Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Corfu Town at night buzzes. Even in January.
Even if it’s cold. People are out as we walk through narrow streets made more so by parked cars until we reach the pedestrian-only heart of Old Town.
Wearing our hats and sunglasses, we wander in the purple twilight.
Our security trails us discreetly. There are shops and bars, people wanting to be seen, even if it’s not the summer.
Some shops have metal rollers pulled down over closed storefronts.
The old Venetian buildings in pale yellows and earth tones loom overhead with shuttered windows, contrasting with the sky.
Soon, we duck into a bar and find seats at the back beneath lofty ceilings. It’s private enough and thrilling to be out in plain sight just like anyone else. We order our drinks.
“How does a prince become a creative consultant?” Stefanos asks easily over his beer, his gaze curious. Having his undivided attention is a thrill.
“Just something I fell into, I guess. It’s not something I planned or could have predicted.
I always liked making things. My mother was an influence, seeing what she did with our royal residences for styling and decor.
She always makes our personal living areas feel so inviting.
I know I won’t be able to do this forever, that there will be more royal duties ahead—” My mouth twitches at the unexpected turn my sister’s plans have taken, on top of my father’s death.
“And my parents gave me the freedom to explore and express myself. I’ve been very lucky. ”
Stefanos nods, smiling.
“How about you?”
“Me? I’m not so good at making things.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Aside from food.”
“That definitely counts. It’s definitely more useful than sewing cushions.” My knack for soft furnishings doesn’t exactly provide the skill set for royal duties. But it does give pillows and blankets to burrow in when everything becomes too hectic, I suppose.
“I don’t know,” says Stefanos, “that’s a skill too.
I guess… I’m still finding my way after finishing uni last year.
I went from one degree right to the next, so I haven’t been out in the real world for long.
I haven’t settled into a proper job or anything.
Last summer, I worked on an archaeological dig, which was a dream.
But it’s seasonal. I volunteered in an archaeological lab for a month last October.
And since then, I’ve been traveling between our homes and trying to figure out what’s next.
My father says I shouldn’t do a PhD, not yet.
He thinks I should try something different for a while other than sticking my nose in more books. ”
“Do you want to do a PhD? And there’s nothing wrong with liking books.” I think of Mamma’s study, my favorite place to curl up with a book and hers too. “Or knowledge.”
“Well… yes, I do want to do the PhD.” Stefanos chuckles, looking sheepish.
“Maybe I just want to be a professional student. Ultimately, I want to help. I love reading and stories and old ruins. Maybe it’s because I grew up being told Greek myths.
But seriously, I’d love to study to be able to do something useful like fight to get the Parthenon marbles back home to Athens.
Or other things that have been stolen. We’re not in exile anymore, the Royal Family, I mean, but still, I would love to do something meaningful for the country if I can.
” He turns his beer in his hands, fidgeting with the paper label.
“Fuck. Way better than knowing how to make coordinating cushions.” I gaze at Stef, taking him in, the way he comes alive when he talks about something he’s passionate about.
Stef laughs, a delightful flush coloring his cheeks, even in the low light. “Well. I don’t know.”
“I do.” I nod with certainty, leaning in across the table.
“I mean…” Stefanos tries gamely over his drink as he leans back in his chair. “You must have gone to school for something, I’m guessing. These days, there are expectations for royals with education.”
“Yes, I did. Though not in economics or political science or anything like that. I did a year of military service when I was eighteen. After that, I could do what I wanted. Uni’s why I went to London in the first place, then stayed. But you’ll never guess what I studied at uni.”
Stefanos looks intrigued. “Law?”
“Ha, not a chance. Though my father pointed out with the way I could negotiate things like bedtime and treats as a kid with counterarguments was wasted.” I smile at the memory, then set aside the bittersweet feeling that comes with the loss of my father.
Stefanos laughs. “Finance?”
“Go on to the opposite of finance, and you’ll find me there.” Stef will never guess. It’s essentially impossible.
“Art?”
“No, but close enough. I’ll give you points because I’m a nice guy.”
Oh, help. The reward of his laughter thrills me.
“Fashion merchandising and buying, at University of the Arts, London. I have my degree.”
Stefanos looks entirely impressed, like I’ve won the Nobel Peace Prize or told him I’m a neurosurgeon. Which is probably the first time anybody’s looked at me like that after I’ve told him what I studied at uni. “Your family let you study fashion?”
I laugh. “I think they were worried I was going to skip uni altogether, so my mother advocated for me to go. They knew I wasn’t going for a military career.”
“Wow. I mean, you’ve got quite the full spectrum there.”
“Yeah. Now, I’m all set to run a shop. In my mind.
” I shake my head wryly. “I never actually ended up working in merchandising, other than a short internship. I casually helped friends and family with decorating, and turns out I had a knack for it. I took a few more short courses for training. And I loved coming up with design concepts. So I went down that road and met my friend Ethan, and here I am.”
“Well, unlike me, you have a job,” Stefanos points out, “and purpose. Which is definitely up there in the practical department.”
“You’ve got skills, though. Like the cooking, as established. And I bet there’s something else. Tell me.”
Stefanos considers, absent-mindedly scratching his jawline. The simple gesture is mesmerizing. The way he moves his head to the side ever so slightly, the way he extends his neck. “Packing a suitcase very efficiently?”
“Try again.”
“I have impeccable trowel skills.”
I laugh. “Fair. Probably transferrable to masonry and gardening.”
“I’ll add it to my resumé.”
“And travel, obviously. That’s a skill too. You could help people plan trips and itineraries. Things like that, if you want. You can even make luxury city or country tours about history and archaeology. People would love that, from a prince. I bet you speak a few languages too,” I tell him.
“I do.” Stefanos looks thoughtfully at me. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”
“Thanks. Ideas guy, that’s me. Like I said, I’m great at concepts.” I laugh, shaking my head at myself.
We gaze at each other. His expression is thoughtful.
“I guess I can do something else,” Stefanos offers. “In the skills department. I know how to sail a boat and captain a yacht. I mean, a very small yacht. Technically, still a yacht.”
“That’s cool.” I look at him, impressed.
Stefanos shrugs easily, as if it’s something most people can do. “I come from a maritime country, mostly. At least in my family, we spent summers on the water. It’s when everyone comes together in Greece. Here in Kerkyra, Santorini, Barcelona, and so on.”
“That sounds amazing. The last time we had everyone together, the extended family, was for my father’s funeral.” It comes out before I can suppress it and therefore murder the easy conversation about yachting and pivot instead to grief and death in a single breath. Which is another knack I have.