ATHENA
The car winds its way up the narrow coastal road, each turn revealing another breathtaking vista. I alternate between watching Ruby and the familiar landscape—both equally captivating in their beauty.
“Almost there,” I tell her as we round the final bend. “Just up ahead.”
The iron gates of my family’s Santorini home swing open at our approach. Bougainvillea spills over the white stone walls in vibrant cascades of fuchsia and purple, a riotous welcome home. The driver pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine.
“Athena! You’re here!” My mother emerges from the house, arms outstretched, wearing a flowing blue kaftan that billows around her in the breeze.
I get out of the car and barely have time to straighten myself before she envelops me in a tight embrace.
“Mom, it’s good to see you.”
She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length to inspect me. “You look tired. The commercial flight was too much, wasn’t it? You two need to eatand rest up for tomorrow.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her, turning to help Ruby from the car.
My mother’s attention shifts. “Ruby! Welcome to our home.” She embraces Ruby with the same enthusiasm she showed me, if not more.
“Thank you for having me, Sophia,” Ruby says. “Your home is absolutely stunning.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” She links her arm through Ruby’s, and I’m amused by my mother’s immediate adoption of her. “Athena, Nikos will get your luggage. Come, come.”
Nikos—the driver—nods and begins unloading our bags. I pause to thank him, then hurry to catch up. It’s ironic. I’m the one who owns a casino, yet my mother has more staff than me.
Following them toward the house, I hear them chatting away like they’re old friends and take a moment to see it from Ruby’s perspective. The architecture is traditional Cycladic—smooth, curved walls, arched doorways, and blue-painted shutters framing windows that capture fragments of sea and sky. The main house wraps around a central courtyard with an olive tree at its heart.
“This house has been in our family for four generations,” I explain to Ruby as we pass through the courtyard. “My parents renovated it when I was young, and eventually, we moved here from Athens. My great-grandfather built it. Back then, coastal land in Santorini was cheap, but now…” I shake my head and chuckle. “People would kill to get their hands on our land.”
“The original structure was much smaller,” my mother adds. “Each generation has expanded it, but we’ve maintained the traditional style.”
We enter the main living area—an airy, open space withwhitewashed walls and limestone floors. The ceiling soars overhead, crossed by dark wooden beams, and the furniture is a careful balance of traditional Greek elements and modern comfort. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the spectacular view like a living painting.
Ruby stops in her tracks, momentarily speechless. “Oh my God,” she whispers, moving toward the windows. “This is…I don’t even have words.”
The view that has captivated her—that still captivates me every time—stretches beyond the infinity pool. The Aegean is a vast expanse of deep blue dotted with sailboats and small islands in the distance. White villages cling to the coastal cliffs like scattered sugar cubes, while the sun accentuates every curve and angle of the landscape.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” I say, coming to stand beside her. “No matter how many times I see it, it still makes me pause.”
My mother beams with pride as she gestures to the outdoor seating area. “Please sit and enjoy the view. You must be tired from the journey.” She pours lemonade into tall glasses beaded with condensation, then rushes inside and returns with a cake.
We settle on the cushioned sofa, and I notice how Ruby seems to sink into the moment—accepting the glass, smiling at my mother, her body language relaxed despite being so far from home. She belongs here, I realize. Not just in this place, but in my life, in all its facets.
“This cake is delicious,” she says after taking a bite. “Did you make it?”
My mother looks pleased. “Yes. It’s a lemon zest and almond cake. An old family recipe.” She serves herself a small piece. “I can teach you how to make it.”
“I’d love that.” Ruby smiles playfully at my mother. “But for now, I’m sure you have better things to do. Are you ready for the big day tomorrow?”
Mom rolls her eyes the way she does when she’s about to fire off some dramatic monologue, but the moment is broken by the sound of an approaching car, and she springs to her feet. “Ah! That must be Demetria and Julian! Finally!”
Moments later, Demetria emerges, her dark curls whipping in the breeze, wearing an oversize white linen top over flowing palazzo pants. Behind her, a tall man with sandy hair and horn-rimmed glasses steps out.
“There’s my maid of honor!” Demetria exclaims, rushing toward me. Her embrace is fierce, almost desperate, and I hold her a beat longer than usual, sensing something beneath her exuberance.
“And Ruby!” She moves to hug Ruby next. “I’m so glad you could come. Welcome to the family madhouse!”
Julian approaches more slowly, hand extended. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Athena,” he says in slightly accented English. His voice is soft, almost shy. “Demetria has told me so much about you.”
