The boat arrives before too long, even if it feels like seventy-five years later. A crew hand throws a line to Stefanos to pull us together as close as we can. Stefanos helps me over to the other boat, where two men help bring me on board. When I turn around, it’s a terrifying sight to see the half-sunken yacht and Stefanos still standing there to make sure I’m over the rail safely.
Then, he efficiently climbs over too, and the next moment, he stands beside me. He talks quickly in Greek as I watch the yacht continue to sink with increasing speed as Stefanos predicted. They release the line, and we start to pull away to watch and wait for the coast guard to arrive. Before long, they join us, and we’re helped on board as I shiver in the cool driving rain. Someone talks at me in rapid-fire Greek. My eyes widen.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Greek.” I glance from her over to Stefanos, who stands a short distance away.
“Are you injured?” the woman asks me in English with a heavy accent, which brings me back to her.
“No, no. I’m fine. Just cold.”
“Come inside with me.”
I follow her into the cabin, and Stefanos joins us a few moments later, looking decidedly unhappy. The animated conversation between him and the crew continues as I look out the window. The only thing I recognize is my name sandwiched in Greek. By this point, the bow is the only part of the sleek yacht remaining above water. A few more boats come in response to the distress call, and now to watch the grand finale of the sinking of the yacht. Which is probably being live-streamed on Instagram by someone. Better not think about that at the minute.
I glance again at Stefanos, and he’s totally unraveling now that we’re safe. He’s tugging at his hair and chewing his lip, a wild look in his eyes. He keeps glancing at his phone, shoving it away, and pulling it out again a moment later, over and over again. Fuck, I wish I knew what to do to calm him down, to assure him we’ll be fine. The worst is behind us.
I reach over as he stands near me and grip his elbow. Rather than the warmth of his kiss I daydreamed about an eternity ago, the first touch other than landing on him in the club is holding on to a cold, wet waterproof. “Hey. It’s gonna be okay.”
Stefanos stops his conversation to glance at me, taking in unsteady breaths. He’s flushed and agitated. Then he ignores me like I’m not even there, and he’s off deep in conversation again with the crew. There’s a lot of hand gesturing and impassioned conversation.
I’m wrapped in a blanket and made to sit down. My face is warm from windburn. Before long, I have a hot tea between my frozen fingers.
He’s given tea as well and sits beside me as the crew talk in Greek. Someone is on the phone, and they keep glancing over at us. Meanwhile, I keep glancing between Stefanos and the yacht.
Stefanos looks glum. He won’t meet my gaze, which isn’t a good sign, instead fixed on the yacht. My stomach lurches. He must blame me on some level, whether he wants to admit it or not. And he seems to be firmly in the or not stage right now.
Our coast guard boat stays until the yacht’s fully underwater. Then after a little bit longer, we’re underway towards Paxos again.
Stefanos sighs, raking a hand through his wet hair. “I’m so fucked,” he says quietly in English.
“I told you, it’s my fault,” I tell him urgently, leaning in. “Please. You did everything you needed to do—and we’re safe. That’s the most important thing, right?”
He still won’t meet my gaze. “They’ll need to do an investigation.”
“An investigation?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can talk to them,” I begin with authority, not letting the fact that I don’t speak Greek slow me down.
“Please, Theodor.” Stefanos shakes his head, finally looking at me, his face lined. Part of me wants to reach out and smooth the stress away. He chews his bottom lip. “No.”
“No?” I ask softly, leaning in.
Stefanos shakes his head, looking resigned. His shoulders slump. “Also, I should tell you that they know we’re both princes.”
“That’s probably not going to help the situation, is it?” Once this hits social media and the press, our small private incident will become tabloid fodder and create international headlines, and we’ll disgrace both our monarchies, our countries, and upset our families all in one epic event. In record time. And it’ll be another one for the history books.
“No,” he confirms. “It’s not.”
We’re quiet for a long moment.
“Well, shit.” I rub my face and give Stefanos a sidelong glance. He’s staring morosely into his tea like it’s to blame for this situation. Or at least accessory to the crime.
“And… I need to call my father and tell him I sank his yacht. Before he sees it on the news.” He swallows, shaking his head with a certain finality. “It was his dream yacht, replacing our old one. He just bought it last year. New.”
“Fuck.” I sigh and sit back in my seat. I work on the remains of my tea, contemplating how fucked we are. Which is to say, supremely fucked. On a fucked rating, I’d say we’re at eleven out of ten, at least. This probably isn’t a good time to ask if the yacht was insured or how much it’s worth. And no matter how fucked I am, Stefanos is definitely, definitely more fucked, and I can’t stop blaming myself. Because if I hadn’t been about to kiss him and been all distracting, he would have seen the chart, and we would have avoided the reef.
And I can only wonder how long it will take for news of the sinking to hit the tabloids—and make the news back home.
