Welcome to Greece. The orange is a sandstorm from the Sahara. You’re lucky to fly today
I blink. If he’d said smog or fog or even apocalypse, I would have believed him. I gaze out the window at the lingering orange tint to the sky. That’s one for my diary.
Do I thank Zeus for that?
Wouldn’t hurt. Pay your respects while you’re here
Got it
Then I hesitate for a moment, screwing my face up. I stare down at my phone, cradled between my hands, the screen going dark.
You have a link to Zeus?
I have connections, yes
Excellent. Any chance you’re up for a drink?
He types for a while, the dots dancing across the screen of my phone, each second amplifying my angst. Finally, a message comes.
Yes. Later. How’s 9pm? I’ll message you with details. I’ll make sure we’re in the VIP section
Can’t wait
Then the phone goes dark for good this time. And by the time we reach the hotel, I’m still beaming.
* * *
Later can’t come soon enough. I take advantage to settle into my luxurious hotel room with what must ordinarily be a stunning view through the haze, hanging my clothes and having a shower to freshen up for tonight. I put on a short-sleeve shirt with a black embroidery patch of a deer and flowers at the shoulder, a light cotton jacket, and black trousers, plus my favorite black Louboutin loafers. Peering in the mirror, I style my hair to look as breezy as some fashion spread in a magazine and leave a button unfastened at the neck of my white Marni shirt.
I make way to the bar Stefanos recommended, finding the VIP entry with Miles as my shadow. Even with nightfall, the sky still has an orange haze from the city lights with the lingering sandstorm. Inside the bar, it’s all shifting colors and thumping bass, and I find Stefanos at a table in the corner, and he’s already looking entertained when I join him.
“Hey,” I say casually, as if I happened to bump into him by chance. Then, a pang of something strikes, nerves or who knows what, and for a fleeting moment, I’m acutely aware of how ludicrous it is to show up in Athens so soon after meeting him. Miles sits at the next table.
“Hey, yourself.” Stefanos leans back, eyes crinkled at the corners as he gives me an appraising look. He’s in a short-sleeve pastel blue shirt with jeans, casual yet appealing. His dark waves fall over his brow. The way he smiles warms me from the inside out.
“I’ll skip falling on you this time.”
“Lucky me.”
Or unlucky me. But I bite my lower lip to keep from saying anything too ridiculous too soon and sans drink for cover.
“So what brings you to Athens?” Stefanos asks after I place a drink order. He peers curiously at me.
Shit. I should have some convincing cover story. Otherwise, this is totally outrageous. Then again, some version of the truth could come in useful. It’ll be easier to remember, anyway.
“Some holidays, some inspiration for work.” I hold his gaze, attempting to look casual and cool like I don’t have any worries in the world. “And I needed a change of scene from London. Because of the press.”
Stefanos nods sympathetically. “Well, you’re in the right place for all of the above.”
“That’s a relief. I’d hate to have caught the wrong flight.”
He laughs, a sound that shouldn’t thrill me as much as it does. “You’re not in Hades.”
Distraction, Theo. Focus. As usual, I’m running from my problems.
I quash that line of thinking before I start to spiral in the club. My drink arrives then, and I sip my margarita, which feels festive enough.
Stefanos must catch something in my expression, though, his face softening slightly. “I’m very sorry about the press.”
