The club is as exclusive as Athena described—a modern architectural structure nestled in a protected harbor on the eastern side of the island, accessible only by a winding private road that keeps tourists at bay. Founded in the 1920s, its membership remains a closely guarded privilege passed through generations of wealthy families. The main building curves around a sheltered cove where yachts bob at anchor, and inside, the decor balances old-world opulence with subtle nautical touches.
I sit at the large round table designated for immediate family—a placement I’m told is significant—watching Athena squirm beside George, the recently divorced son of her mother’s oldest friend. He’s handsome enough, with dark curls and the confidence of a man who’s rarely heard the word “no.” For the past twenty minutes, he’s been visibly trying to impress Athena.
Athena nods politely, but I can tell she’s not in the slightest interested in his bragging. She looks stunning in her pale-pink pantsuit, but when I first saw her in it, I couldn’t help but giggle, as I’ve only ever seen her in white. Earlier, she whispered that she felt like “a stick of cotton candy with arms and legs” and kept adjusting the sleeves as if the color might somehow rub off on her skin if she stayed still too long.
My own dinner companion, Andreas, has been far less persistent since our illuminating conversation an hour ago. When he first sat beside me, full of compliments about my dress and hair, I waited for an appropriate moment before telling him I had no interest in men.
To his credit, after the initial shock—Greeks can be surprisingly conservative for a culture with such sexually open-minded ancient history—he relaxed, and our conversation has since flowed naturally. We’ve discovered a sharedinterest in art history, and he’s been telling me about his favorite museums in Europe.
Across the room, Sophia catches my eye. She’s been doing this all evening—sending me small smiles, tentative but genuine. It’s as if she’s trying to telegraph that she likes me, that she accepts me, without actually saying the words. Earlier, during the ceremony, she squeezed my hand when I teared up during the vows, a gesture that surprised us both. And at the reception line, she introduced me to several cousins as “Ruby, Athena’sspecial friendfrom America,” her emphasis suggesting she was trying to find the right words.
There’s a way forward here, I’m certain of it. Not an easy path, perhaps, but one we can navigate together.
The banquet has been extraordinary, an endless procession of dishes that showcase the best of Greek cuisine, and as the staff begins clearing the plates from the main course, the band takes their position at the corner of the dance floor. The sun has nearly disappeared, leaving behind a canvas of pinks and purples in the sky.
I catch fragments of conversation around me in Greek. I may not understand the words, but I recognize the tone of gossip when I hear it. All day, there have been whispers and glances, conversations that falter when Athena or I approach. News travels quickly in small communities, and by now, most guests know about this morning’s revelation. I’ve seen the looks—some curious, some disapproving, some surprisingly supportive. An elderly woman I’m told is Athena’s godmother patted my hand earlier and said something in Greek that made Demetria laugh and Athena blush furiously. When I asked for a translation, Demetria just said, “She approves of Athena’s taste.”
Demetria and Julian rise from their seats at the headtable to applause. The band begins a slow, romantic melody as they move to the center of the dance floor. Julian takes her in his arms with such tenderness that I feel a pang in my chest. Their first dance is beautiful, and they move together as if they’ve been doing this for years, not months, her white gown swirling around them. When Julian whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh, the sound rings clear across the room, and the guests smile in response.
Other couples begin to join them on the dance floor—Julian’s parents, Athena’s cousin and his wife, and an elderly couple. Soon the floor is filled with swaying bodies, the single guests remaining seated at the tables, watching.
Sophia’s gaze travels around the table until it lands on me again. Her eyes find mine, then deliberately shift to Athena. She gives me a small nod, subtle but unmistakable. An invitation. Permission.
My heart racing, I stand and smooth the front of my dress, then walk over to where Athena sits. George stops mid-sentence, confusion crossing his features as he looks up at me. But I focus only on Athena as I extend my hand.
“Would you like to dance?”
Athena’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but her lips stretch into a wide smile.
“Yes,” she says, placing her hand in mine. “I would love to.”
We move together onto the dance floor, aware of the whispers that follow us. Athena’s arm slides around my waist and my hand finds her shoulder. The band is playing something slow and sweet, and she pulls me closer. “You look beautiful tonight,” she murmurs.
“So do you,” I reply. “Even in pink.”
Athena laughs, the sound vibrating through her chestwhere it presses against mine. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’m burning this suit the minute we get back to Vegas.” She looks around, and immediately, heads turn the other way as if they hadn’t just been watching us. “Look at me,” she says. “I’m dancing with my partner at my sister’s wedding and the world hasn’t ended.”
“You’re still standing. That’s the thing about fears—they’re never quite as terrifying once you face them. Though I think your mother might need another glass of wine.”
I nod toward the family table where Sophia has become the center of an impromptu gathering. Three elegant older women have descended upon her like a flock of well-groomed vultures. They lean in close, gesturing occasionally toward us. Sophia sits rigidly in her chair, her smile fixed in place as she clutches her wineglass like a lifeline.
“I never thought I’d say this, as I could have killed her this morning, but poor Mom.” Athena watches her mother with a complexity of emotion. “She’s handling the unofficial morality committee of Santorini.” She sighs. “Look at her spine, though—straight as a rod. She won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her buckle, even now. That’s where Demetria gets her stubbornness from,” she adds with a flicker of a smile.
As the song transitions to something livelier, Demetria and Julian appear beside us on the dance floor.
“I’m sorry about the drama this morning,” Athena says, looking unusually sheepish. “I didn’t mean to come out in the bridal suite, and I shouldn’t have mentioned your pregnancy.”
Demetria snorts with laughter. “Please! You were right. Everyone there knew I was pregnant—I told them myself. Ifanything, you’ve given the other guests something to gossip about besides my weight gain and suspiciously rushed wedding.” She pats her barely-there bump. “Twenty years from now, everyone will still be talking about the day Athena Stavros wore pinkanddanced with a woman.” She grins at me. “Welcome to the family, Ruby.”
SIXTY
ATHENA
I close my suitcase, listening to the distant sounds of laughter drifting up from the terrace. Ruby stands by the balcony doors, gazing out at the sea, and for a moment, I simply watch her, memorizing the curve of her profile against the backdrop of sea and sky.
“I’m going to miss this view,” she says without turning around. “The desert has its own kind of beauty, but this…” She gestures toward the panorama before her. “This is something else entirely.”
I move to stand beside her, my hand on the small of her back. “We can come back whenever you want. The house is always here.”
