Unable to help it, I bristle. “She’s the fool, not you.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Stefanos shrugs, glancing down at his wine. “It all felt awful for a long time. Then eventually, it got better. But I don’t really date much. I mean, I guess being dumped wasn’t the sign from the universe I needed. Since then, I’ve been busy with different things and on the move a lot. There hasn’t been time for much dating. You know how it is with royal schedules, and mine’s nothing compared to yours.”
“I’m sure it’s not nothing. But it makes sense you’re busy.” Something sinks in me then, something that has no business at all to sink because Stefanos is a prince, and I’m a prince, and there won’t be any more prince-on-prince action, not after Auggie. Plus, I’m the one freshly dumped right now. And I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about dates except for the dates my friends plan to set me up on to redeem my profile from the bad press when I get back to London. So we sit there considering each other in the quiet for a long moment. Then I offer, “Aidan wants to talk to me. I don’t really want to talk to him. I’m angry.”
“I’d be angry, too, if I were you. Honestly, I’d be worried if you weren’t.” He grins. “Then someone would need to stage an intervention.”
“Are you offering?”
“I might be.”
I laugh, feeling a bit cheered. “Yeah, I guess. It’s like I had one feeling left, and he stomped it out. I mean, I should have blocked him. I should still block him.”
“Then block him, if you want. Nobody would blame you.”
I pull out my phone, swipe into my contacts. Something makes me hesitate. Really, the sensible thing to do would be to block Aidan and delete his details and forget about him forever. Yet I can’t quite bring myself to do it. I shove my phone away, knowing I’m only setting myself up for more head games. Maybe later.
Maybe I just need a chance first to let the idea of blocking him sink in. Or maybe some secret part of me wants to believe he’s still going to send a legit, heartfelt apology. Which I know it isn’t. He probably just wants more content.
“Do you want to go out? Get some fresh air? See a little of Kerkyra at night? It’ll give you some inspiration for your work, I think.”
I perk up. “I’d love to.”
And I shove any more thoughts of Aidan away.
Chapter Fifteen
Corfu Town at night buzzes. Even in January. Even if it’s cold. People are out as we walk through narrow streets made more so by parked cars until we reach the pedestrian-only heart of Old Town. Wearing our hats and sunglasses, we wander in the purple twilight. Our security trails us discreetly. There are shops and bars, people wanting to be seen, even if it’s not the summer. Some shops have metal rollers pulled down over closed storefronts. The old Venetian buildings in pale yellows and earth tones loom overhead with shuttered windows, contrasting with the sky.
Soon, we duck into a bar and find seats at the back beneath lofty ceilings. It’s private enough and thrilling to be out in plain sight just like anyone else. We order our drinks.
“How does a prince become a creative consultant?” Stefanos asks easily over his beer, his gaze curious. Having his undivided attention is a thrill.
“Just something I fell into, I guess. It’s not something I planned or could have predicted. I always liked making things. My mother was an influence, seeing what she did with our royal residences for styling and decor. She always makes our personal living areas feel so inviting. I know I won’t be able to do this forever, that there will be more royal duties ahead—” My mouth twitches at the unexpected turn my sister’s plans have taken, on top of my father’s death. “And my parents gave me the freedom to explore and express myself. I’ve been very lucky.”
Stefanos nods, smiling.
“How about you?”
“Me? I’m not so good at making things.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Aside from food.”
“That definitely counts. It’s definitely more useful than sewing cushions.” My knack for soft furnishings doesn’t exactly provide the skill set for royal duties. But it does give pillows and blankets to burrow in when everything becomes too hectic, I suppose.
“I don’t know,” says Stefanos, “that’s a skill too. I guess… I’m still finding my way after finishing uni last year. I went from one degree right to the next, so I haven’t been out in the real world for long. I haven’t settled into a proper job or anything. Last summer, I worked on an archaeological dig, which was a dream. But it’s seasonal. I volunteered in an archaeological lab for a month last October. And since then, I’ve been traveling between our homes and trying to figure out what’s next. My father says I shouldn’t do a PhD, not yet. He thinks I should try something different for a while other than sticking my nose in more books.”
“Do you want to do a PhD? And there’s nothing wrong with liking books.” I think of Mamma’s study, my favorite place to curl up with a book and hers too. “Or knowledge.”
“Well… yes, I do want to do the PhD.” Stefanos chuckles, looking sheepish. “Maybe I just want to be a professional student. Ultimately, I want to help. I love reading and stories and old ruins. Maybe it’s because I grew up being told Greek myths. But seriously, I’d love to study to be able to do something useful like fight to get the Parthenon marbles back home to Athens. Or other things that have been stolen. We’re not in exile anymore, the Royal Family, I mean, but still, I would love to do something meaningful for the country if I can.” He turns his beer in his hands, fidgeting with the paper label.
“Fuck. Way better than knowing how to make coordinating cushions.” I gaze at Stef, taking him in, the way he comes alive when he talks about something he’s passionate about.
Stef laughs, a delightful flush coloring his cheeks, even in the low light. “Well. I don’t know.”
“I do.” I nod with certainty, leaning in across the table.
“I mean…” Stefanos tries gamely over his drink as he leans back in his chair. “You must have gone to school for something, I’m guessing. These days, there are expectations for royals with education.”
“Yes, I did. Though not in economics or political science or anything like that. I did a year of military service when I was eighteen. After that, I could do what I wanted. Uni’s why I went to London in the first place, then stayed. But you’ll never guess what I studied at uni.”
