“It’s adorable,” she said. “Is it for you?”
Andreas huffed with laughter.
“Éla, not for me—for you.”
“Me?”
“I have already four,” he said, exchanging a look with a shop owner, who grinned.
“I’ll buy it, then,” Skye replied, but as she reached for it, Andreas swept it out of her grasp.
“It is a gift,” he protested.
Another gift. From the man who had brought her food, wine,and an admittedly awful frying pan—all essentials. This, though, was different: a gift given not out of sympathy but a desire to please. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Skye was about to argue when her phone vibrated. Stepping back, she fished it from her bag, her heart sinking as she saw the screen.
A message, fromhim, three simple words that called a halt to the spinning of her world.
Where are you?
Nine
Skye stared at her phone.
One bar of signal, that was all it had taken to drive a stake of dread through her heart. He was always going to reach out, to demand an explanation, but the silence of the past few days had allowed her to hope.
“Is everything OK?” Andreas asked as Skye shoved the phone back into her pocket. “Has something happened?”
“No, nothing,” she said, her teeth clenched as she hefted her bag of purchases.
“Éla, let me—”
She stepped away, making for the exit, the bubble-wrapped mirror awkwardly pressed to her side. He followed, the birdhouse left forgotten on the counter behind them, and didn’t object when she suggested they head back to the truck.
The interior was baking hot, and having started the engine, Andreas promptly switched on the air-conditioning.
“Have you decided yet what to do about furniture?” he asked,turning in his seat as he reversed out from their parking spot. When Skye didn’t answer, he glanced across at her.
“There are good stores in Santorini, more in Paros, and many, of course, in Athens. You can pay for the delivery or travel across on the ferry to collect things yourself.”
Skye was only half listening and moments later found herself apologizing for having ignored him.
“You say sorry a lot,” he observed.
“Do I?”
“This is not a very Greek behavior.”
“Oh,” she said distractedly. “Sorry.”
Andreas groaned.
“Éla re,” he muttered in mock despair, shaking his head over the steering wheel. Skye tried to focus on the view, but the vast sweep of sea no longer felt like a security blanket, the desolate land that flanked the highway an empty surface from which she could easily be snatched. Shifting in her seat, she took out her phone and once again read the text.
Where are you?
There was no way of knowing when it had been sent, not without opening it properly—and doing so would alert the sender.
