Adorra
“Adorra, have you lost your mind?” I zipped up my overstuffed suitcase, phone wedged between my ear and shoulder as ‘Liya’s voice squawked through the speaker. “It was bad enough when you signed up for the Book Boyfriend hook-up service—”
“Not a hook-up,” I muttered, trying to explain for the thousandth time. I got that she didn’t understand, but to me, it was brilliant. Match women with a man based on their favorite romance hero. We’d spent most of our lives fantasizing about these guys. Wasn’t it time to finally meet one?
“You can’t just fly off to Greece to meet some guy you’ve only known for a few weeks?” Aaliyah continued, completely oblivious that I’d tuned her out. “Girl, have you never watched the evening news or a true crime documentary? Hell, a Lifetime movie?”
“Which one?” I asked—curious about what I’d missed.
“Any of them—all of them. C’mon, you know the movies I’m talking about. Not to mention the fact that he’s in the Mafia. Who picks Mafia? What’s wrong with you?”
“I like Mafia romance books. That’s why I want to write one,” I said, dropping onto my bed. “Besides, it’s not like that, ‘Liya. The agency vetted him. They are so thorough, I even had to give a blood sample for an STD screen—”
“Okay, that makes me feel a little better. At least they have his DNA. You know, in case we never hear from you again.”
“Will you stop it? You’re too young to worry this much.” I switched the phone to the other ear. “Did I mention his grandmother’s chaperoning me on the flight?”
“Oh, well, that makes it all better,” ‘Liya drawled. “His sweet old granny will protect you from the made man if he turns into a psycho.”
“Xander’s not a psycho,” I protested, remembering his laughing eyes during our video chats. “He’s… intense, yeah, but also funny. Really funny, actually.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m sure his family business of breaking kneecaps is hilarious.”
I closed my eyes, picturing Xander’s face from our last call. Those dark eyes had seemed to look right through me, even through a screen. “Look, I know it sounds crazy. But this is my chance, ‘Liya. How else am I supposed to write about this world?”
“I don’t know. Research? A newspaper, maybe?” A pause. Then, softer: “I get it, Dora. Your writing dream means everything to you. But is it worth risking your safety?”
“It’s not just about the book anymore,” I admitted quietly, surprising myself with the truth of it. “I… I like him.”
“Oh honey,” ‘Liya sighed. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful. And call every day, or I swear I’ll hop on the next flight to Greece myself.”
“I promise,” I said, smiling. “Love you, ‘Liya.”
“Love you too, crazy woman.”
I ended the call and tossed my phone aside, surveying the explosion of clothes covering every surface of my tiny bedroom. What did one pack for two weeks with a Greek mafia… boyfriend? I pressed my belly to stop the freefall. Maybe I was crazy.
Focus, Adorra.
I double-checked my luggage. In less than twenty-four hours, I’d be face-to-face with the man whose smile had kept me awake for weeks. I’d told myself a hundred times this was research. But I was more curious about what his lips tasted like than I’d ever been about la Cosa Nostra. Yep, definitely crazy.
The private airfield was nothing like I’d imagined. A sleek jet emblazoned with “Lionsbridge Shipping” waited on the tarmac, its polished surface gleaming in the morning sun. An older woman with silver-streaked dark hair stood at the foot of the stairs.
“You must be Adorra,” she said, with a slight Greek accent. “I’m Adelpha, Xander’s grandmother. But everyone calls me Yaya.”
Her skin was pale with light brown spots, but when I shook her hand, her grip was solid and sturdy. This woman was older, but she wasn’t weak. “It’s nice to meet you, Yaya. Thank you for accompanying me.”
Her dark eyes, so like Xander’s, twinkled. “The pleasure is mine, dear. I seldom get to play chaperone these days. Xander insisted that you have a… what did he call it? Ah, yes, a ‘buffer’ for the flight. He wanted to make sure you felt comfortable.”
My cheeks warmed like I’d been in the sun all day. “That’s very thoughtful of him.”
Yaya patted my hand as we settled into plush leather seats. “It was my pleasure. Though I must admit, I was surprised when he asked me to do this. At first, I wondered if this was an elaborate prank or set up for a surprise party. But, no, here you are.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Xander, I was a little shocked. He’ll think that means disappointed and will work double-time to throw me something that I do not want. I swear, I get more parties now than I did when I was young. And that was when I wanted them. I suppose everybody just wants to congratulate me for making it one more year. They don’t know, I don’t plan to go anywhere. Why would I? Life is just getting interesting.” She patted my hand. “Speaking of interesting, tell me all about yourself, and how you met my grandson.”
As the jet took off, Yaya’s stories filled the cabin as we flew across the ocean and then the sea. When we touched down in Greece, my butterflies had settled from a fluttering roar into a low hum. If he’d sent his grandmother to lull away my nerves, he’d chosen wisely.
The Mediterranean sun felt like a car slamming me into a wall of heat. A steady sea breeze diffused its blinding light. As we left the small island airport, Yaya led me towards the docks. She chattered about the local sights, but I barely heard her. My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for—
There.
Standing at the end of the dock was a man who could only be Xander. Tall and broad-shouldered, even from a distance, he towered above everyone else. I made out the sharp angles of his face and the slight scruff along his jaw. As we walked closer, his eyes drew mine—dark and intense. Mysterious and tempting, just like in our video calls, but a hundred times more potent in person.
Our gazes locked, and for a moment, the bustling docks faded away. Isolating Xander and me in our charged bubble.
“Adorra,” he said in a low voice. “Welcome to Greece.”
I held my hand out to shake his, as I’d done with Yaya, but he brushed it away. Pulling me into his arms for a brief hug. Not too long. Not improper. Mere seconds.
Impossibly quick seconds.
Seconds that were just long enough to tell me that my dreams of becoming a writer, my carefully laid plans—none of it had prepared me for the reality of Xander Gataki.