At that, I can’t help the laugh that comes. “True. Maybe I should have. Maybe he should have filled out an application to prove his qualifications for dating. That he was a reasonable human. My mistake.”
“I suppose that’s what dating sites are for.”
“Nah. Apps are too much window shopping, not enough substance.” I shake my head, resolute. “And I don’t want general questionnaires. What I need to know is if a guy is going to be a dick. Or not. And how.”
“Custom questionnaire, then.”
I grin. “Yeah. Like… well, I don’t know. The most important part is if they’re going to be an arsehole, followed by are they going to sell me out to the press?”
“Very reasonable questions,” he assures me.
Which makes me wonder then if Stefanos has had his heart broken before. I stop short before I cross-examine him. He’s gazing at me, contemplative.
“What would you ask?” I peer at Stefanos.
“Probably the same, honestly. Maybe… phrased a little differently.”
I tsk at him, and he smiles in response. “I’d evaluate their design choices too. To learn more about their personality.”
“Good to know. Like what?” he asks.
“Like… wall-to-wall greige-on-griege action. I can’t. I can do monochromes if I must, but life is too short for all beige.”
He grins, gesturing around, without any beige to be seen. Everything in here is white, or nearly. White kitchen, white marble counters and floors, white sofa and throws. The artwork is colorful, though, and the windows flanked by long white curtains look out at the sea are like paintings. “What about this? Is my personality blank?”
“It’s intended to make the views stand out. Very successfully,” I say with authority. “For the record, you have a great personality.”
Stefanos laughs. “That’s the creative consultant side coming out of you.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I like it.” The way Stef looks at me feeds something hungry in my chest, like I’ve been waiting for some kind of assurance. Not that I need assurances. But it does tell me that he listens to what I say, even if he doesn’t understand creative consultancy work, which is fair. Most people don’t. Aidan didn’t, for starters. Freja’s perplexed by my work. Mamma gets it, though. And, of course, Ethan.
“And… and, well, there are textures here too, see.” I point out the linen curtains, the cotton throw blanket, a light wool area rug. The sleek marble.
Stefanos nods, taking it all in. Then I sigh and sip my wine.
“Did we do something wrong in here?” Stefanos asks, anxiety creeping across his face like he’s made an irreparable design choice.
I blink, my mind already racing back and forth on other topics. Like Aidan. “Sorry. No. I love it. I was just thinking of what an arse Aidan is. Sorry to bring him up again. I can’t believe he messaged me.”
Again, Stefanos waits patiently for me to explain, too well-mannered to pry.
“You could come up with your top ten reasons it’s a bad idea to date Aidan and leak it to the press. Or better yet, why you’re a great catch.” Stefanos offers with a grin.
“God, don’t tempt me. I’m so sorry for going on about my ex.” I shake my head. “I shouldn’t waste my time here talking about him.”
“You wouldn’t be upset if it didn’t matter to you,” he points out.
I groan. “Well?—”
Then I stop short because I don’t have any witty or, frankly, any other non-witty comebacks. Instead, I’ve got to admit he’s right. Even if I don’t like it. “Yeah. I guess.”
“I had a bad breakup a couple of years ago,” he offers. “My girlfriend from uni.”
“Oh?” Who would have the nerve to have a messy breakup with Stefanos? It doesn’t seem reasonable. I can’t help the curious look I give him, wanting to know more.
“Her name was Emily. She ended up going off with some other guy. Everyone knew about it but me, that they were sneaking around together behind my back. Then I felt like such a fool.”
