7. Tia
I stared at the lighter-skinned Black woman standing beside who I assumed was Santo’s uncle. Something about their body language immediately struck me as odd. Like they weren’t a joyfully wedded couple.
We’d just returned from our shopping expedition, bags of new clothes and my replacement phone in tow, expecting to find things the way we left them earlier. Instead, we’d walked into what felt like a completely different script.
“Wife?” Santo blurted, recovering from his surprise almost instantly. He strode forward, his momentum nearly pulling me along. “Since when? What happened to Stella?”
Konstantin’s eyes shifted to me with a questioning look. He was the tallest of the brothers, with a brooding air that made him seem out of step with the room’s energy. He hadn’t smiled once since we arrived.
“And who might this be?” he asked, clearly attempting to redirect.
“This is Tia Massey,” Santo answered. “She saved me.”
Konstantin’s eyes widened with recognition. “Ah! The American girl!” He stepped forward, taking my hand between both of his. “A pleasure to meet you properly, Miss Massey.”
“Likewise,” I murmured, acutely aware of the family’s collective gaze.
“And this,” Konstantin said, gesturing to the woman beside him, “is Kayla... Athanasiou. My wife.”
Kayla was dressed in a sunny yellow jumpsuit. The color beautifully complimented her honey complexion. Her long braids were swept over one shoulder, and gold hoops dangled from her lobes. She radiated kindness.
“Hello,” Kayla said, extending her hand to me .
Her American accent immediately put me at ease. Her grip was firm and her smile polite, though I detected a hint of strain around her eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I replied.
Santo, however, wasn’t interested in pleasantries. “When did this happen? Is she Michail’s daughter?” He fired the questions in rapid succession. “Does Matthaios know?”
An awkward silence descended as Konstantin and Aristides locked eyes in what appeared to be silent communication. Kayla stood perfectly still while I shifted uncomfortably, feeling like an intruder in a private family drama.
“Perhaps Tia should bring her purchases to her room,” Santo’s father suggested, breaking the tension with a voice that commanded immediate attention. “While a maid shows Kayla to her suite.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Domna agreed quickly.
Aristides’ suggestion was a polite dismissal so the family could have a private discussion. I didn’t mind. If anything, I was grateful for the escape from what was clearly about to become a heated family meeting.
I caught Kayla’s eye as we both turned to leave, sharing a moment of silent understanding between two outsiders in this close-knit family .
“I’ll check on you later,” Santo said. The look in his eyes made my heart skip before he turned back to his family.
Alone in my borrowed room, I pressed my fingers to my lips, the sensation of Santo’s kiss persisting.
I was so in over my head. Like—I came to Greece to find myself... not catch feelings for Kat’s ex.
What would happen after this? When it’s just me again, solo, back in reality? Do I just... pretend I didn’t have a whole Greek soap opera moment?
I unpacked my new purchases, removing tags and placing items in the wardrobe. The normalcy of the task was enough to settle my thoughts.
I pulled out the new phone. It was a newer model than my old phone. Setting it up took only a few minutes, and it was programmed with international calling capabilities.
Settling onto the window seat, I took a deep breath before dialing my mother’s number. I glanced at the time.
Early afternoon here meant late night in the Caribbean. Mom would probably still be awake.
The phone rang twice before her familiar voice answered. “Hello?”
“Mom, it’s me,” I said, relief flooding through me at the sound of her voice .
“Tia? Where have you been? I didn’t get your text last night! I’m booking a trip to Greece! Where are you? Is everything okay? Whose number is this?”
“I’m fine,” I assured her quickly. “But I’ve had to get a new phone. There’s been a... situation.”
“What kind of situation?” Her voice sharpened with maternal concern.
I hesitated, unsure how to explain everything without worrying her. “My purse was stolen at a party. I lost my phone, wallet, everything.”
“Everything?” Mom’s voice rose in alarm.
“My passport too,” I admitted, wincing as I held the phone away from my ear.
“Oh my God! Tia Denise Massey! I knew something like this would happen! Greece isn’t safe. I read about those pickpockets—”
“Mom, please. I just need you to email me a copy of my birth certificate and social security card for the passport application.”
“You need to go to the embassy immediately,” she instructed, her tone shifting to crisis-management mode. “I’ll wire you money right away.”
“I won’t be able to collect it without ID,” I said.
“I’m coming to Greece. I can be there tomorrow. ”
“Mom, no!” I tried not to sound panicked. “That’s completely unnecessary. I’m handling it.”
“But you’re all alone, with no identification in a foreign country!”
“I’m not alone,” I insisted. “Plus, I’m an adult.
The silence told me she was struggling with the decision.
“Send me pictures of everywhere you go,” she finally said. “And I want twice daily check-ins—not just texts. Voice calls.”
“Of course.”
“Let me talk to Kat now.”
My stomach dropped. “She’s... out with her parents. But I’ll tell her you said hi.”
“Hmm.” Mom’s skepticism was palpable. “Your voice sounds different.”
“I’m tired. It’s been a stressful day.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
“Alright,” she conceded reluctantly. “I’ll send the documents now and the money later. But if I don’t hear from you every day, I’m on the first flight to Athens.”
“I promise I’ll call. Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you too, baby. Be careful.”
I ended the call and collapsed onto the window seat. For the first time in my life, I’d successfully lied to my mother .
My chest felt tight with guilt, but what choice did I have? If she knew the truth, she’d never let me travel without her again.
Later that afternoon, as sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Christakis study, I faced a fresh challenge.
“Let me make sure I understand,” I said, choosing my words with care. “You want me to stay in Greece for the summer... to work for your family?”
“Yes.” Santo’s voice held no hesitation.
When he’d invited me to the study after supper, I’d wondered if he wanted me alone to continue what we’d started in his car earlier. I’d been debating how I’d respond if he kissed me again. A job offer hadn’t even crossed my mind.
He explained that through Kayla and Konstantin’s marriage, his family had regained conditional ownership of their island, Thalassía. The buildings there were ancient, long neglected, and they needed someone to breathe life back into them.
“But I just graduated,” I replied. “The ink on my degree hasn’t even dried. I haven’t worked in the field yet.”
“All the more reason,” he said, leaning against a bookshelf filled with leather-bound volumes. “You gain experience by doing. The estate hasn’t been touched in thirty years. My family wants someone who respects the architecture but can make it livable again.”
I stared at him, still trying to make sense of it all. “You’re not offering me this job because you think it’ll gain you access to what’s inside my panties, are you?”
He smirked, eyes darkening. “Without the job offer, me getting into your panties is inevitable, Tia.” His cockiness was breathtaking. “At least this way, you get to do something you love while doing something you’ll enjoy.” He winked.
My mouth dropped open at his boldness, the air suddenly thick between us. “This is completely inappropriate. You’re not helping your case.”
He sighed, his expression sobering. “I convinced my father to give you the contract,” he added. “The way you spoke during the tour made you the perfect candidate.”
After everything that had happened here—the fight with Kat, the night on the road—I just wanted to go home. I wanted normal, safe, familiar and my mom. Greece had nothing left for me.
“I can’t,” I said.
“You can,” he answered softly. Then he told me what they were willing to pay .
I nearly choked. A quick mental conversion told me it was what seasoned architects earned back home. People with years of experience.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
He seemed to understand my suspicion. “I want to make up for what Katalina did.”
“That’s not your responsibility.”
He stepped closer, his cologne wrapping around me. “And I want to get to know you better.” His fingers brushed my forearm, sending electricity through my skin.
I took a slow breath, trying to settle the fluttering in my stomach. “Tell me more about the island.” Anything to distract me from the shape of his lips.
He pulled out his phone and showed me photos of an estate, the buildings grand but weathered. They had good bones, but clearly needed care.
“I’d be right there with you,” he said, his voice easy but intent. “It was one of my father’s conditions for giving you the contract.”
The idea of working side by side with him for weeks made my thoughts scatter. “I’ll think it over and let you know.”
The next morning, the American Embassy rose before me, its flags snapping in the breeze as my taxi pulled away. My stomach tightened with anxiety as I approached the entrance, clutching passport photos and documents from my mother.
The waiting room already buzzed with fellow Americans in various states of crisis. I took my number and waited, rehearsing my explanation. Nearly two hours later, a stern-faced woman called my number.
“Passport replacement?” she asked without looking up, her fingers flying over her keyboard.
“Yes,” I answered, sliding into the seat across from her desk. Her nameplate read “Agent Rose.”
She finally looked up, unimpressed by my predicament. “Identification?”
I presented the documents my mother had emailed—birth certificate, social security card, and a copy of my state ID.
“No physical ID?” Her tone edged with suspicion.
“Everything was stolen,” I explained, fidgeting under her gaze.
“Did you file a police report?” She arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
I hesitated. “Not yet.”
Her fingers stopped typing. “Ms. Massey, do you understand the seriousness of losing your passport? It’s a federal document.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where were you when this occurred? ”
I explained about losing my belongings at a party. Agent Rose’s expression remained impassive.
She studied me before returning to her computer. “Without a police report and physical identification, this process will take longer.”
My heart sank. “How long?”
“A seven days, minimum.” She handed me the forms to complete. “Fill these out, provide your photos, and pay the expedited fee. We’ll need to verify your identity through our database.”
I complied, then received my receipt.
“Return next Thursday,” Agent Rose said. “And Ms. Massey? I strongly recommend filing that police report. Without it, you’re making this process much more complicated than it needs to be.”
I nodded, feeling oddly chastised as I walked into the bright Athenian sunshine. Finding a taxi took longer than expected, giving me time to ponder my predicament.
A week before I could get my passport. A summer job on a private Greek island. A cocky, handsome man who made my pulse race despite my better judgment.
The money could cover grad school or my own condo. And restoring classical Greek architecture would be a dream portfolio addition. Like, what even is my life right now ?
But then there was my mother. I winced, imagining her reaction if I told her I was staying in Greece for the summer.
She’d been against this trip from the beginning.
Warned me about traveling abroad, about trusting Kat, about everything.
Finding out I was now working for a wealthy Greek family she’d never met?
She’d be on the next flight, convinced I’d joined some kind of cult.
I finally caught a taxi. The driver muttered something when we hit a pothole, reminding me how foreign everything was. Could I stay for months? Work with Santo, whose very presence scrambled my thoughts?
As I approached the Christakis estate, I spotted a wet, shirtless Santo. Water glistened on his bronzed, tattooed shoulders as he bent over Zeus, who stood under a hose. The dog was covered in suds, looking disgruntled but patient.
“Stasou akinitos, thirio,” Santo laughed. Stand still, you beast. You’re the one who decided to roll in something dead.
Zeus woofed and shook vigorously, sending soapy water into Santo’s face. He cursed, then burst into laughter.
I should have announced myself, but I stood transfixed. Water streamed down his back, tracing muscle beneath tattooed skin. My fingers tingled with an urge to follow its path.
Zeus’s head swiveled in my direction. His tail thrashed, sending water everywhere as he barked joyfully and lunged toward me .
Santo turned, startled, water dripping from his eyelashes. We stared at each other.
“Tia,” he said finally, making no move to retrieve his shirt. “How did it go?”
“They said I gotta come back in a week,” I sighed.
A soapy Zeus plastered his wet body against my legs. I laughed, scratching his ears despite the water soaking my clothes.
“He likes you,” Santo observed quietly.
“The feeling’s mutual,” I said, smiling down at the dog. When I looked up, Santo was still watching me. “So... about that whole job thing?”
“Ναι?” Yes?
“I’m in.”
A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features. “Welcome to the team, Tia Massey,” he said simply.
Zeus barked as if in agreement. And just like that, my summer—and maybe my life—had taken a very unexpected turn.