“You let me win.”
I glanced up from the Greek menu at her accusing tone, taking a moment to try and interpret her facial expression. Pursed lips, a little furrow between her brows. But there was a glint in her eyes … perhaps she was just teasing.
“I would never.” I decided to take her words at face value. “I had no intention of letting you pay regardless of your little wager. But you won, fair and square. It’s not surprising. I believe you’re quite the decorated athlete.”
Her eyes fell to her menu, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, biting back what I thought might have been a grin. “Such a stalker.” She looked up at me, blue eyes meeting mine. I tried so hard to keep eye contact but found my focus dropping to her mouth.
“What else did you memorise? My personal best time? My medal count? My menstrual cycle?”
My cheeks heated. I ducked behind the menu, pretending I was avidly reading it. I’d never been good at dating. Was this a date? I’d asked her to lunch, she’d said yes. That made it a date, didn’t it?
It wasn’t supposed to be a date, although I wasn’t sure what itwassupposed to be. She’d been teasing me while I fixated on the little wispsof hair that were escaping from her swim cap, and I’d just blurted it out.
“Are you ready to order?”
I glanced up, relieved to see a harried-looking waiter running a hand through his hair—a perfect excuse to dodge a comeback I didn’t have to her period joke.
“Yes, I …” I quickly glanced at the menu again, selecting the first thing that sounded familiar. “I’ll have the lamb souvlaki, please. And a long black, two sugars.”
The waitperson plucked the menu from my hands. Irina looked on with amusement before handing him her menu. “He’s got good taste! I’ll have the lamb too, and a skim latte.”
The waitperson rushed off without another glance at us, leaving Irina watching me so intently I had to force myself not to squirm. “So, I’m curious. In all your stalking, whatdidyou discover about me?” she asked, hands steepled in front of her.
Heart suddenly hammering in my chest, I murmured, “Nothing that didn’t lead me to more questions about you.”
Irina tilted her head, lips curving in a way that did nothing to ease my heart rate. “Ooh, I’m intrigued.” She ran her finger around the rim of her water glass, eyes so intent on my face that I could feel it like a physical touch despite not letting my own gaze lift higher than her mouth. “Well, ask away.”
Uncertainty churned in my stomach, but the words spilled out before I could decide if this was the time or place for them.
“Why didn’t you go home when your student visa expired?” I asked, voice thankfully low and lost in the burble of diners, clinking cutlery, the register’s ding and the groan of the coffee grinder.
Her smile faded as she leaned back, putting space between us. I couldn’t help watching her mouth—the way it had just curled around a grin moments ago. Then I met her eyes. Was that fear? Or just wariness?
Whatever it was, the chill of the change prickled my skin, and an explanation forced its way out of my mouth.
“I promise I’m not a stalker … well, I didn’t have any sordid reason to investigate you, anyway. You must understand—having money, this much money—is very new to me. I’ve been warned more than once to bewary of people now. They might have ulterior motives about my business, my wealth … or even just me. I promise it was only because I wanted to prove him wrong, that you weren’t in my room because you had some agenda …” I forced myself to meet her eyes, icy in her too-still face. Most people associated eye contact with trustworthiness, and I realised that I wanted her to trust me.
“And then my brain started to try and puzzle it out—I can’t help it, I’m just wired to want to find answers—and I wondered to myself what might make a person risk deportation and a potential ban from ever entering Australia again to stay here undocumented … and my brain began coming up with all sorts of potential scenarios, and some of them were quite frightening, and I?—”
“Stop,” she said softly. My mouth snapped shut, and I leaned back, finding my knees under the table and gripping them, letting the pressure ground me.
“Sorry,” I muttered eventually, staring down at the light glinting off my cutlery.
“You won’t report me to the police?” she asked, voice so fragile that I looked up. Her skin was pale, but her expression was fierce. “If you can’t promise me this, I’ll get up and walk out.”
I shook my head vehemently then cleared my throat. “No, of course not! I … I just need to understand. It’s a compulsion. I see problems, and then I need to fix them. And to fix them, I need to unpack them first.”
She watched me, tight-lipped, for a moment that stretched so long I couldn’t hold her gaze, and I blinked away. The waiter brought our coffees before melting back into the bustling tables. The sounds of the café became a deafening cacophony of sound, engulfing the silence at our table.
Finally, she lifted her hands, resting one on the table. She took a sip of her coffee. I waited, barely breathing, confused about why I was so invested in this, but simultaneously desperate for whatever explanation she was prepared to give me.
Desperate to understand her.
“Look, I’m not in the habit of confiding in virtual strangers, no matter how nice they look in a pair of speedos,” she muttered, lifted her coffee cup, took a sip and placed it back down—tongue darting outto catch a bit of stray foam at the corner of her mouth, making my next inhale hitch.
“But for some stupid reason, I feel like I can trust you. With some of it, at least.”
Some was good. Some wassomething. I didn’t dare to speak. She blew out a long breath, fingers hugging her coffee mug, and continued.
