Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Oscar
Sparks shot down my arm as my fingers brushed against the warm skin of Ilias’s arm. I let out a slow breath, trying to work out what the hell I was doing.
“I think the reason I was such a dick about the idea of you going off with other guys was because I was jealous.” The words came out slowly, and I almost regretted saying them out loud.
“I know this relationship is fake, but I think you’re funny and interesting and really fucking handsome,” I continued. “And I guess I just wanted to pretend that, for once, someone might actually want me. Sorry.”
Ilias was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t place as golden torchlight played across his face. He looked even more beautiful if that was even possible. Then he smiled, and I felt some of the tension in my chest begin to ease like someone had loosened the vice around my ribcage.
“You were jealous?” There was a gentle, teasing lilt to his tone, but it wasn’t malicious. Instead, it just made my skin prickle.
“Yeah. No need to make a big deal out of it.”
“Hmm, no promises there,” he said. “But that can come later.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Later? What comes now?”
“Now, we’re going to act like the grown-ass adults we’re supposed to be and talk.”
“That sounds horrifying. Can’t we go back ten minutes and pretend this conversation never happened?” I asked, only half joking. This was the price of opening my mouth, but at least Ilias hadn’t dismissed me yet. There was still time though.
“No, definitely not. I’m too interested now.” His smile widened, and he twisted his hand around to catch mine, interlacing our fingers on the table. “So… you wanted to pretend this was real. Does that mean you actually want it to be real?”
“Shit. Straight into the deep end. I was hoping we’d start with something simple.”
“I think it’s a little late for that,” Ilias said. “Would you like me to throw you a life raft?”
“Is there one?” I didn’t know conversations about this sort of thing usually came with emergency provisions.
“Yes. If it helps, I think you’re gorgeous and charming, even with your grumpy shell.”
“I’m not grumpy,” I said, knowing my defensive tone wasn’t going to help my case. Ilias chuckled.
“Yes, you are. You’re like a little sea urchin. All prickly on the outside and squishy in the middle.”
“Aren’t the squishy bits my internal organs?”
“Don’t nitpick,” Ilias said. “That wasn’t my point.”
“I know. I’m trying not to think about your point because… because if that’s how you feel, then I’m not sure what happens next.” I reached for my wine and took a sip, wishing I didn’t feel so off-kilter. This conversation wasn’t rocket science—we weren’t trying to calculate how to fly to Mars—all we were trying to do was work out how we felt about each other.
“Why not?” Ilias asked, giving my hand a squeeze then releasing me. He began to pick at his food again, and I realised we hadn’t finished dinner. The whole set-up had melted away as soon as I’d told him about being demi. “It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No. Not if we don’t want it to be.”
“But how… Why…” I stabbed a piece of tuna and tried to shake out my thoughts. “I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”
“How do you know what I want?” Ilias raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t asked me.”
“But don’t you want…”
“To have sex with you?” Ilias asked. “Do you really think that’s all I want?”
“No, I don’t. But it’s a reasonable question from my perspective. Virtually all my relationships have ended because I don’t feel anything for the other person, or if I do, it’s not soon enough for them. I like you, Ilias, but I can’t put a timetable on anything.”
“Okay,” he said like it was somehow no big deal to him. My head was spinning. “I understand that. But I like you, Oscar, and I can wait.” He reached for his own glass, looking at me over the rim. “I need to know where your line is though. Does that include all kinds of physical touch and romantic gestures? I know you said you were fine with me holding your hand, but I don’t want to cross any boundaries. I won’t make you uncomfortable.”
I shook my head, feeling my face heat. Damn him for being so sweet and considerate. I suddenly felt like a teenager all over again. Or at least a teenager in one of those indie movies I’d been obsessed with.
“I… I quite like romantic things, hand holding, cuddling, kissing… It doesn’t even have to be chaste kissing.”
“Oooh, spicy kissing. I’m down for that.”
“I’m not sure if you’re mocking me,” I said with a wry smile.
“I never joke about spicy kissing.”
I snorted, the pressure around my chest easing again only to be replaced with a kaleidoscope of butterflies. I hadn’t felt like this around anyone for a very long time. Ilias sipped his wine again, then glanced out over the water like he was pondering something.
“Since we’re sharing secrets,” he said slowly, “there’s something I should tell you.”
“What sort of something?”
Ilias took a deep breath and turned to face me, pain etched into his features. “Do you remember when I told you about my… friend. The one who died?”
“Yes…” I said, suddenly wondering where this was going.
“He wasn’t just my friend,” Ilias said quietly. “He was my fiancé.”
I stared at him as all the fragments I’d collected over the last week suddenly assembled themselves into a beautiful, tragic photo. And everything I knew about Ilias suddenly inverted itself. I thought about all the times he’d talked about the digs his family had made and how much each of them had hurt. Perhaps that was why Ilias didn’t seem to do relationships. Except he wanted one with me…
“What happened?” I asked.
“Car accident. We were only nineteen. Kind of one of those whirlwind summer romances with someone I’d grown up with. I’d seen him every summer at my nonna’s in Italy for as long as I could remember, and that year we just… clicked. We were young and stupid, but we decided to get married. Only there was a storm…” He trailed off and took another breath. “We’d decided to drive to Turin so we could fly to Paris to get married. We hadn’t really thought it all through. It was all just a spur of the moment thing. Then it started raining, and we couldn’t see, and there was this tree.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. The worst part was that nobody knew Daniele and I were together, so I couldn’t do anything. I just had to pretend I’d lost a friend rather than the man I’d actively been planning a life with. I think everyone just thought my grief was survivor’s guilt rather than anything more,” he said. “I don’t know if it would have lasted, and maybe it wouldn’t have, but ever since, I’ve just closed myself off. It’s been easier than getting hurt. Until… Fuck.” He shook his head. “Until you and your bloody, stupid, beautiful face and your grumpy charm, and the fact that you were honest with me. That you told me that it never goes away like you’d never expect me to forget or pretend it didn’t happen. Like… like you understood a little of what I felt.”
I didn’t know what to do or what to say. So I did the first thing that felt natural. I reached across the table to retake his hand and squeezed it so tightly I was worried I might break it. “I would never ask you to forget something like that. And I’m so sorry for everything you went through.”
“Thanks.” Ilias smiled at me, but I noticed his eyes were shining with unshed tears. “It’s kind of nice actually. To tell someone about it, someone who isn’t being paid to listen to me.”
I knew he was trying to make light of it, but it was hard to let the comment pass. “Does anybody in your family know?”
“Zo? does because she found me drunk and crying at a family wedding about a year after it happened. She was the one who encouraged me to get therapy rather than just trying to bottle it up. But apart from that, no, they don’t.”
“Do you think…”
“I’d ever tell them?” He shook his head. “Probably not. And anyway, it’s not something I want to revisit with them. It’s been ten years. I don’t want to go dragging Daniele’s memory up. Besides they’d just go on and on about it, and someone else would inevitably make it all about them. It would be too painful, and I’d rather just leave it to rest.”
I nodded, silently thinking a large proportion of Ilias’s family could go do one from everything I’d heard about them. But now wasn’t the time to say that.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did. Because you shared a piece of yourself with me, and I needed to do the same. It’s why I’ve only gone for hook-ups, even though I crave more.” He let out a hollow chuckle. “And now I sound desperate and needy. You must think I’m ridiculous.”
“No, I don’t.” And I didn’t. All I thought was that Ilias was a man desperate to be loved. How hard must it have been for him to close himself off to what he really wanted because he was scared he might lose something important. “I think you’re being honest with me, and that’s really fucking hard. But I’m grateful for it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I guess,” Ilias said, “I’m the same as you but in a different way. You say you can’t put a timetable on our relationship, and you can’t promise you’ll want anything more. I can’t promise you I won’t freak the fuck out about whatever this is tomorrow. It’s been ten years, and I’ve worked so hard to let go, but brains and hearts are funny things, and I can’t guarantee trying this won’t hit some magical switch I don’t know about and make me want to run away.”
“If that happens, tell me,” I said, reaching across the table to cup his face in my hand. “And I’ll throw you a life raft.”
“You will?”
“Yes. I won’t let you drown, Ilias. I know this will be scary for both of us. All I’m asking is that you don’t shut me out.”
“I’ll try,” he said, and I knew that was as good as I’d get. But I didn’t mind. We were wading through uncharted water, and the only way to go was slow.
I’d never considered the idea that Ilias’s issues might be bigger than mine, but maybe this was something we both needed—a person who saw us, a person who could empathise with where we were coming from, even if we couldn’t totally understand.
“Thank you.”
Ilias leant into my hand, his cheek warm against my skin. The green flecks in his eyes danced in the light and his mouth looked soft and plush. I had the overwhelming urge to kiss him, but I wanted to wait. I didn’t want Ilias to think I was kissing him out of some kind of pity.
“So what do we do now?” Ilias asked.
“I don’t know. We could finish our dinner. Maybe go for a walk along the beach? It’ll be dark, but we’ll be able to see enough.”
“I’d like that.” He sat back, and my palm tingled at the absence of his touch.
We finished our fish, which luckily hadn’t gotten too cold, and after that came dessert in the form of the most elevated shave ice I’d ever seen with coconut sorbet, pineapple granite, strawberry pearls, and some tiny, crispy passion fruit meringues. It was delicious though—cool and sharp and fresh and perfectly balanced to finish off the meal. I knew I’d been utterly spoilt by the food on this trip, and I wasn’t looking forward to trying to conjure up things in my tiny kitchen every night when I got home. Maybe I needed to look at taking a cooking class.
Ilias and I kept talking throughout dessert, but the conversation turned more to work and our trip and working out if there was anything we still needed to do before we left.
“Tomorrow,” Ilias said, “we have to get up and watch the sun rise. I still haven’t seen it yet. Then I can also take some photos on the beach while it’s quiet.”
“What unholy hour will you be turfing me out of bed at then?”
“Half five.” Ilias grinned. “Sunrise is at just after six, and I want to make sure I get a good spot.” He thought for a second. “Actually, maybe closer to quarter past would work better. I don’t want us to miss it.”
I groaned but conceded, simply because Ilias had said us , and that word carried a lot more weight than it had a couple of hours ago. “Fine. I’ll set an alarm.”
“Perfect. And afterwards, we can go get pancakes at this gorgeous local place Rachel at reception recommended. I think it’s run by a family friend of hers. Anyway, apparently they do the best breakfasts on the island, so we have to go and check it out.”
“I suppose breakfast will make up for being thrown out of bed so early,” I said with a grin, watching as Ilias rolled his eyes.
“Don’t make me go without you.”
“You wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much.”
Ilias snorted. “Would I?”
“Fine, but you wouldn’t leave your boyfriend behind. That would be rude.” I’d meant it in a teasing way—an offhanded joke about the situation—except it felt different now. Ilias stared at me, his mouth slightly open in surprise.
“No,” he said. “I guess I wouldn’t.”