ATHENA
I’m sitting in Ruby’s kitchen, watching with fascination as she chops mushrooms. She insisted on cooking for me and wouldn’t accept my help.
Although it’s adorable, it’s hard not to step in as I’ve never seen anyone chopping the way she does.
The way she holds the knife alone is enough to question if she’s ever cooked a meal in her life.
Mushrooms and burrata on toasted ciabatta with a side salad.
Not exactly complicated, but she’s making it look like a science experiment.
“Be careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” I warn her. “Do you want me to turn on the grill for the ciabatta?”
“No, I’m fine. Just stay there and relax. I’ve got this.” She chuckles as she fiddles with the buttons on the oven and shoves in a whole loaf of ciabatta without slicing and oiling it first. “I’m determined.”
I’m about to step in anyway when my phone buzzes.
Demetria’s name lights up the screen, and I smile, welcoming the distraction before Ruby can accuse me of being a control freak.
I’ve been talking to Demetria more regularly since her visit—quick texts, voice messages exchanged, and late-night calls.
“It’s my sister,” I tell Ruby, who nods encouragingly. Our relationship is still new enough that these small domestic moments feel significant—standing in her kitchen while she cooks, taking personal calls in her space, the casual intimacy of our daily routines intertwining.
“Hey, Dem,” I answer. “What’s up, sis?”
“Athena!” My sister’s voice is breathless with excitement. “I have news,” she starts in Greek. “Big news.”
“Oh? Everything okay?” I wedge my phone between my ear and my shoulder so I can open the bottle of wine I brought.
“More than okay. I’m getting married!”
“You’re what?” The wine bottle nearly slips from my hand. I set it down carefully, exchanging a glance with Ruby, who’s paused her chopping and studies me curiously.
“She’s getting married,” I whisper to her, then focus my attention back to Demetria. “To Julian?”
“Of course to Julian. Who else?”
I clear my throat and try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.
“Sorry. That was a silly question. And congratulations, I’m super happy for you both.
” My little sister is getting married to someone I’ve never met, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
But it’s my own fault, I suppose. I haven’t exactly been around much.
“I’m just surprised,” I continue. “When you were here last month, you didn’t mention it once. ”
“Well, he asked me, and I said yes.” Demetria pauses. “You really are happy for me, right? I need you to be supportive, Athena.”
“I am, I promise,” I lie, my eyes widening as I meet Ruby’s gaze. “But I’d better plan a trip to meet him first. When’s the wedding? Do you have a date yet?”
“It’s next week,” she says with a chuckle. “At Mom’s yacht club in Santorini.”
I blink rapidly as I process this. “Next week? Dem, you can’t be serious. Why so soon?”
“It’s not that soon,” she says defensively. “Julian and I have been dating for six months.”
To me, that sounds incredibly rushed, but I keep that thought to myself.
Despite the shock, it somehow doesn’t surprise me all that much.
Demetria has always been incredibly impulsive.
The youngest who dared to take big risks because everyone was always there to protect her and clean up the mess when things went south.
I’m not worried about Julian getting his hands on the family money; that’s all under my control, and Demetria gets a generous payout every month.
No, I’m worried about her heart, about becoming stuck in a life she regrets with a man she doesn’t know that well.
But who am I to judge? I haven’t known Ruby for long, but it feels right, like I’ve made a choice for life. Perhaps it’s the same with them.
“We just decided—why wait? Life is too short for long engagements,” she continues. “And I’m not worried about the short notice. No one will want to miss a Stavros wedding. Our guests will bend over backwards to be there, no matter what, because it’s going to be epic!”
“I have no doubt. The yacht club? Mom must have pulled a lot of strings to make that happen. How many guests are you inviting?”
“Their capacity is three hundred, so we’re keeping it intimate,” Demetria says in all seriousness. “Two-hundred-and-fifty guests for me and Mom and fifty for Julian, although he probably won’t even hit that number.
“Right. Three hundred at the yacht club. I hope you have a good wedding planner.” A wedding with three hundred guests might not seem intimate to some, but when it comes to Greek weddings, it is, indeed, a modest number.
“I’ve got the best of the best. She’s flown over from New York, and she’s used to working under pressure on last-minute events.
” Demetria pauses. “Which brings me to the next topic. Money. I need funds for the wedding. And for some of Julian’s guests who can’t afford to attend unless we pay for it. ”
“Sure. Let me know how much and I’ll take care of it.
” Since being in charge of the Stavros family fortune, I’ve never turned down a request for money.
My responsibility is to keep my mother and sister comfortable and give them whatever they need, no questions asked.
If this wedding turns out to be a mistake, so be it.
In most cases, when people suddenly inherit a lot of money, the funds are quickly drained by reckless spending, and I’m proud I’ve done the opposite.
“Thank you!” Demetria’s voice grows louder. I imagine her bouncing up and down the way she does when she gets excited. “And I have one final request.”
“Of course you do,” I joke. “Tell me.”
Ruby has abandoned her cooking entirely, leaning against the opposite counter to watch me. From her expression, I’d almost think she understands Greek.
“Well, I was wondering,” Demetria says, dropping a pause for effect. “If you’d be my maid of honor.”
“You know I will.” My smile widens. I may not be convinced about this impromptu wedding, but I can’t change her mind, so I’ll be there with bells and whistles. “Thank you. It’s an honor.”
Demetria’s delighted squeal makes me hold the phone away from my ear. “Perfect! Oh, and bring Ruby as your plus-one. Don’t worry, I haven’t told Mom,” she quickly adds. “But she’s been talking about her, and she wants her to come.”
I frown. “What? Mom’s been talking about Ruby? Why?”
“Because she liked her, obviously. She said Ruby was refreshing and a positive influence on you. High praise from our mother, as you know.”
I glance at Ruby, who’s raised her eyebrows at the mention of her name. “I’d love to bring her, but it’s short notice so I can’t promise anything.”
“Look, bring her, don’t bring her. It’s up to you.
But the invitation stands, and I’d love to have you both there.
” There’s a muffled sound in the background, and Demetria’s voice grows distant for a moment.
“Yes, darling, just a minute!” She returns to the phone.
“I’ve got to run—Julian’s waiting to finalize the guest list. I’ll text you all the details, okay? Love you!”
And then she’s gone. I set the phone down and look at Ruby. “So,” I say, pouring us both a glass of wine. “Want to come to a wedding next week?”
Ruby looks baffled. “Your sister’s getting married? Just like that?”
“Apparently so. Demetria has always had a flair for the dramatic and impulsive. She’s always been like this—deciding something in an instant and making it happen, consequences be damned.
Once, when she was twelve, she decided she wanted to be a ballerina.
Within twenty-four hours, she’d convinced our parents to enroll her in the most prestigious dance academy in Greece. ”
“Did she stick with it?”
I laugh. “God, no. She quit after a month. But that’s Demetria—all passion, no patience.”
Ruby’s hand finds mine on the countertop. “And she wants me to come too?”
“She does. And supposedly, so does my mother. I’m still processing that particular revelation, which is…interesting.” I shake my head. “Anyway, you’re hereby invited as my plus-one to my sister’s wedding in Santorini next week. I know you’re busy, but—”
“Are you serious? Santorini? With you?” Ruby grins. “Of course I want to come!”
I take a long sip of wine to hide my face, trying not to let Ruby see the mild panic setting in. I’m about to bring someone home.
Luckily, my moment of internal crisis is interrupted by dark smoke rising from the grill.
Ruby whirls around with a yelp, yanking open the oven door to reveal charcoal ciabatta.
The smoke detector joins the chaos with its high-pitched wail as Ruby frantically waves a dish towel beneath it, her face a perfect portrait of culinary defeat.
“Well,” she says, coughing through the smoke. “What do you feel like? Thai or Italian for takeout?”