“Go shopping? You could.”
I shake my head. “It's not the shopping. It's the exploring. Other people who I would never have run into at home—all their stories, their arts—it’s like adding a new color to a paint palette.”
“So you’d like to travel more?”
“I wish I could have more of everything. More places, more experiences, more people. And I don't just want to see them, I want them to experienceme.I want to leave a little part of myself everywhere I go, so I know that I’m leaving something behind.” I shake my head. “I guess that must not make any sense.”
“It does.” He hesitates a moment. “Sometimes, I think I’m lucky that my parents were famous. So many people knew them, or at leastfeltlike they knew them. They’re gone now, but I'm not the only one responsible for holding their memories.”
“Sequel was their idea, right?” I ask, and he nods. “So in a way, you’re sharing them even more, bringing their dream into almost every household in Canada.”
“Yes.” It's just a single word, but the way he says it feels enormous. Like maybe nobody else has ever understood that. I wonder if it’s true.
No—I must be imagining that. I'm sure he's talked about that with his best friends before. He wouldn't have saved it to confide in only me.
By the time we get back to the car, the sun has lowered enough that the sky is streaked with gold and pink. The driver helps James unload my bags into the truck before starting the short drive to the villa.
I love the building the second I see it. Perched high above the sea, it looks like a seashell with its white stucco and blue shutters. We drive into a lovely courtyard framed with olive trees and park in front of a small fountain.
We’re greeted at the door by a tiny, ancient Greek woman who comes up to about my shoulder. The driver informs us that she’s the housekeeper and chef, as well as that she doesn’t speak a word of English.
Neither James nor I speak Greek, but that doesn't stop the housekeeper from chattering on extensively as she shows us around the place. She leads us through a large, open living room with cool stone floors and glass windows, looking out at a wide terrace and an infinity pool. She gestures down a hallway to a kitchen, but I can’t tell whether she’s inviting us to go there or asking us to stay out of her way.
She ends her tour in our bedroom. It's massive, easily twice the size of James's room at home. One end of the room has a small sitting area, with a little desk facing the window that would be perfect for sketching at. The other end contains a gigantic bed covered in white linens. Sliding glass doors open onto the terrace we saw earlier. From here, I can see that a tall line of shrubs blocks the pool and terrace from being viewed from the kitchen. James and I will have plenty of privacy.
I can’t help but think it’s exactly the kind of place a person might fall in love, if they were the type.
Once she’s pointed to our bags, set down just next to a large wardrobe, the housekeeper leaves us, closing the door behind her.
I glance at the large bed. James and I have never justslepttogether before. Of course, the housekeeper would assume we’d stay together as husband and wife, but that’s not us.
“Are you sure you want me to stay here?” I ask.
James raises a brow. “Where else would you stay?”
“I don’t know, a guest room or something.”
“Is that what you want?”
His expression is inscrutable. I have no idea if he wants me to sleep with him, or if he’s just indifferent. I examine his eyes and the set of his mouth, trying to figure out the answer he wants.
“No,” I say finally. “I want to stay with you.”
His eyes flash with pleasure. “Good.”
Blood buzzes through my brain as I stroll around the room, taking it all in. Today was exhilarating, but also exhausting. I'm dying to explore, to go out and look over the edge of the terrace, but I'm exhausted and more than a little sweaty.
“I’m going to go shower,” I tell James.
“Good. I have to check a few emails.” He pulls off his suit jacket and loosens his tie, finally ready to relax, as much as he’s capable of doing.
The shower is heavenly, hot, steamy, and with water pressure so strong, my skin feels massaged. I happily turn my face up to the water and let it wash away the plane smell and any dust from the village streets. It’s so soothing, I could probably fall asleep standing up if I’m not careful.
Finally, I emerge, wrapped in a fresh white towel with my hair damp around my shoulders. I half-expect to find James on the phone with Taylor, carefully rescheduling every item for the next few days of our trip.
Instead, I find him sprawled out on top of the duvet, asleep. His cuffs and the top buttons of his shirt are undone, but otherwise, he’s still completely clothed, save for his shoes and socks. His chest rises and falls with long, even breaths.
I walk to the edge of the bed, gazing down at him. His lips are slightly parted, his face more relaxed than I’ve ever seen it. He looks years younger than he usually does, without his sharp, composed expression.
