Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
It turns out I don’t need my winter coat in Athens.
A hazy orange hangs over the city under the watch of the Acropolis.
The mild afternoon warmth hits me as I’m first off the plane, down a set of steps into a waiting vehicle to take me to the terminal.
Humidity clings. I unbutton my coat and loosen my scarf.
At the building, I get another escort with Miles through secret passages out to the waiting car from the hotel. I flop into the leather back seat as the driver puts my bag in the back. We navigate the early evening stop-and-start traffic.
Already, something lightens in my chest. Escaping London and my problems for a hot minute obviously is the right life choice.
Naturally, to complete the full diversion cycle, I message Stefanos. I lean my head back against the headrest and tap away.
Why is the sky orange in Athens? X
My phone chimes as a reply comes moments later. Sweet reward.
We do that to confuse the tourists X
Your strategy worked, congrats]\
Welcome to Greece. The orange is a sandstorm from the Sahara. You’re lucky to fly today
I blink. If he’d said smog or fog or even apocalypse, I would have believed him. I gaze out the window at the lingering orange tint to the sky. That’s one for my diary.
Do I thank Zeus for that?
Wouldn’t hurt. Pay your respects while you’re here
Got it
Then I hesitate for a moment, screwing my face up. I stare down at my phone, cradled between my hands, the screen going dark.
You have a link to Zeus?
I have connections, yes
Excellent. Any chance you’re up for a drink?
He types for a while, the dots dancing across the screen of my phone, each second amplifying my angst. Finally, a message comes.
Yes. Later. How’s 9pm? I’ll message you with details. I’ll make sure we’re in the VIP section
Can’t wait
Then the phone goes dark for good this time. And by the time we reach the hotel, I’m still beaming.
Later can’t come soon enough. I take advantage to settle into my luxurious hotel room with what must ordinarily be a stunning view through the haze, hanging my clothes and having a shower to freshen up for tonight.
I put on a short-sleeve shirt with a black embroidery patch of a deer and flowers at the shoulder, a light cotton jacket, and black trousers, plus my favorite black Louboutin loafers.
Peering in the mirror, I style my hair to look as breezy as some fashion spread in a magazine and leave a button unfastened at the neck of my white Marni shirt.
I make way to the bar Stefanos recommended, finding the VIP entry with Miles as my shadow.
Even with nightfall, the sky still has an orange haze from the city lights with the lingering sandstorm.
Inside the bar, it’s all shifting colors and thumping bass, and I find Stefanos at a table in the corner, and he’s already looking entertained when I join him.
“Hey,” I say casually, as if I happened to bump into him by chance. Then, a pang of something strikes, nerves or who knows what, and for a fleeting moment, I’m acutely aware of how ludicrous it is to show up in Athens so soon after meeting him. Miles sits at the next table.
“Hey, yourself.” Stefanos leans back, eyes crinkled at the corners as he gives me an appraising look. He’s in a short-sleeve pastel blue shirt with jeans, casual yet appealing. His dark waves fall over his brow. The way he smiles warms me from the inside out.
“I’ll skip falling on you this time.”
“Lucky me.”
Or unlucky me. But I bite my lower lip to keep from saying anything too ridiculous too soon and sans drink for cover.
“So what brings you to Athens?” Stefanos asks after I place a drink order. He peers curiously at me.
Shit. I should have some convincing cover story. Otherwise, this is totally outrageous. Then again, some version of the truth could come in useful. It’ll be easier to remember, anyway.
“Some holidays, some inspiration for work.” I hold his gaze, attempting to look casual and cool like I don’t have any worries in the world. “And I needed a change of scene from London. Because of the press.”
Stefanos nods sympathetically. “Well, you’re in the right place for all of the above.”
“That’s a relief. I’d hate to have caught the wrong flight.”
He laughs, a sound that shouldn’t thrill me as much as it does. “You’re not in Hades.”
Distraction, Theo. Focus. As usual, I’m running from my problems.
I quash that line of thinking before I start to spiral in the club. My drink arrives then, and I sip my margarita, which feels festive enough.
Stefanos must catch something in my expression, though, his face softening slightly. “I’m very sorry about the press.”
“It’s not your fault. Obviously.” I shake my head. “I mean, everyone probably has had a bad breakup in their life once or twice. I suppose, though, it doesn’t always make the tabloids.”
“Usually not.” His eyebrows lift slightly.
“It’s a little extreme,” I say as mildly as I can, shrugging a shoulder. I work on my drink, and then a terrible thought occurs to me. It’s not like Stefanos lives under a rock without the internet. “You didn’t read or watch Aidan’s interviews, did you?”
It’s Stefanos’ turn to look caught out, a flush of pink over his cheeks. “I…”
Then my face warms. Of course he did. The whole world’s seen Aidan’s interviews, it feels like.
Aidan’s latest article dropped a couple of days after my night out—which was supposed to be our anniversary celebration—when I met Stefanos.
In the latest article, Aidan goes off about me having a secret affair with Prince Stefanos of Greece.
Another pack of lies. I read the story on my flight to Athens, as if the algorithm knew my destination, and wanted to offer something in return.
It’s seared into my memory. My face burns.
Prince Theodor’s Torrid Affair
Spotted in London: The Danish prince can’t keep his hands off his secret lover, Prince Stefanos of Greece. Caught nose to nose on the club floor, Prince Theodor’s beau Aidan Fitzwilliam is nowhere in sight. “Callous behavior,” Fitzwilliam remarked later. Photograph from The Club, Mayfair.
I quash the memory. Quickly, I look down at my drink. Something cuts inside. At last, I clear my throat to speak. “Right.”
That’s it, then. My call back to reality despite a flight away from my London-based problems and abruptly stopping any daydreams about Stefanos I may have had, something I don’t really want to admit even to myself.
And worse, making me think about Aidan’s betrayal again.
He’s already taken up too much space in my mind.
Totally uncalled for to throw Stefanos under the bus for something he didn’t do.
He’s only had the misfortune of being in my orbit.
“It’s not all true, what Aidan said,” I blurt out. “I mean—”
“Of course it’s not true,” Stefanos says just as quickly as we both stumble over our mutual embarrassment. “I mean, for starters, we’re certainly not having an affair.”
“Absolutely not.” My tone’s emphatic. “I’ve had no affairs of any kind, let’s be clear.
But Aidan sold me out and then some.” I can’t keep from sounding bitter.
Swirling my drink, the liquid moves around the glass, my finger tracing the condensation.
“He should have gone for a creative writing degree or maybe improv because he made up a lot of stuff on the spot.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
Struggling, I glance up at him. So much for suave. Time to quash that outburst. I shake my head. “No.”
“What about work? What do you do?” Stefanos asks gamely.
My lips tighten, and I clear my throat. This is definitely not the time to talk about Freja bailing and me possibly becoming King either. Best stick to safer waters. My stomach twists. “I’m, er, a creative consultant.”
Stefanos blinks, uncertain. He tries valiantly, judging by his expression, but lands on confusion, like most people do. “A creative consultant?”
“Mm.” I sip my drink, feeling unexpectedly melancholy.
Along with a side helping of imposter syndrome.
Silly me. I forgot that creative consultant often results in blank stares.
Unlike accountancy or medicine, the explanation doesn’t necessarily cast more light.
“I help people plan aesthetics and branding for events, ad campaigns, even homes, that sort of thing.”
Judging by Stefanos’ expression, I’ve lost him. “It’s kind of like interior decorating but for marketing.”
“Oh.”
Shit, Theo. Way to blow it in moments.
“And how does being in Athens help?” Stefanos asks at last. “With being a creative consultant?”
My mouth opens before my brain has an opportunity to catch up. “I’m not sure yet.”
Stefanos laughs, but it’s not a mean laugh or a dismissive laugh like I would occasionally get from Aidan. “Well, it sounds interesting.”
I groan. “Yeah. Interesting enough, I guess. At least to me. Well, I was planning to check out some galleries, some shops, walk around, that sort of thing. See where inspiration strikes.”
“You should definitely go to the Acropolis and visit the Parthenon. There’s lots of inspiration. Have you been?” His eyes are very blue as he gazes at me, even in the low bar light.
“I have not been,” I confirm, holding his gaze, and I shiver.
“Maybe tomorrow, I can show you?”
Something comes to life again in my chest. He mustn’t hate me after Aidan’s exposé. Which, to be fair, Stefanos probably wouldn’t be out with me having a drink if he hated me. My face relaxes at last into a genuine smile. “Sounds great.”
His gaze is intent on mine, and I’m the first to look away, down at my drink. Everything’s too loud, too much in this exclusive bar. It’s gorgeous and dramatic and moody. Ordinarily, I’d be totally into it. Yet I feel totally vulnerable and not in a good way right now in front of Stefanos.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Stefanos asks.
My heart sinks. So much for tomorrow. Great. Not even half an hour, and he’s bailing. Classic. I swallow hard. “Maybe?”
When I glance up, he’s still looking at me like he’s missing nothing. He offers a wry smile. “Do you want to try something different? It’s a bit louder here than I thought it would be tonight.”
I blink. “You still want to spend time with me?”
Stefanos looks startled by the question. “Of course I do.”
“I’d hate to ruin your reputation too.”
“Impossible.” The way he says it, so emphatic, makes me believe him for a fleeting moment.
“My reputation comes pre-ruined.” I laugh, but I don’t feel it. Drooping, I shake my head. I finish my drink. “You’ll see.”
“Come with me,” Stefanos says with quiet authority, certainty in his expression. He nods. “It will be better. You’ll see.”
And I’d give everything in that moment to believe him.