. “What else have I said?”
“Nothing else that I’ve heard. Just that you like burritos but not avocado.”
“That’s because avocado is slimy and disgusting.” Ilias shuddered dramatically.
“You’re a terrible millennial. How else are you going to continue destroying the housing market and the economy if you don’t eat your fair share of avocado toast?”
Ilias snorted, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looked up at me. The sight caught me off guard, stealing my breath from my lungs.
“Don’t worry. I’ll do that by not having kids, travelling the world, never settling down, and adopting… I don’t know, twenty cats. And I’ll make sure you eat all my avocado toast.”
“Deal,” I said. “So you’re a cat person?”
“Actually, I don’t have a preference, but I feel like I could be one of those weird old cat gays. I could make them all wear hand-knitted jumpers.”
“Doesn’t that work better on dogs?”
“Yes, but it’s weirder if you do it to cats,” Ilias said with a sparkling grin. “And to answer your original question, I also don’t like aubergine or butternut squash. They’re too mushy and gross. And squash is just tasteless.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Ilias said as he wiggled his finger at me. “These are my food preferences, not yours.”
“Sorry.” I felt my face heat, and something in my stomach twitched. “I think I do that a lot… tell you how you should feel.”
“Not really.” Ilias shrugged. “And it’s not something unique to you. Besides, you’re not telling me bad things.” I frowned, and Ilias continued. “It’s your turn by the way.”
“To?”
“Tell me what food you don’t like. Aren’t we doing this whole turn-taking thing?”
“Oh…” I didn’t know why I felt suddenly flustered. It was just a question, a simple one at that, but the fact Ilias wanted to know things about me made me feel like I was under a spotlight. “I’m not that picky really, but I’m not a fan of offal or blue cheese.”
“Those are understandable,” Ilias said with another smile. “Internal organs and mouldy cheese aren’t high on a lot of people’s lists.”
“Do you like them?”
“Not really. If I had to eat them, I would, but they’re not my first choice. Except for my grandma’s blue cheese cookies. I’m not sure if they actually have blue cheese in them—I’ve never asked—but they’re this perfect balance of salty and sweet and just a little sharp. They’re not overpowering at all.”
“That actually sounds good,” I said. “But you can’t beat peanut butter and chocolate.”
“Yes, you can,” Ilias said. “Easily.”
“Really? Those are fighting words.”
“Peanut butter and chocolate is such a basic choice,” Ilias said as he shut his laptop and slid it onto the low table between us. “I can give you a whole list of cookies that are better.”
“Such as…” I grinned and gestured for him to continue.
And that was how I found myself arguing about cookie flavours with Ilias for the rest of the afternoon.