She surfaces near me in a sweep of dark hair and white fabric, water streaming down her face. When she reaches me, she grips the edge of the pool beside me.
“You must think I’m crazy,” I say. “The unstable woman next door who can’t make up her mind.”
“Not at all.” A breeze stirs the palm fronds overhead. “If anything, I should apologize. I pushed too hard again.” She meets my eyes. “Do you feel guilty?”
“Yes.” The admission comes easier than I expected.
She nods. “I understand.”
“I believe you do. I even feel like you understand everything I’mnotsaying.” I frown as I study her. “You know so much about me and I know nothing about you.”
“I don’t like to talk about myself,” she says.
“Why is that?”
She chuckles. “Answering that question would require me to talk about myself.”
I’m not willing to give up. I’ve bared my soul to her, and as much as she wants me to trust her, I want the same in return. “Tell me why it is that I feel like you understand my grief,” I whisper. “What happened to you?”
Athena’s expression shifts, something vulnerable flickering across her features before disappearing like a ripplein still water. She seems uncertain, as if weighing how much of herself to reveal.
“Okay,” she says finally, pushing away from the pool’s edge. “Let’s get dry and make coffee.” She swims to the steps, water streaming from her suit as she rises. Turning back to me, she extends her hand. “And I’ll tell you a story about a girl from Athens who used to be a hopeless romantic.”
I take her offered hand, letting her pull me up.
“But I’m warning you,” she adds. “It’s not the happy kind. It’s a tragedy.”
TWENTY-FOUR
ATHENA
The temperature has dropped and I shiver as I sit on one of Ruby’s sun loungers with a cappuccino, wrapped in one of her toweling robes. Ruby sits cross-legged on the adjacent lounger, wearing an oversize sweatshirt, her wet hair darkening the fabric where it touches her shoulders.
Her eyes hold mine, patient but expectant. I owe her this story, though every fiber of my being wants to deflect, to change the subject, to maintain the distance I’ve cultivated. But she’s shared so much of herself with me. Perhaps it’s time to open up in return.
“I studied international business in London,” I begin, the words feeling strange in my mouth. I haven’t spoken about this in years. “I could have gone anywhere—my father’s influence opened doors worldwide. But I chose London because of what it represented. Freedom.” I pause, watching the play of moonlight on the water. “The kind of freedom I couldn’t find in Greece.”
Ruby shifts, drawing her knees to her chest. “Freedom to be yourself?”
“Yes.” I twist one of my gold bangles. “In Athens, I wasAlexandros Stavros’s daughter, heir to one of the largest shipping empires in the Mediterranean. Being gay wasn’t—still isn’t—entirely accepted in those circles. I had this wild vision of what London would be like—clubs, dating, dancing until dawn, and finally being able to live openly without looking over my shoulder.” A smile tugs at my lips. “None of that happened, though. Because during my first week at university, I met Elena.”
It feels strange to say her name out loud, but I continue. “She was Greek too—studying international finance. The moment I saw her, everything else faded away. She had this way of moving, like she was dancing to music only she could hear. But whenever I tried to get close, she’d pull away.”
“Playing hard to get?” Ruby asks.
“That’s what I thought at first. We’d go on dates, but she never let it progress beyond the restaurant. She was…guarded. Secretive about herself. Canceled on me regularly. I was used to getting what I wanted, so her resistance only made me more determined.”
Ruby makes a soft sound. “Tell me about it.”
“Yes, I suppose you’ve experienced that side of me firsthand.” I meet her eyes briefly before looking away. “Eventually, though, things happened. She started coming home with me and feelings grew between us. After a few months, I asked her to move in with me. That’s when she finally told me the truth.”
My throat tightens and the lounger creaks as I shift, trying to find comfort in a story that offers none. “Elena had systemic scleroderma—an autoimmune disease that was slowly hardening her tissues and organs. She’d been diagnosed two years before we met. The doctors gave her maybe five years. The only reason she studied was because shewanted the last years of her life to be normal and, like me, free.”
Ruby brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Athena…”
“She told me we could never have a life together. We had no future.” I stare at my hands, remembering how they felt wrapped around Elena’s increasingly frail ones. “But I insisted. I loved her. And somewhere deep inside, I held onto this foolish hope that there would be a miracle. Some experimental treatment, some breakthrough that would save her.”
Needing a moment, I blow on my coffee and take a careful sip. Ruby doesn’t push, doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty comfort. She just waits, giving me space to find my way back to the story.
