13. Tia
I settled into the sleek leather chair at Olympus Motors’ executive conference room, spreading my portfolio across the polished table. We’d left Thalassía by helicopter an hour ago.
Aristides had insisted we needed proper facilities to review my preliminary plans, abruptly arranging this meeting at corporate headquarters.
“Let’s begin with your assessment of the foundation issues,” Aristides suggested, already examining the structural reports I’d completed. “How does this affect your design timeline? ”
“The eastern wing has more extensive damage than initially apparent,” I explained, pointing to my detailed notes. “But I’m still confident we can complete the design phase by our September deadline.”
For the next hour, we moved through my proposals. Both Christakis men were astute, their questions revealing deep knowledge of both construction and historical preservation.
Dimitrios offered consistent support, while Aristides challenged me to defend my choices. Kayla occasionally added comments about the aesthetic appeal of certain elements.
“Your curved column design is particularly noteworthy,” Dimitrios commented, examining my most daring proposal. “It honors classical proportions while introducing a contemporary element.”
“I wanted to respect tradition while acknowledging that this is a restoration, not merely a replication,” I explained. “The curves echo Thalassía’s coastline while actually improving structural integrity.”
“And you’ve verified the load distribution?” Aristides questioned.
“With three separate engineering consultants,” I confirmed, turning to my calculations. “The design enhances stability while maintaining classical aesthetics. ”
Aristides nodded thoughtfully. “It’s bold. But executed properly, it could become a signature element.” Coming from him, this felt like high praise.
The meeting was progressing better than I’d hoped when Kayla’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then let out an audible gasp.
“What is it?” Dimitrios asked.
Kayla looked up, her eyes darting to me with unmistakable pity, before she quickly composed herself. “It’s nothing,” she said unconvincingly. “Just an... unexpected message. Please, continue.”
Aristides frowned, clearly not believing her dismissal, but before he could press further, his assistant appeared at the door, knocking softly before entering.
“Excuse me, Mr. Christakis,” she said quietly, approaching to whisper something in his ear.
Aristides’ expression darkened as he listened. He nodded once, dismissing his assistant before reaching for his phone. The atmosphere in the room had shifted dramatically.
I watched, increasingly uneasy, as Aristides scrolled through something on his phone, his jaw tightening. Something was happening, something that clearly involved me, given the way Kayla was avoiding my gaze .
“Ms. Massey,” Aristides finally said, his voice carefully controlled. “I believe there’s something you should see.” He turned his phone toward me. “Perhaps you could explain this.”
My stomach dropped. Hard.
No. No no no.
I grabbed the phone, like maybe if I held it closer it would make more sense. It didn’t. It just got worse.
That picture. That awful picture from sophomore year—eyes half-closed, mouth mid-word, flash highlighting every pore. And the headline?
Tia the Tramp.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even blink. My fingers went numb as I read the rest, each word slashing deeper.
The article launched into a sordid story about how I’d been selling sexual services on campus to pay for my tuition, had solicited some of my professors offering sex for better grades, and that I was infected with herpes, knowingly transmitting it to my “clients.”
Now out of college but still hanging on to her bad habits, Tia the Tramp has gotten her hooks into popular race-car driver Santo Christakis, the sole heir of Olympus Motors, and is now whoring her way through the summer at his Greek villa, trading ass for an all-season pass to the kind of luxury that street trash like her could never afford on her own .
As I struggled to process what I was reading, I felt the floor drop from under me, sending me into freefall. The room tilted and spun, the ceiling suddenly too close, then too far away.
What... the hell? Is this real? Are people actually reading this and thinking it’s true? The thought of millions of strangers poring over these fabrications made my skin crawl.
Kayla was talking, cutting through the roaring in my ears. “Tia. Can you hear me?”
My mind was too deeply shrouded by a fog of shock and humiliation to pay her any attention. Kayla was talking about finding the culprit, but I knew it was Katalina. She’d taken that awful picture. She’d crafted this narrative to destroy me.
I couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand the idea of being in the same room with anyone. Without another word, I rushed out of the office and crashed into Konstantin on my way out.
I hurried past a confused Konstantin, ignoring his concerned questions.
The hallway stretched before me like a tunnel, my vision narrowing as I focused only on escape.
Without waiting for Kayla or the Christakis men, I took the elevator down to the lobby and rushed outside, frantically waving down a taxi.
My phone began ringing the moment I slid into the backseat. Santo’s name flashed on the screen. I silenced it, then watched as it immediately lit up again. Kayla. Then Dimitrios. Then Santo again.
“Christakis Estate, please,” I told the driver.
As we navigated through traffic, my phone continued its relentless chorus of notifications. Text messages poured in faster than I could process. I considered checking into a hotel, disappearing completely, but I needed my passport and essential belongings first.
The taxi pulled up to the estate’s tall gates. I paid the driver and walked quickly up the driveway. Idira appeared in the doorway, her face creased with worry.
“Tia, what’s happened? Santo just called—”
I brushed past her, moving toward the stairs.
“Please, let’s help you,” Domna called from the kitchen doorway.
I couldn’t face their concern, couldn’t bear to see the moment when they’d learn what was being said about me. I needed walls. And a blanket. And maybe a time machine to un-live the last hour.
I reached my room and locked the door behind me.
Yanking open the closet door, I hauled out the matching set of designer luggage Kayla had insisted I buy during our shopping trip in Athens.
Now I was grateful for their capacity as I flung them open on the bed and began throwing in everything that mattered .
My phone buzzed and mom’s face lit up the screen, her timing uncanny as always.
“Hey love of my life,” her voice came through, bright. “How’s the big architecture project going?”
“I’m coming home,” I said flatly.
A beat of silence followed. “Oh honey, I’m sure it’s not that bad. Maybe they just want revisions?”
“No, Mom.” I folded a blouse with force. “I’ll book a flight for tonight.”
“Tonight?” Her voice pitched higher. “That seems... hasty. Why not take a few days to reconsider?”
I frowned at her strange insistence. “Mom, are you okay? I thought you’d be happy I’m coming home.”
“Of course I am! It’s just—” she stammered, “I’m actually still in St Lucia. The house is empty.”
My suspicion grew. Mom told me she’d returned to the States weeks ago.
“When did you—”
The door burst open without warning. Santo stood in the doorway, breathless and disheveled, his chest heaving as if he’d sprinted the entire way from the study.
“Mom, I’ll call you back,” I said quickly, disconnecting before she could protest .
“What are you doing?” His eyes darted from my folded clothes on the bed, then fixed on my tear-stained face. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“I’m going home.” I folded another shirt, avoiding his gaze.
Santo moved toward me, closing the distance between us, his hand catching my wrist. “No.” The word was simple, but absolute.
“Go away, Santo.”
His mouth captured mine, silencing all protests. I tasted espresso and felt the slight scratch of stubble against my skin.
This kiss demanded surrender. His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing away the lingering wetness of tears as he deepened the connection.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were fierce. “You’re not running away, aggelé mou. I won’t let you.”
“I can’t keep doing this with your ex,” I said. “I was a fool to even think…”
“What Tia?”
To my chagrin, hot tears spilled down my cheeks despite my determination to hold them back. “We would work out.”
His fingers nudged my chin upward until I was looking directly into blue eyes that reminded me of the Aegean on cloudless days. “We are working, aggelé mou. Kat is jealous. She’s lashing out and doing everything to make you disappear. Don’t give her the satisfaction.”
“This is the worst thing that ever happened to me,” I blubbered, the words catching on sobs.
“No it’s not, aggelé mou. You beat cancer. You can take on anything Katalina throws at you.”
“I don’t want to keep fighting her, Santo.”
A soft chime from my phone broke through our conversation. I sighed, reaching for it under my half-packed suitcase.
“I need to take my pill,” I murmured, unlocking my phone to silence the daily reminder.
Santo watched as I grabbed the small pill container from my purse. “What kind of pills?”
I held up the case. “The kind that ensures I don’t return to the States with a Christakis legacy inside me.”
His eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, he looked surprised. Then his expression morphed into one of mock offense as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“You mean you don’t want to bear my child? I’m wounded, aggelé mou.”
I swallowed the pill with a sip of water from the glass on my nightstand. “As intent as you seem on sending me back to the US with a mini-you, I’m just as determined to return exactly as I left.” Physically, at least.
Santo pulled me closer, his hands resting on my waist as I stood between his knees. “And what makes you think I’m trying to get you pregnant?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I teased, looking down at him. “Maybe the fact that you’ve never once used a condom?”
He had the decency to look abashed. “I get tested regularly. I’m clean.”
“That’s not the only purpose they serve, as you well know.” I poked his chest. “Besides, the world doesn’t need any more of you roaming around. One Santo Christakis is more than enough for this planet to handle.”
His laugh rumbled through the room. “My Yiayia would disagree. She’s been dropping hints about great-grandchildren since I turned twenty-one.”
I rolled my eyes, stepping back to continue organizing my belongings—no longer packing to leave, but simply tidying up. “Yeah, no. My uterus is on lockdown. No visitors, no souvenirs.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what?”
“For your foresight. For being responsible.” Santo’s strong, comforting arms enfolded me, pulling me flush against him. “I’ll handle Katalina,” he promised, his lips moving against my stomach. “I swear to you.”
Santo’s arms felt safe. But logic whispered, safe isn’t the same as smart.