“This is a miracle,” I marvel, gesturing at the spread of food on the counter.
“It’s not a miracle. It’s leftovers.” Stefanos shakes his head. “I knew we would be hungry by the time we got in.”
We sit at the table and work our way through an array of mezethes and the salad Stefanos fixes up for us. I glance at him across the table. He looks as wrecked as I feel.
“We’ll figure this out,” I tell him. “It’s going to be okay. We’re safe. That’s what matters, right?”
“Mm. I’ll need to call my father again after we finish eating.” Stefanos’ voice is flat, and he’s about as enthusiastic as someone headed for a root canal. Except replace root canal with the sinking of a premium yacht, and the heaviness resumes around my shoulders too. His gaze flickers down to his meal again.
“Yeah… I need to call my mother too.” And I pray that there hasn’t been any coverage as yet in the news or elsewhere. Not that Mamma’s on social media. But Freja might be, and who knows what she’d say other than you’ll never guess what Theo’s done this time. I sigh, pushing some leaves around my plate with my fork.
When I glance up, Stefanos gazes at me again. It’s tough to read his expression. There’s something soft and sad in his eyes, in the tightness of his mouth. Stefanos clears his throat at last. He hesitates, a long, drawn-out moment. “I’m very sorry, Theo, but I’ll need you to leave tomorrow. I’ll have a lot to sort out.”
“I can help,” I say in a rush, urgent. “Please.”
“Unless you can undo what happened, I don’t think you can.” His lips press into a line. “You don’t know my father. It would be better for both of us if you weren’t here. My father said he’s on his way to the island.”
I blink. “Where is he?”
“New York.”
My eyes widen. “Right.” Then it’s my turn for a round of throat clearing and fidgeting with my cutlery. How can I convince him that I would do anything to try to make this terrible situation better? “I would stay if it helps?—”
“Believe me, it won’t.” His tone is heavy.
At last, I nod slowly, holding Stefanos’ gaze as the familiar ache hits my stomach again. And here’s another thing I’ve fucked up. Whatever chance I might have had with Stefanos is also somewhere at the bottom of the Mediterranean off Paxos with the sunken yacht. I wish I could do something to fix our situation. To have him not face the fallout alone. “I’m so sorry, Stefanos. Believe me.”
“Me too.” Stefanos just nods, his gaze falling once more. He puts his cloth napkin on the table. “Excuse me, I need to call my father now. He’s waiting.”
“Right. Of course.”
And my heart sinks. That’s it, then. I’ve wrecked any chances with him for good.
Chapter Twenty
After Stefanos leaves, I clear our dishes and put away the containers that are out on the counter and load the dishwasher. Then I retreat to my room to call my mother as anxiety ricochets through my body.
Keep it together, I tell myself firmly. As if there’s a royal protocol for the sinking of yachts. Particularly yachts belonging to other royals. I flop onto my bed with its white duvet and fluffy pillows, sitting up against the headboard.
I message Mamma first to see if she’s available to talk, and of course, when I would love for her to be too busy to speak with me, it turns out she’s very available for a call. Like right now.
After a long moment of dithering, I call. The phone only rings twice before she answers my video call. “Hi, Mamma.”
“Theo, darling. I was thinking of you.” She smiles fondly at me. Just in case, I try to suss out any subtle hint of anger, shock, or dismay in her expression. If she’s any of those things, she’s keeping it well hidden. Obviously, she hasn’t heard the news, then.
“Why?”
She laughs. “Do I need a reason? You’re my son. Of course I think of you often. And Freja.”
“Is she still on with the ferret guy?” I can’t keep the weariness from my voice. “Can we cancel him?”
“Theo,” she scolds. “Yes. I mean no. I mean—yes, she’s still married to Avery, and no, we cannot cancel him.” She draws in a deep, steadying breath because someone has to take the high ground in this conversation, and obviously, it’s not me. “There’s no sign of an annulment, unfortunately.”
“That’s a real shame.”
“Where are you? It doesn’t look like your flat.” Mamma looks at me.
I run a hand through my hair and give her a sheepish look. “I’m not home. I’m in, er, Greece. Visiting a friend.”
