Epilogue
One Year Later
“My grandfather used to say, ‘Niko, all good things come from the sea’ . . .”
“Cut!” I cried from my position behind the cameraman and Nikos glared at me. “Will you stop repeating that line every time you tell that story? You’re starting to sound like a senile old man.”
“I don’t think you’re the one who should be calling ‘cut.’ You’re not the director.” He leaned forward and said apologetically to the crew, “She can be so bossy sometimes.”
“It comes with the territory, I’m a chef.
” I crossed my arms and pretended to be annoyed with him, but it was no use.
He’d told the story of how I’d first come to the island dozens of times now for various magazine articles, and each time I got pink cheeked and flustered, like someone had discovered my teenage diary and read an entry aloud.
I couldn’t do that now. Not when we were on our first day filming a Netflix documentary.
And there was the location to take into account. Nikos had suggested filming at Aphrodite’s temple, in the exact spot where I’d first let him have his way with me. How could I keep my cool under these circumstances?
Even after all this time he still liked to get under my skin. And vice versa. What can I say? It was part of our dynamic. We’d probably still be bickering in our retirement home. At least, that was what I was gambling on.
“You don’t have to remind me that you’re a chef. Everyone here knows it.” Nikos laughed and the crew nodded in agreement. “Can we have a moment, guys? I’ll be right back.”
He strolled over and wrapped his arm around me, gently guiding me to the old, gnarled cedar.
The feeling of his strong arms around me was so comforting and familiar, the one place where I knew I didn’t have to be strong, confident, or fearless.
I could just be. I slumped my head onto his chest and listened to his heartbeat.
A steady rhythm that calmed me. His hands stroked up and down my bare arms.
“All right, what’s going on, asteri mou ?
” His deep voice rumbled through me, and I moaned, thinking of how we’d been wrapped up in each other all night after being apart for five long weeks.
This long-distance thing was getting to me, and I was on the verge of suggesting something crazy that every feminist cell in my body was crying out against.
“It’s just that . . . well, it’s so personal, isn’t it?
And maybe I don’t want the entire world knowing our business,” I complained into his shirt.
I was as surprised as he must have been by this confession.
Since when did I not want to be the focus of glossy magazines and hip television documentaries?
But in the past year since opening Gypsy, I’d gotten everything I thought I’d wanted—guest appearances on British cooking shows and podcasts, features in magazines and newspapers for my restaurant and for Aphrodite’s Kitchen, the refugee initiative I’d launched together with other chefs and food industry people.
I was inspired and happy and proud of myself, but I also found myself becoming more protective of my personal life.
Of this space we’d created for just the two of us.
Nikos cupped my cheek, forcing me to look in his eyes. “If you don’t want me to tell the story, I won’t.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It is a great story . . .” He kissed my forehead, and I melted into him again. “Can you just tell them about what a culinary genius I am? And how I invented a Michelin-starred menu on a hot plate in old witch’s cottage.”
He laughed. “You interrupted me before I had a chance to.”
I bit my lip. “And there’s something else I’ve been thinking about. But I’m afraid you’ll think I’m crazy or moving too fast . . . Or maybe you’ll feel threatened and start coming up with devious plans to sabotage me.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Go on.”
“I want to move back here.”
“To Lyra?”
“Yes, I want Ferhana to take over as executive chef at Gypsy.” She was amazingly gifted. In the past year, she’d advanced from line cook to sous chef, and I was sure she was ready for a bigger challenge. “I want to open something here.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to do this because of me . . .” His eyebrows drew together as he searched my face. His agoraphobia had improved, but he still got overwhelmed when he came to London, which meant that I flew more often to Greece. “I can come see you more . . .”
“Oh, you conceited man,” I teased. “This isn’t just about you. Yes, I want to be with you, but I also want to be here.”
I told him my idea of buying the hotel, which they’d finished repairing, and making it into a boutique bed and breakfast with a restaurant.
Oh, I had so many plans. They kept me up at night.
“But will you let me do it this time? If I can promise that there’ll be no cruise ships or late-night rave parties? ”
“Are you sure you’d be happy stuck with me on this pile of rocks?”
“It turns out that I’ve fallen in love with these old rocks and everyone on them.”
“Everyone?”
“Well, with one very stubborn man in particular. So, what do you say?”
“I’d say, I know not to argue with you. You’re one hard-headed woman.”
“Yes, but I’m yours.” He kissed me softly.
“So can I finish my story now?”
I sighed. “Go ahead . . .”
I followed behind him, admiring the strong lines of his beautiful body as he settled back into his spot. The cameras started rolling and he winked at me. “As I was saying, my grandfather used to tell me, ‘Niko, all good things come from the sea’ . . .”