Chapter 30
A Huge Mistake
Eli's Search History: classic Greek wine and food pairings
Emily
Eli texts to say he’s finishing up with a client and wants me to wait at the practice until he can pick me up. But I don’t feel like sitting alone in the darkened office after hours.
“No secret boyfriend tonight?” Kayla teases as she swings her jacket over her shoulders.
My heart thrums unevenly. “No, he’s got to stay late at work.”
She studies me. “When are you going to tell me who it is? I’m dying for the big reveal.”
That would be a big, fat never. Not only because Eli is firmly not my boyfriend. But also because she can never know that he is the one whose bike I’m riding.
The two of us walk outside together. “I just like to keep my private life, well, private.”
She shrugs. “I get that. He looks dreamy though, from the little I saw of him. If he looks that hot in a helmet, I can only imagine how sexy his face is.” Don’t need to imagine it. You already know.
We say goodbye, Kayla walking in one direction while I head toward the underground station. The whole walk, I swear I can feel eyes on my back.
On the tube, someone in a hood keeps glancing my way. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe there is something off.
When I step onto the platform, Eli is already there—scowling.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” he growls, grabbing my hand and tugging me behind him.
“I didn’t see the need to wait.”
He stops dead. I smack into his back, and someone bumps into me from behind. Eli bares his teeth at them, and they scuttle off.
“Your ex is potentially in London,” he says, voice low and sharp. “An ex who has threatened to hurt you before. And you didn’t see the need to wait for me?”
Well, when he puts it like that.
He sighs. “Angel, I can’t keep you safe if you don’t help me.”
Guilt washes through me.
My gaze drops to the floor. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Eli hooks a finger under my chin, tipping my face up to his. “I just want you safe, Angel.”
He threads his hand through mine again. We exit the station and begin the walk to his house.
A hooded figure follows at a distance the entire way. My stomach knots. Is that the same person from the tube?
When we reach his door, the figure simply keeps walking, not even glancing our way.
God, Em. Not everyone is out to get you. They were probably just going the same direction.
I push the anxiety down, hiding it from Eli. No need to worry him over a coincidence.
“How about I cook tonight?” I offer.
Eli gives me a small tilt of his head, lips pursed like he’s trying not to smile. Then he nods. “That would be nice, Angel.”
In the kitchen, I rummage through his cupboards until I find everything I need for moussaka.
I sauté the aubergine while the sauce simmers, then whisk together the béchamel.
All the while, Eli watches from the table, hands behind his head. He tries to help, but I refuse—I want to do something for him. I don’t fully understand why. Maybe because he’s done so much for me. Maybe because it feels like repayment. Before I leave… eventually.
When the dish is ready for the oven, Eli stands and grabs two wine glasses. “Does Xinomavro work for you?”
My chest softens. “You got me Greek wine?”
He shrugs. “I know how much you love Greek food—I stocked up on wine to go with it.”
“Xinomavro is perfect with this. Thank you.”
He pours the wine, and we sit while the moussaka bakes.
“Did you always want to be a therapist?” he asks suddenly.
“I… no.” I laugh under my breath. “I actually wanted to be a researcher.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course you did. You love your books.”
I flick his bicep—regretting it immediately when my finger meets solid rock. “When I did my psychology undergrad, I planned on doing my master’s, then a doctorate, and going into clinical research.”
Eli tilts his head, focused entirely on me. “What changed?”
It’s strange, having someone listen like this. Really listen. Not the way Gianna did—calculating, self-interested. Eli listens like my words matter.
I breathe in. Exhale.
“You know Carina?”
It’s a rhetorical question. Eli indicates for me to continue.
“I was doing work experience during the first year of my doctorate. I already had a master’s in psychotherapy and counselling, so I was licensed to practise, but research was still the plan.
I wasn’t much older than her—she was maybe twenty-one when she finally sought help.
I must’ve been twenty-five?” Damn, has it really been ten years?
Eli doesn’t interrupt. Just waits—patient, intent.
“She was one of my first patients. I’d shadowed counsellors before, but she was one of the first assigned solely to me. No one realised how deep her trauma ran. If they had, someone more experienced would’ve taken her.”
I swallow.
“When I realised how much she’d been through—how much she needed—I told her she should see someone else. I didn’t want to fail her. But she said she trusted me. She didn’t want to start over.”
Eli places his hand over mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Maybe I should’ve insisted,” I murmur. “Maybe someone else would’ve helped her sooner… or maybe she always would’ve taken matters into her own hands.” Despite everything, despite my mistakes, I can’t regret keeping her as a client. She’s one of my closest friends now.
“Well, anyway.” I wave a hand, clearing the heavy thoughts. “It was her case—listening to her, actually helping her heal—that made me realise I didn’t want research. I wanted this. To help.”
I smile faintly. “I finished my PhD while working at the practice, then stayed there until I moved back to England a year ago.”
The timer dings so I grab the food from the oven while Eli sets plates out. We sit and chat more about why I became a therapist while we eat. It’s… nice.
After dinner, Eli puts on a film for us and pulls me close. I let him. Let my head rest on his shoulder. His body radiates heat against me.
At some point, his fingers start running up and down my arm absentmindedly. Each stroke has my skin burning, electricity dancing in waves with every touch.
God, I want him.
I fucking hate how much I do.
But it would be so easy to give in. Even just temporarily. To experience Eli in all his glory.
I almost do. I’m ready to.
But then a shadow passes by the window. I jolt.
Eli tenses, his arm that’s resting around me going solid. “What is it?”
I peer into the darkness, not breathing. There’s nothing there.
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. I just thought I saw something. Can we close the curtains?”
Eli jumps up immediately to pull the curtains closed, though not before giving the area outside a sweep, his head swinging back and forth.
“I’m sure I imagined it,” I tell him as he settles back beside me.
The good thing is that whatever I did or didn’t see, stopped me from accidentally making a huge mistake.