Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
A few days later, I pick up and put down my phone approximately six times over twenty minutes while seated at the dining table in my flat, attempting to compose the perfect breezy text to Stefanos.
It’s a great distraction from trying to make a travel decision.
Meanwhile, there are several Mediterranean flight options that appeal on my laptop in front of me, but I keep circling back to Athens on a commercial flight, because I don’t rank at this point to have a private jet ferry me around.
And even if I did, there are better ways to spend royal money.
Wintertime is unpredictable in January on the Med, which could include a rare warmish day—which would qualify as proper summer in Copenhagen or London—to stormy bursts of weather with pouring rain and chill winds.
The forecasts, though, are promising for a break in the winter weather.
There’s the forever draw of the Amalfi Coast in Italy, southern France, and of course, Greece.
Where there’s the mysterious allure of Stefanos.
Which brings me back to my phone. I scrunch up my face and rake a hand through my hair. Think effortless. Aspirational. Casual, yet suave. After all, I’m not looking to marry anyone, unlike Freja. I make myself stop fidgeting.
Might be in Athens this week if you happen to be around x
Pretending to be way more chill than I am, I hit Send. Then immediately check I didn’t accidentally send the message to some random person, or worse, Aidan. After triple-checking, it’s gone to Stefanos, but there’s no instant response either.
Shit. What if texting was a terrible idea? At the very least, it’s totally random again. He’ll think, Oh yes, a text from that other royal again who flattened me in the bar, terribly glad to hear from him. I groan. My face heats up.
Unable to sit still, I hop up to drag out my suitcase from the cupboard under the stairs and take it to my room to optimistically start packing, even before I’ve secured a plane ticket.
At this point, I’ll take any flight today or tomorrow to get out of here, trapped with my thoughts.
I fold shirts and shorts and trousers into my suitcase, choose my favorite cologne, and gather toiletries.
First flight out of town wins. I message Miles to let him know I’m headed on a trip and will need some kind of security arrangements, though this is meant to be a low-key escape.
Don’t be silly. Of course Stefanos has things he’s doing. Probably something really noble. Something grand.
And I’m going full digital nomad this week as I try to escape myself for some inspiration. I tuck my diary and a couple of novels into my bag from my latest run into Barnes Books.
Maybe Saint-Tropez or Cannes would fit the bill.
Then my phone chimes. Dropping everything, I run to the next room, skidding on my socks to the table.
I might be in Athens too. Headed to Corfu x
Well, well. The grin on my face is so broad it practically hurts. I clutch my phone in amazement. Right. Pretend to be calm.
Maybe drinks if we’re in the same place at the same time? X
I know a place in Athens. Just tell me when you’re here, we’ll make a plan
Look at that. Punctuation and everything. Points for literacy.
He’s already got points for being quietly adorable, even post-flattening.
The fact that he still wants to talk to me is beyond brilliant.
My heart pounds, even though there’s nothing going on.
In fact, I don’t know a thing about him.
Which isn’t a requirement for a bit of fun, even if it’s only some light flirting.
Hope I didn’t ruin your clothes
Everything comes out in the wash they say
A boy can hope #goals x
I flop on my bed, rolling onto my back as I grin broadly. No text comes after that, so I lie there holding my phone, imagining where Stefanos might be or what he’s doing. Probably something princely. Or, who knows.
Which leads me to an indulgent internet search.
Stefanos is one of four siblings, the third of four brothers.
A tingle runs along my spine as I take him in on an image search like my own personal Pinterest board.
Stefanos, on horseback, laughing. Stefanos by the sea, one of my favorite Stefanos looks, wearing a pale linen shirt as he leans on a stone balustrade, wind ruffling his dark hair.
Stefanos, looking pensive in an oak-paneled library in a cable-knit sweater.
Wikipedia tells me he finished university last year at St Andrew’s, with his Master’s in Classics and Archaeology.
He’s twenty-four years old, a little younger than me, and obviously a whole lot smarter.
After indulging myself in daydreaming about Stefanos for a few minutes, I get back to the fine art of stuffing my suitcase with more clothes and novels before going to sit down at my laptop and booking a flight to Athens later that day, along with a hotel.
Something frees in my chest, and at last, I can take a deep breath for the first time in days.
Heathrow, as ever, is a circus as cars approach through the slosh of traffic. Rain falls sideways under the gloom of clouds. People come and go, and sometimes I swear people come just to stand around. Miles gives me a sidelong glance in the taxi. He’s been an excellent sport about accommodating me.
I pay my taxi fare once I’m taken to my special departures area and soon whisked off on a cart through the secret channels of the airport to the private lounge to wait for my flight.
Beyond the expansive window, airplanes taxi in and out in their own rhythm.
I find some rosé to pretend it’s the height of summer rather than blustery old London in early spring. Delusional, that’s me.
Slipping out of my wool coat, I leave my mohair scarf wrapped around my neck against the air con that runs even in this weather. Or maybe someone’s left a door open somewhere. I fidget with my novel, rereading the same page three times before tucking it away again.
Then, showing no self-restraint, I search Aidan’s social media and scroll.
Which shows him ensconced with his new groom, who admittedly is a bit of a dish, but it doesn’t make me feel one bit better and, in fact, a whole lot worse.
In the latest photo, they look like they’re taking a selfie in a stable, no less.
My face burns as I quickly swipe out of the app and tuck my phone away as my flight’s called to board. Last on, I’m tucked into first class to the sound of overhead bins being clicked shut. Let them shut away my worries too. I put on my over-ear headphones and open my novel again.
And we fly.