Stefanos looks intrigued. “Law?”
“Ha, not a chance. Though my father pointed out with the way I could negotiate things like bedtime and treats as a kid with counterarguments was wasted.” I smile at the memory, then set aside the bittersweet feeling that comes with the loss of my father.
Stefanos laughs. “Finance?”
“Go on to the opposite of finance, and you’ll find me there.” Stef will never guess. It’s essentially impossible.
“Art?”
“No, but close enough. I’ll give you points because I’m a nice guy.”
Oh, help. The reward of his laughter thrills me.
“Fashion merchandising and buying, at University of the Arts, London. I have my degree.”
Stefanos looks entirely impressed, like I’ve won the Nobel Peace Prize or told him I’m a neurosurgeon. Which is probably the first time anybody’s looked at me like that after I’ve told him what I studied at uni. “Your family let you study fashion?”
I laugh. “I think they were worried I was going to skip uni altogether, so my mother advocated for me to go. They knew I wasn’t going for a military career.”
“Wow. I mean, you’ve got quite the full spectrum there.”
“Yeah. Now, I’m all set to run a shop. In my mind.” I shake my head wryly. “I never actually ended up working in merchandising, other than a short internship. I casually helped friends and family with decorating, and turns out I had a knack for it. I took a few more short courses for training. And I loved coming up with design concepts. So I went down that road and met my friend Ethan, and here I am.”
“Well, unlike me, you have a job,” Stefanos points out, “and purpose. Which is definitely up there in the practical department.”
“You’ve got skills, though. Like the cooking, as established. And I bet there’s something else. Tell me.”
Stefanos considers, absent-mindedly scratching his jawline. The simple gesture is mesmerizing. The way he moves his head to the side ever so slightly, the way he extends his neck. “Packing a suitcase very efficiently?”
“Try again.”
“I have impeccable trowel skills.”
I laugh. “Fair. Probably transferrable to masonry and gardening.”
“I’ll add it to my resumé.”
“And travel, obviously. That’s a skill too. You could help people plan trips and itineraries. Things like that, if you want. You can even make luxury city or country tours about history and archaeology. People would love that, from a prince. I bet you speak a few languages too,” I tell him.
“I do.” Stefanos looks thoughtfully at me. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”
“Thanks. Ideas guy, that’s me. Like I said, I’m great at concepts.” I laugh, shaking my head at myself.
We gaze at each other. His expression is thoughtful.
“I guess I can do something else,” Stefanos offers. “In the skills department. I know how to sail a boat and captain a yacht. I mean, a very small yacht. Technically, still a yacht.”
“That’s cool.” I look at him, impressed.
Stefanos shrugs easily, as if it’s something most people can do. “I come from a maritime country, mostly. At least in my family, we spent summers on the water. It’s when everyone comes together in Greece. Here in Kerkyra, Santorini, Barcelona, and so on.”
“That sounds amazing. The last time we had everyone together, the extended family, was for my father’s funeral.” It comes out before I can suppress it and therefore murder the easy conversation about yachting and pivot instead to grief and death in a single breath. Which is another knack I have.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m so sorry about your father,” Stefanos says immediately. Around us, the din of the bar continues in the low light. Dance music plays on, loud conversations fill the room. “Yes, of course, I heard the news about the King last year. My condolences. I can’t even begin to imagine.”
“Me either,” I admit, fidgeting with my cuff. “Even though I’ve had some time now to get used to the idea he’s gone. Before that, despite my being away in London the last few years, my father was always supportive of me. Even if he didn’t always understand my choices.”
