I had no intention of answering, turning the phone away from his prying eyes, but Dimitrios did it for me. “Our nephew here is enamored with our American architect,” he said.
“Architect?” inquired Matthaios, interest piqued as he reached for a bread roll from the basket between us.
Dimitrios went on to give Tia’s entire backstory since saving me and how she was now employed by the family to design the villa on Thalassía. His voice carried across our corner of the restaurant too loudly for my comfort.
“I still don’t understand why you’d agree to work for Olympus in exchange for her getting the contract,” Konstantin said to me, eyes narrowing as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Who is this girl, really?”
“Maybe if you spent time at the villa with your new wife, you’d already know,” I responded simply.
Dimitrios laughed uproariously, but Konstantin’s face hardened, his jaw clenching visibly. “Maybe you should stay out of grown folks’ business, youngster.”
I could tell I’d struck a nerve, the same way I could feel when a car was about to lose traction on a curve. I raised my glass in surrender, but I couldn’t resist messing with him further.
“Sure, I’ll stay out of it. I won’t even comment on the fact that Kayla has been keeping herself entertained by going out frequently with Yiorgos. They go off for hours—”
Dimitrios turned his head in my direction, his expression becoming serious. “Shut up, Santo.” His voice dropped low enough that nearby diners wouldn’t hear, but the warning was unmistakable.
“What are you implying?” Konstantin demanded, setting his glass down with enough force that liquid sloshed over the rim.
I shrugged, enjoying the rise I’d provoked too much to stop now. Taking another slow sip, I explained with a casual tone. “While you’ve been off gallivanting with your fiancée, your wife decided she needed to create the baby you two should create with someone else. And Yiorgos has been filling that hole… I mean role.”
Konstantin stared at me as though each word I’d said had been a tiny shard piercing his skin. His breath came faster, nostrils flaring. “You’re a disrespectful little shit. We spoiled you. But you should have been spanked.”
“It’s our own fault,” Matthaios added with a smile.
“I should beat your ass now,” said Konstantin.
“You can try.”
Konstantin rose, eyes fixed on me, smoldering with fury. Then, without another word, he turned around and stalked off.
Matthaios glanced toward Konstantin’s retreating figure, then back to me with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement in his eyes.
“You always did know exactly where to stick the knife. I better go make sure he doesn’t murder Yiorgos.” Matthaios hurried off behind Konstantin.
Dimitrios took another sip of his drink. “I warned Aristides to not allow Mama and Irida to handle your care. I begged him to hire a sensible nanny to do the job. Now here you are, turning into one of them. A gossip and a meddler.”
My retort died on my lips as I realized he wasn’t entirely wrong. I’d always known which buttons to push, which secrets to probe. It was a skill learned at the knees of my Theia and Yiayia during long afternoons of village gossip and family intrigue. I’d simply channeled it into a more masculine form of provocation.
I shrugged.
Late that night, I video called Tia from my hotel room, the need to see her face becoming a persistent ache throughout the evening. She answered almost immediately, launching enthusiastically intoa description of the progress she was making on her designs for Thalassía.
“I like your mind,” I said. “The way you think about structures, about space. It’s different from how I see the world.”
She bit her lip and looked away. “That might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.”
“Are you sleeping well?” I asked, holding back from ending with,without me?The thought of her alone in the room down the hall from mine made me anxious to return home.
“Yeah, I’ve been sleeping fine. I’ve got good company.”
I frowned, possessiveness stirring in my chest. “Company? In your bed?”
“Zeus hogs the blanket big time.”
I relaxed, a relieved smile replacing my frown. Then I noticed something different about her appearance. I tilted my head, studying the screen more carefully. “Your hair’s different.”
Tia laughed. “We’ve been talking for twenty minutes and now you notice?” She patted her head, which seemed to be braided on one side and loose on the other. I didn’t know enough about African-American hair to tell whether it was a deliberate style or something else.
