As I shouldered my purse, Mr. Reckless broke away from the suited man and approached me. “Wait, aggelé mou, you can’t leave yet,” he called, effortlessly switching back to English. “I’m Chrysanthos.” He gestured toward the man. “That’s my uncle. Let me take you wherever you need to go. It’s the least I can do.”
I touched my lips involuntarily, still feeling the pressure of his kiss.
“No thanks,” I replied. “I should go.”
“Please,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “At least tell me your name?”
I hesitated. Should I tell him my real name?
“Tia,” I said, and instantly regretted it.
Smooth, girl. Just hand over your real name to the hot Greek guy who nearly mowed you down. Why not throw in your social security number too?
His smile was dazzling, genuine. “Tia,” he repeated, as if testing the feel of it on his tongue. “I hope to see you again, aggelé mou.”
2
I’d always believed my father was being dramatic when he claimed I’d be the death of him. But as I sat in the private hospital room with seven stitches above my eyebrow and Uncle Dimitrios hovering like an anxious shadow, I considered the possibility.
“Your father is on his way from Milan,” Dimitrios informed me, his voice carrying that blend of concern and resignation I’d become intimately familiar with over the years. “He’s... not pleased.”
I grinned, despite the throbbing in my head. “Is he ever?”
The painkillers were excellent, making everything seem amusing, including the imminent paternal wrath headed my way. Butthe drugs couldn’t distract me from the revelation that came to me the moment she’d pulled me from the wreckage.
Tia. Katalina’s American friend. The quiet one with the curves who’d stayed in the background at Nico’s party last night, watching everything with those observant eyes while Kat had flirted with every eligible bachelor in Athens.
I hadn’t paid much attention to her then, too busy avoiding Kat’s sight. Now I couldn’t think of anything else. Taking her would be both pleasure and the perfect punishment.
“You’re lucky I was driving back from the coastal factory today,” Dimitrios said, loosening his tie.
At thirty-six, my uncle was the youngest of my father’s brothers. As COO of Olympus Motors, he understood cars, which made his next comment all the more damning. “The Helios prototype is totaled. Completely. What were you thinking taking those curves at that speed? That car wasn’t even supposed to leave the compound, let alone be pushed to its limits on a public road!”
“That’s what prototypes are for, Theío,” I replied with a wink that made him shake his head, though I caught the hint of a smile he tried to suppress. “How else are we supposed to know if it can handle real-world conditions?”
“One day that charm won’t save you,” he warned, but we both knew it wasn’t true.
Charm had gotten me out of trouble since I was old enough to talk, something my favorite uncle understood better than most. He’d covered for me more times than I could count.
“That car was meant to be the star of the Athens Motor Show next month. Your father is going to have your head.”
“We’ll build another one. Better. Maybe with improved handling on those mountain curves.”
My phone buzzed again. I glanced down at Katalina’s twentieth message of the day. Katalina and I had dated all through high school and I’d been in love with her. She’d been my first everything. We’d talked about marriage, children and had our entire future laid out before us.
Then exactly three years ago, just months after she’d left for college in America, she’d slept with Juan Vasquez, my biggest rival on the racing circuit. The prick sent me a video of them together with screenshots of texts from Katalina saying I didn’t know what I was doing in bed and she’d been faking it since we were sixteen.
I’d ended things, citing the distance when she left for university.The perfect gentleman, everyone had said.So understanding about the challenges of a long-distance relationship.
No one knew the real reason we’d broken up. I’d never told them about the humiliation, the self-doubt, the nights I’d lain awake wondering if every moan from Katalina had been fake. How couldI, Santos Christakis, golden boy of the Christakis family, admit I’d been made to feel inadequate in the most base way possible?
Santo, we need to talk. I miss you.
Please, just coffee? For old times’ sake?
A new message appeared as I watched.
I never understood why you ended things. We should try again.
