Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
We make separate flight arrangements to Kerkyra to stave off any chance at becoming tabloid fodder, especially after I squashed Stefanos so publicly in London and the extra-spicy ongoing coverage with Aidan, which hasn’t died down yet.
An internet search shows me that Stefanos—Stef—isn’t messy on social media or the tabloids.
There’re tasteful photos of him, with his family, or caught by the paparazzi at places like the airport or getting a coffee.
Nothing to lose a family fortune over. And no tell-all exes like Aidan.
Wistful, I swipe out of my phone browser on the taxi ride to the Athens airport. Butterflies dance in my stomach. I’ve taken a mad idea—going to Greece in the first place so impulsively—and have taken it even further with this escape to Kerkyra with Stefanos.
He books a flight in the morning. I book for later in the day, getting whisked through the airport’s security secret passages. I wear a hat and sunglasses and though it’s a bit conspicuously celeb, I want to keep people out of my business as much as possible.
The flight is brief, though it’s plenty of time for my stomach to knot itself in anticipation several times over.
As promised by Stefanos, a driver and nondescript car wait for me and Miles at the airport when I walk out, my small suitcase rolling noisily behind me.
It’s a blustery, sunny day, bright even with my sunglasses.
Like it’s a different sun in the Mediterranean, even in winter, compared to the softer sunlight when it dares appear in London.
Then, I realize I don’t know exactly where I’m going, and a moment of panic settles in that I could be the subject of some kidnapping plot like the thriller I watched on the flight yesterday from London to Athens.
Except in this case, Stefanos would have as much to lose as me, because it would be a very non-secret kidnapping plot, and he doesn’t really strike me as a criminal mastermind.
Then again, I didn’t tell anyone other than Ethan that I was headed away because he needed to know for work reasons.
I confirmed with him before I booked that it wouldn’t cause any problems. We didn’t have any client meetings this week.
Yet I can’t help think about the headlines that a kidnapped prince would bring, and then the Danish monarchy would be in ruins and down two heirs, with me held for ransom and Freja off in America with her ferret fancier.
Calm down, I tell myself. I have Miles. Stef’s security has been great so far.
I suck back a deep breath and try to abort the doom spiral.
Nerves, I tell myself, smoothing the navy cotton of my trousers, that’s all.
It’ll be fine. Stefanos said he would take care of everything and not to worry, that I’d be his guest. I text him again that I’m on my way and try to convince myself it’s not a bad sign that I haven’t heard anything since I texted on landing.
He’s busy, obviously, having a life.
Corfu Town is busy in the afternoon as the taxi winds through traffic, down narrow roads, and towards the Old Town area. Venetian buildings in pale pastels and with open wooden shutters glow in the sunlight. Pedestrians are bundled against the sea breeze as we drive along the waterfront.
Then, we stop in front of some Venetian buildings.
“Here,” says the driver in his limited English, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
“Here?”
“Now you walk.” He gestures towards the Old Town.
I squint, and then we get out of the car.
He brings suitcases out, and Miles pays him.
Then, before I can worry about where here is exactly and where I’m meant to go, a familiar silhouette approaches.
Stefanos, in a wool coat bundled to his chin for the chilly sea breeze, with a hat and sunglasses to match my own.
As the car drives off, Stefanos grins at me. “Hi. So you made it. Welcome to Kerkyra.”
I glance from him to the sea view to the Venetian buildings. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
He laughs. “Let’s go drop off your bag, and let me know if you want to rest or go find a meal or what you would like to do.”
“So where exactly am I staying?” I ask lightly, with a last pang of wayward anxiety. Stefanos doesn’t look any more nefarious today than the last time I saw him. “I’m going on faith here. A convenient dungeon?”
“Well, we do have a couple of ancient fortresses here…”
I side-eye him.
His eyes glimmer. “Okay, okay. No dungeon this time. Or prisons. We’re staying here in my family’s flat. My security stays in the adjoining flat. Very secure. Very safe. There’s plenty of space if you want to avoid me.”
“Ha. Hardly.”
“Or I could check you into a hotel if you prefer. There’s one up the street a couple of minutes away.”
“I’ll take my chances with you,” I say lightly.
He leads the way along the pavement to an imposing doorway and unlocks it. We head inside to a grand, cool foyer. “And here we are.”
Stefanos secures the door after us, punching in a code to a panel by the door.
Then we head upstairs to an apartment with stunning water views through tall windows and a door to the balcony.
It’s a mix of heritage features and a sleek, modern kitchen, which opens up to an expansive seating area.
There’s something very peaceful about this place.
“And this is your suite.” He shows me a generously sized double room with a sea view and en suite. It’s very inviting, with a plush white duvet and pale furnishings.
“Thanks so much. This is perfect.”
“I’ll leave you to freshen up, and I’ll be out in the living room when you’re up for some company.” Stefanos slips away.
Before I touch anything, I wash my hands and my face, then decide to go ahead and have a shower to refresh after the flight.
Just like the kitchen, everything’s very modern and well appointed with extra toiletries for guests and plush towels.
By the time I dress again, I feel a lot more at ease.
Any fears of abductions or schemes have all been washed away.
When I rejoin Stefanos, he’s relaxing on one of the large sofas, in a soft-looking pullover in a cloud white that contrasts with his tan, even in the winter. He’s in jeans, and I’ve followed his lead for the jumper-and-jeans combo.
“I should have offered you some water or something to drink.” Stefanos shakes his head. “Or eat. My mother would be horrified. Some host.”
I laugh. “I’m fine. Though now that you mention it, I could use some of both.”
He springs into action as if he’d been waiting for this. I trail him to the kitchen. He peers at me. “Let’s start with drinks. Tea? Coffee? Wine? Or?”
His eagerness charms me. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
Stefanos tsks at me. He leans against the counter, a smile playing with the corners of his mouth. “That’s a cop-out.”
“I’m trying to be a good guest.” I grin at him. “Also, seriously, I don’t mind. Any of it sounds great. How about water to start?”
“Water.” He goes to the fridge. “Sparkling or still? Often, visitors to Greece aren’t accustomed to the tap water. Especially in smaller places. But really, what’s your preference?”
“Top-tier service. Five stars. Still water, please.”
“Coming right up.”
He gets out a large bottle of water and two glasses and pours. When he hands me a glass across the island, our fingers brush. A shiver ripples through me. He moves away quickly.
“Food.” Stefanos peers at me, as if these are life-or-death decisions he’s making on my behalf. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so taken care of. “I have a selection of mezethes if you like. Appetizers. Or we could go out.”
“If it’s all the same to you, staying in sounds great,” I confess. The travel yesterday and today has caught up with me. “It’s nice to be in someone’s home.”
“Well, it’s not really my home. It’s my parents’.”
“Close enough.”
His mouth twitches. He gestures at the island. “Please, sit.”
I pull out a stool and perch at the marble island, watching him work on preparing our meal.
For someone squatting in someone else’s kitchen, Stefanos certainly seemed to know his way around it, working with great efficiency, pulling out covered platters and popping things into ovens to heat, serving up olives and bread and wine.
It’s an unfamiliar feeling, being looked after like this.
“You can’t have just had this all waiting here on the off chance you decided to impulsively come to Kerkyra and collect a stray prince along the way.”
Stefanos reddens, pausing in his work. The way he glances at me does something funny to my insides. “Well, I did make arrangements. It won’t do to starve a guest.”
“I thought you’d have staff for this sort of thing,” I say lightly. “I’m very impressed you’re doing this yourself.”
He shakes his head and slides a platter closer to me. The amount of food he prepares is more suitable for a dinner party than a pair of princes. “I don’t have staff, do you? Aside from security. My parents have staff, but I’m not them.”
“Well, no. Same situation. I mean, if I was in Denmark, yes, I would at the palace. And you’ve been to my flat. No staff. Closest I’ve had is James pouring drinks.”
Stefanos’ eyes dance with amusement. “He’s very good at that.”
“He’s not a fixture in my sitting room. For the best, really. Though he’s a good friend. And Frankie, his partner.”
“It’s good to have friends you can rely on.”
“Yeah. Especially lately.” I shake my head. “If it wasn’t for them, I would have probably lost my mind.” What I don’t say is that there’s a good chance that may happen anyway, what with Freja’s decision and a new, unexpected life path shoved before me.
Stefanos gestures at the platter, and I take a small plate and cloth napkin he’s set out and serve up some appetizers. He has a talent for plating food in an artful way. Before long, he pulls out small spanakopitas out from the oven and has made a tomato salad.
“This is great, thanks. Though I don’t know how we’re going to eat all this.” I marvel at the spread of food between us on the island.
He perches next to me. “Have as much or as little as you like. It’s good to have plenty to choose from.”
Naturally, I insist on trying everything. A blissful sigh escapes me. “I could live like this.”
“This is nothing. You should try Greece in summertime when we have more fruit and vegetables in season.”
“Let me tell you, a Greek winter tomato is far more tasty than a London one.”
He laughs with delight.
That’s when my phone chimes in my pocket. I hesitate.
“It’s okay,” Stefanos says. “I don’t mind.”
“Sorry, it could be important. There’s a few things going on. Not to say that this isn’t important—”
He waves me off, and I check my message. It’s not any of the people who might message me, like Ethan for work stuff or Mamma checking in or even James with another tabloid reveal. It’s far worse.
Aidan.