“She’s at work,” I say quickly. “She works late.”
Mom returns from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “Well, tell her to take a night off. It’s not healthy to work so hard.” She shoots me a pointed look. “You should understand that better than anyone, Athena.”
Demetria grins, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Yes, invite your cat-sitting friend.”
I’m cornered, and I know it. With both my mother and sister looking at me expectantly, I have no choice but to pull out my phone. I compose the message carefully, trying to communicate more than just the invitation.
Emergency. Mom insists you join us for dinner tonight. Sorry. Can explain more later. Reminder: I’m not out to them. 8 p.m. Dress nice but not too nice. Bring a bottle of Greek wine from the basement.
THIRTY-FIVE
RUBY
I slide into the chair across from Athena, amused to be sitting in my own dining room as a guest. The table is set with my dishes but arranged in a way I would never think to display them—artfully mismatched plates and bowls, cloth napkins I didn’t even know I owned folded into elegant triangles. The center of the table holds a stunning arrangement of fresh herbs, lemons, and greenery—nothing like the sad grocery store bouquets I occasionally remember to buy.
“Ruby! We’re so delighted you could join us,” Athena’s mother exclaims in a thick Greek accent. She’s stunning for her age—elegant and poised in a way that makes me immediately conscious of my posture.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I reply, shooting Athena a quick glance. She looks tense—I recognize the slight tightness around her eyes that I’ve come to associate with her rare moments of uncertainty.
“I’m Sophia,” her mother continues, “and this is Demetria, Athena’s little sister.”
Demetria, dressed like a boho hippie chick, gives me a smile that’s equal parts warmth and assessment. The familyresemblance is striking—all three women share the same dark eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” I lie smoothly.
“Really?” Demetria’s eyebrows shoot up as she glances at Athena. “That’s surprising. My sister is usually so private about her life here. She never tells us anything.”
Athena clears her throat. “Ruby and I have seen a lot of each other since Zeus moved in with her. I go over there to see him a few times a week, so we talk a lot.” She turns to me. “I told them you confiscated my cat.”
I nearly choke on my water. “Yes, Zeus is…quite the character,” I manage. “I do love the little furball.”
Athena’s eyes widen at my description, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she takes a sip of wine to hide her amusement. The idea of anyone referring to her massive, regal cat as a “little furball” clearly strikes her as absurd.
I smile, remembering last night’s battle for bed space. Zeus had planted himself squarely in the middle of Athena’s king-size mattress, his huge body somehow expanding. Every time I shifted to get comfortable, he stretched, yawned, or simply rolled over, pushing me inexorably toward the edge until I was clinging to the last six inches of mattress while he purred contentedly in his sleep. By morning, I was practically hanging off the side while His Majesty sprawled diagonally across what should have been my sleeping space. I should have moved to one of the guest rooms, but I was too tired to think. I guess that’s where I’ll be sleeping tonight.
“He’s very…territorial about the bed,” I add with a hint of humor. “Other than that, he’s adorable.
“That beast has never respected boundaries,” Sophia says, placing a large dish of food in the center of the table.The aroma is intoxicating. “I’m surprised you agreed to take him.”
She begins serving what I recognize as moussaka—layers of eggplant, potatoes, and some kind of meat sauce topped with a creamy béchamel.
“So, Ruby,” Sophia says as she places a generous portion on my plate, “Athena tells us you’re an attorney?”
“Yes, I specialize in corporate law. Mergers and acquisitions, mostly.” I take a bite of the moussaka and it’s delicious. “This is incredible,” I say sincerely.
Sophia beams. “Traditional recipe—my grandmother’s. Athena could make it too, if she ever bothered to cook.”
“Mom,” Athena warns, but there’s no real heat in her voice.
“It’s true!” Sophia turns to me, leaning in conspiratorially. “I taught both my girls to cook properly, but neither of them ever do. This one—” she gestures to Athena with her fork “—she always has an excuse. Too busy, too tired. As if running a business means you can’t feed yourself properly.”
I glance at Athena, loving this glimpse into her family dynamic. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t contradict her mother.
“And what firm do you work with?” Demetria asks, twirling her wine in her glass. There’s something about her that reminds me of an exotic bird—colorful, wild, watching everything with keen intelligence.
“I have my own firm,” I reply. “Walsh and Associates.”
“Oh, cool. And what about outside of work?” Sophia asks. “Are you dating?”
