Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Instead of making a beeline to the exit through the crush of humanity loitering at the bar, people who clearly want to be seen, Stefanos takes me the opposite direction.
Our destination is a dimly lit staircase with tiny, colorful LED lights on each tread and the sides to mark the way with a soft glow.
The bouncer nods at Stefanos and lets us pass.
His smile is either that good, which it is, or he knows the staff.
“Don’t worry,” Stefanos says to me and Miles. “The section is closed. And secured.”
Curiosity has the better of me now as I follow him up a couple of flights of stairs. Our steps echo up.
“There’s a lift too, but this was closer.”
We end up on a high level of the bar.
“Where, exactly, are you taking me?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
The distraction has totally worked. I’ve left my worries behind downstairs. Stefanos leads us to a wall of tall windows that overlook a terrace. And beyond that, in the sandstorm haze, is the imposing orange glow of the Acropolis.
In the distance, the loud music plays on from the bar downstairs, but it’s muffled and a lot quieter. The bass thumps underfoot. But in the dark room, I can make out our even darker silhouettes in the glass. There’s something mystical about looking at the archaeological ruin.
“The view in the summer from here is spectacular,” Stefanos says as he gazes out at the city view. “The patio is full of people having a good time. You can see the city and the ruins. It’s perfect.”
While the Acropolis is amazing and ancient and all that, so is Stefanos.
He’s caught my full attention as I admire him in a sidelong view as he gazes out the window.
A soft sigh escapes me like I’m meeting a fantasy prince in a fairy tale, and I tell myself to get a grip.
But then, I don’t fawn over princes every day, so I suppose a few seconds’ worth of indulgence is acceptable.
Thank God he hasn’t noticed my looking, and I refocus on the ruins.
Then, I don’t have anything or even semi-intelligent to say because the blood has left my brain for other parts a lot further south.
Fuck, Theo, I tell myself, you’re so basic.
Ignoring my hard-on and accompanying blush at the realization, I cough as if that’s going to shake off an erection. At least it’s dark in here and he’s not staring at my crotch.
“So, do you often play tour guide?” I drawl.
“Only to the rich and famous,” he quips, and at my laughter, he grins. It’s a thrilling sight. “It’s a very niche clientele.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of places do you tour? I’m theoretically rich and famous.”
“It’s by request.” Stefanos peers at me, smiling.
“I see. No set itinerary?”
“Not during the off-season.”
“And during the on-season?” I ask archly.
Stefanos gives an expansive shrug. “You’ll need to check back then, chef’s special.”
And I find myself grinning back, wondering if there’s a chance I can get out here again, a chance for an on-season in the summer. Though I shouldn’t assume anything. Even if it does feel like flirting. As if he hears my thought, he speaks.
“I’ll need to return your shirt another time. If I had known I’d see you, I would have planned to bring it. Thanks again.”
“Not at all. Glad to help. It was my fault anyway.”
“It wasn’t really your fault. But I will agree your wardrobe and the proximity to your wardrobe came in handy.” His eyes sparkle, even in the low light. Something in me flails at the sight.
With the low lighting in the room, it’s hard to tell exactly, but Stefanos might be blushing.
Or it could be my imagination. There’s something about the idea of Stefanos wearing my clothing that’s very appealing.
Best not dwell on that line of thinking.
He may be a fellow prince, but that’s all we have in common—for all intents and purposes, he’s a stranger.
A stranger whom I’ve impulsively flown to another country on the off chance I might see him. Aside from my creative consultancy work.
“Any other tours?” I try.
He laughs, considering me thoughtfully. He’s close.
Close enough that I could reach out and touch him.
Close enough to admire his mouth and imagine kissing him.
All it would take is the smallest lean, and our lips would meet.
Yet I hold back. Even with the way he’s looking at me in that moment, like he’s trying to make up his mind about me or possibly working through his off-season itinerary, which could involve tours to royals from other kingdoms, but then—
“I have an idea.”
I perk up. “An idea?”
“Totally ridiculous, actually.”
“I love ridiculous. My specialty.” I’m all assurances, because if there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that something ridiculous will happen around me. Though this week, Freja is giving me a run for my money, even with the Aidan situation.
“Any chance you feel like going to Corfu for inspiration?”
“In the summer?”
“No.” Stefanos considers me.
“No?”
“No.” Stefanos clears his throat. “Like now. Well, not now now, because we’re here and in a bar and probably there’re no flights out this late and you’ve got a hotel, I’m sure…”
Fascinated, I hold my breath as he unravels.
“I do have a hotel,” I confirm, nodding. “Well, it’s not my hotel, but I’ve booked a room at the Athens Golden Hotel. I’ve got a Golden Elite Membership and everything.”
“Amazing. Very good. Great choice.”
“But I’d love it if you finished your thought.”
“Well… do you want to go to Corfu with me tomorrow? Maybe for a couple of days?” Stefanos asks sheepishly.
“Don’t feel like you need to say yes, and it would be most reasonable to say no because it’s not in your plans and it’s winter and some things are closed and it’s cold sometimes and there’s not usually central heat, plus it’s far and—”
“Yes,” I agree instantly. No need to hear any more. “I would love to go with you to Corfu.”
“Thank God. Perfect.” Stefanos sucks back a long breath. His expression relaxes as his gaze lingers. “Then, there’re two things.”
I laugh because he looks so relieved. And I’d do a lot right now to ease any worries he might have.
“Two things?” I murmur curiously.
“Mm. The first thing is that the locals call it Kerkyra, not Corfu. Helps your street cred with them. Very important.”
“Okay. Got it. Hate to piss off the locals. And the second thing?”
“If you’re going to spend any more time with me, you should probably call me Stef.”
“Theo.”
We shake hands as if we make a pact. And I shiver at the touch of his hand against mine.