Chapter 12
Twelve
Aegean Dreams is packed—it always is on Sundays.
The restaurant hums with conversation, silverware clinking, bouzouki music playing from hidden speakers.
Blue and white décor everywhere—traditional Greek colors—but Alex’s touch is visible in the plants hanging from exposed rafters.
Real ones. Trailing ivy and herbs that make everything smell like heaven.
I can see Nikko in the kitchen through the open pass. Alex’s older brother—thirty, executive chef, running the line with the precision of someone who’s been doing this since he could hold a knife. He’s expediting orders, calling out temperatures, completely in his element.
The food is already arriving. Platters of spanakopita, bowls of tzatziki, warm pita bread that steams when you tear it open. Dolmades stuffed with rice and herbs. Greek salad with chunks of feta the size of my fist.
“Sit, sit.” Dimitri pulls out my chair. “Nikko will serve you directly.”
“We can serve ourselves—” I start.
His finger comes up. Points at me like I just suggested burning the restaurant down.
“No.” That’s all. Just no.
Alex rolls her eyes beside me, but she’s smiling. “One time,” she mutters. “One time we serve ourselves and it’s been four years.”
“Five,” I correct.
“Five years and he still won’t let us live it down.”
Sofia appears with a high chair, settling it at the table. “Maya is bringing the baby.”
Maya shows up moments later with their toddler—Eleni, eighteen months old and already ruling the entire family. She’s absolutely perfect and adorable and spoiled rotten.
Maya. Nikko’s wife. She’s the kind of beautiful that makes you want to stare—dark skin, natural hair in twists today, wearing a simple green dress that somehow looks elegant despite the spit-up stain on the shoulder.
“Sorry, sorry.” Maya’s juggling the diaper bag, the baby, and what looks like three different toys. “Someone decided naps are for the weak.”
Eleni reaches for Alex immediately. “Lala!”
“That’s right, baby girl. Your Lala is here.” Alex takes her, settling Eleni on her hip with practiced ease. “Did you have a good nap?”
Eleni babbles something that might be Greek, might be English, might be her own toddler language.
Dimitri beams. His first grandchild. The baby who will inherit this restaurant someday if Nikko has his way.
“She’s getting so big,” my mom says, reaching for Eleni’s hand. The baby grabs her finger, squeezes.
“Too big.” Sofia makes the sign of the cross again. “Growing too fast. Evil eye.” She mutters something in Greek, touches Eleni’s head three times.
Maya catches my eye across the table. Gives me a look that says help me but she’s smiling.
This is what normal looks like. Grandmothers warding off evil eyes. Babies babbling. Food appearing in endless waves. Fathers presiding over their kingdoms.
And I’m sitting here with a dead woman’s ring burning through my jeans.
Nikko emerges from the kitchen carrying two plates. Sets them in front of Alex and me with the precision of someone who plates a hundred dishes a night.
Moussaka for me—because Dimitri remembers my favorite. Pastitsio for Alex—because she’s predictable.
“Looking good, little sister.” Nikko ruffles Alex’s hair as he passes. She swats at him.
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“You’re twelve.” He grins, but his eyes flick to me. That look. The one that says we need to talk.
Not now. Please not now.
He’s always had this uncanny ability to know when something is up. One time our junior year, Alex and I snuck out to hang out with some boys. We covered our tracks. Until we snuck back in and there in the chair was Nikko, ready to negotiate.
Maya must see something on my face because she jumps in. “Dylan, how’s the bar exam prep going?”
Thank God. Normal questions. Safe questions.
“Good,” I lie. “Getting there.”
“When do you take it?”
“July.” Six months away. Six months of studying I’m not doing because I’m investigating a serial killer instead.
“You’ll crush it.” Maya’s confidence is absolute. “Alex says you’re basically a legal genius.”
“Alex exaggerates.”
“I really don’t.” Alex has Eleni on her lap now, the baby playing with her necklace. Evil eye pendant from Sofia. Protection charm. “Dylan’s like Rain Man but for law. She memorizes entire case files.”
“Photographic memory?” Maya asks.
“Eidetic,” I correct. “Just for numbers and dates mostly. Words get fuzzy.”
“Still.” Maya smiles. “That’s incredible.”
Dimitri returns with more food. Lamb. His specialty. The smell makes my stomach growl despite everything.
“Eat, eat.” He’s already refilling my water glass. “You’re too skinny.”
“I’m really not—”
“Eat.” Not a request. An order given with love.
So I eat. Because you don’t refuse Dimitri’s food. You don’t refuse the love language of this family.
And it really is fucking delicious.
Sofia sits beside my mother. They immediately start their own conversation—half in English, half in Greek. My mom is trying out the phrases Sofia’s been teaching her for fifteen years.
“Kalispéra,” my mom attempts.
“Kalispéra!” Sofia beams like she just taught a toddler to read. “Good, good. Now try—”
They’re off in their own world. Two mothers, same age, bonded by working together and worrying about their daughters.
Alex catches my eye across the table. Her look says: We have to perform. We have to make it through this.
I nod slightly.
She takes a breath. Puts on her smile—the real one, not the fake one. Because these people know the difference.
“So,” Alex starts, voice bright. “Eleni’s birthday is coming up. What’s the plan?”
And just like that, the table erupts.
Everyone talks at once. Multiple conversations happening simultaneously. Hands gesturing. Voices rising not in anger but in emphasis. Customers laugh, some even chime in.
Sofia begins describing the cake she’s planning.
Dimitri starts arguing about the venue—here at the restaurant versus their house.
Maya is trying to coordinate with her family.
Nikko is suggesting a small party.
My mom is offering to help with decorations.
And somehow, everyone is heard. Somehow, it all makes sense.
Eleni bangs her sippy cup on the high chair tray, adding percussion.
“No, no, not a small party.” Sofia’s hands are flying now. “The whole family. All the cousins. Her yiayia from Greece wants to video call—”
“We’re not putting a two-year-old on video call for three hours, Mama.” Nikko’s trying to be reasonable.
“Your yiayia wants to see her great-granddaughter!”
“Then Yiayia can come here.”
“She’s ninety-three, Nikko. She’s not flying from Athens for a second birthday. I’m lucky I got her to come this spring for Easter!”
“Then we video call for ten minutes. Not three hours.”
Maya’s trying not to laugh. She catches my eye, mouths help.
But I can’t help. I can barely breathe.
Because Alex just put her hand on mine under the table. Squeezes.
I look at her. She’s smiling at her family, laughing at something Dimitri said, but her hand is gripping mine like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded.
Or maybe I’m the one being grounded.
“Dylan.”
Dimitri’s voice cuts through the chaos. That tone. The one that means he’s about to enjoy himself at someone else’s expense.
His eyes are twinkling. “How’s your father?”
I close my eyes. “We’re really doing this?”
“Doing what?” Pure innocence. “I’m asking about your father. Who is alive. With his dog.”
The entire table goes quiet for half a second.
Then my mom snorts into her wine glass.
“Oh God,” Alex mutters beside me.
“Here we go,” Nikko calls from where he’s standing by the kitchen pass.
“I hate all of you,” I announce to the table.
“We love you too,” Sofia says sweetly. “Now tell us about Winston.”
“The weiner dog!” Dimitri announces loud enough for the entire table to hear.
“Baba, stop.” Alex is trying not to laugh. Failing spectacularly.
“What?” Dimitri spreads his hands. “I care about Dylan’s father. And his puppy. His new puppy.”
“Purebred,” Nikko calls.
“Brown and soft,” Alex adds.
“Her father,” my mom says very carefully, “has been dead for sixteen years.”
“Fifteen,” I correct automatically.
The table erupts.
Everyone’s talking at once. Laughing. Maya looks confused—she missed the original lie, and is only catching up now. But everyone else is having the time of their lives at my expense.
“Dylan.” Dimitri’s trying to look serious but failing. “I want to know about Winston. The puppy. How is he settling in?”
“Baba, please—”
“What? I want to know about the package.” He’s fully committed now. Leaning forward. Invested.
“There’s a puppy package?” Maya looks delighted. “Dylan, you have to tell us.”
“I really don’t.”
“She really does,” Nikko says, coming to sit down now. “Come on. We’ve been waiting for this update.”
I look at Alex. She’s trying so hard not to laugh that tears are forming in her eyes.
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” I hiss at her.
“I am on your side.” She’s absolutely not. “But you did tell Dom that your dad got a wiener dog. A purebred. Brown and soft. You described him in detail.”
“You what?” Sofia is dying. Actually dying. Holding her stomach. “Dylan. A wiener dog?”
“It was—” I can’t even explain. “Dom asked about Dad and I panicked and—”
“You’ve been lying about this for five years,” Dimitri says, but he’s smiling. That warm, knowing smile that says I see you and I love you anyway. “Five years, korítsι mou. Your poor dead father has had quite the adventure.”
“He’s had health scares,” Alex adds helpfully.
“A knee replacement,” I mutter.
“The grandchildren from his first marriage,” my mom contributes.
“That was ONE TIME.” I’m defensive now. “Dom asked if I had siblings and I panicked—”
“So you gave your dead father another family.” Sofia is making the sign of the cross. “Panagia mou. The lies.”
“In my defense,” I say, “I was twenty-two and stupid.”
“You’re twenty-seven and still doing it,” Nikko points out.