2. Santo #2
Katalina had always been insecure about her looks, constantly seeking validation through the attention of men. I’d noticed how Katalina had subtly undermined Tia at Nico’s party, steering men away whenever they showed interest.
How exquisite would it be to pursue Tia openly? To make it clear I preferred her friend, whom Katalina clearly considered beneath her. To turn Katalina’s own friend into my lover would be perfect, far more devastating than anything I’d previously conceived.
“You seem pleased about something,” my grandmother observed, her gaze as sharp as ever despite her advanced years .
“I’m alive,” I replied simply, flashing my trademark grin. “That’s reason enough to be pleased, isn’t it?”
The weekend couldn’t come fast enough. I had unfinished business with the woman who’d dragged me out of a wreck and left me wanting more with just one kiss.
“I won’t make it to the party,” Konstantin spoke up, shifting the conversation. His spoon clinked against fine china as he stirred his coffee with unusual force. “Michail Athanasiou finally agreed to a meeting.”
Theia’s coffee spilled. The brown liquid spread like a stain across the white fabric, mirroring the sudden tension that seeped through the room.
“Apologies,” she murmured, looking down at the stain.
I’d grown up hearing about Michail Athanasiou. The family nemesis who had bought Thalassía — our island — from the wife of my late great-uncle Stavros. What I’d heard less about was the personal history between my theia and the man.
“After thirty years of declining every offer made, why now?” Dimitrios asked, setting aside his tablet completely. “What changed?”
My father’s features arranged in a careful mask. “We’re not sure, but this may be our only chance to reclaim Thalassía.”
“Michail’s motives are never pure,” Irida said tightly.
A sharp pain lanced through my side as I twisted to reach for another roll, drawing an involuntary hiss from between my clenched teeth. My father’s eyes narrowed, and he pushed his chair back abruptly.
“This meeting with Michail should be approached with extreme caution,” he commanded, every inch the CEO. “Dimitrios, I want full background research on his family. Konstantin, prepare a valuation of the property as it stands today.”
His gaze then fixed on me, softening almost imperceptibly. “Santo, my office. Now.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped when I met his eyes. Concern had replaced his earlier anger. I stood, struggling not to wince as pain flared through my ribs.
As I followed my father from the dining room, I heard my grandmother’s voice behind us, unusually solemn. “You should call Matthaios. He needs to hear this from you.”
The heavy oak door to my father’s study closed with a soft click. Before I could launch into my well-rehearsed defenses, he gestured to the leather sofa that had witnessed countless Christakis negotiations and confessions.
“Sit before you fall,” he said, his voice gruff but tinged with something I rarely heard. Fear. “How bad is the pain? ”
The unexpected question caught me off guard. For a moment, I considered maintaining my cultivated facade of invincibility.
“It’s nothing,” I started, then faltered as another sharp stab made me catch my breath.
My father’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes did. “I’m calling Dr. Papadakis. No arguments.”
As he reached for his phone, I sank onto the sofa, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that had carried me through the morning was fading fast, leaving only the stark reality of how close I’d come to death, and the taste of a stranger’s lips I couldn’t forget.
“I’m not like you,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.
My father paused, phone in hand. “What?”
“Everyone says I’m just like you, but I’m not.” I gestured vaguely toward the dining room. “You would never have crashed that car.”
A strange expression crossed his face. “You think I was born middle-aged and responsible?” He shook his head. “Son, at your age, I was worse.”
I blinked in surprise. “That’s not possible.”
“Ask your grandmother sometime about the sailboat incident,” he said, a rare smile touching his lips. “The coast guard still tells that story. ”
Before I could process this revelation, he was speaking into his phone, arranging for the doctor to come to the house. After hanging up, he met my eyes directly, man to man rather than father to son.
“The difference between us isn’t that I never made mistakes,” he said. “It’s that becoming a widower and single father overnight forced me to grow up. I couldn’t risk my lifestyle costing me the chance to see my son grow up.”
For a fleeting moment, I glimpsed the man my father might have been before responsibility and loss reshaped him. It was like looking at my own possible future, an echo of myself after tragedy had stripped away the recklessness.
But I wasn’t ready to be that man yet. Not when Tia’s lips still needed kissing, not when revenge against Katalina still burned in my veins. Not when the road still called to me with its endless possibilities for speed and escape.
I touched the bandage on my forehead, suddenly impatient for the weekend. For Yiayia’s party. For seeing Tia again.