“James told me.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure if Stefanos’ confession feels better or worse because I was hoping to make a decent impression on him. But between flattening Stefanos in the club and my new ex telling all and then some, I’m in a hole that’s rapidly filling with water.
“Everyone will forget soon enough.” He lifts his eyebrows at me in an appealing way. “They always do. Until—and unless—there’s another thing.”
With me, there’s guaranteed to be another thing. There always is, no matter how much I try to not have another thing, and for Aidan, I really tried. Trouble just finds me. Inwardly, I deflate. Outwardly, I hold myself up like I own London.
“Let’s hope there isn’t,” I say carelessly. I cough. Best to divert attention. “So, you’re friends with James, then?”
“Acquaintances. He invited me out tonight because he knew I was in London for a few days. I’m going home tomorrow.”
Something inside my chest drops. Disappointment, maybe. Odd. “Where’s home?”
He laughs, but there’s something that shifts in his expression. I don’t know him well enough to know what it is. Sadness? Regret? “I’m not sure.”
“Well. Where do you lay your head?” Which brings up delightful images of Stefanos rumpled in bed. “You must have a home.”
“Our family has several. The original home is in Greece. My most recent home is in Edinburgh, now that I’m finished at St Andrew’s.”
“So you’re back to Scotland?”
“Another home. I was going to go to New York, where my parents often are, but I’m off to Corfu next.”
“Right.” Clearly, I need to look up the Greek royals and figure out who’s who and where they hang out. Meanwhile, another unreadable emotion ripples through me. I keep my tone light. “Too bad you’re not sticking around London.”
“I come to London every once in a while. Actually, I was born in London. We used to live here, in Hampstead, before my parents moved to New York a few years ago.”
“Well, let me give you my number. If you want, you can look me up next time you’re here. Or you can delete it tonight when you’re in your hotel or whatever.” I shrug a shoulder.
He laughs, a reward that thrills me. Stefanos unlocks his phone and pulls up a new contact, handing his phone over to me. I tap out my number as the rain falls on us and pass it back. Our fingers brush. I shiver as my face warms. And it’s not only because of the cold rain on the back of my neck.
Chapter Four
“It’s this street here.” Shortly after we exchange numbers, I nod at the Dover Street sign above Stefanos and me on the corner. I lead the way to my flat, in a pale-fronted Georgian building, with its large, rectangular windows looking over the street-level shops and businesses. As we enter my building a few minutes later, I greet the porter, who ferries us all up in the lift, and then I let the group loose in my flat. Miles leads the collection of bodyguards over to the suite adjoining my flat.
Once inside, James and Frankie head straight into the front room with its generous sofas. I told them to make themselves comfortable, and they’re not wasting a second.
Turning to Stefanos, who looks around the entry with its high coved ceilings and a large abstract painting by a London artist, I hesitate. “Right, I promised you a clean shirt at least.”
“Only if it’s not a problem…” In the soft light of the entry, Stefanos is stunning. He gives a quick smile, which warms something even in my dark heart. “I mean, I won’t stay much longer. I’ve called for a car. You don’t?—”
“Not a problem,” I confirm easily, casting my gaze over him. We have a similar enough build and height, so it shouldn’t be an issue to find something for him to wear. “You have problems, I have solutions.”
I hurry off, then flip through a selection of shirts in my wardrobe till I find a Balenciaga black silk shirt with a subtle botanical print, which would look great with his dark hair. It’ll accommodate his biceps and chest to full effect.
“Here you go.” I present him my offering with what I hope is an appropriately apologetic smile. “I’m very sorry for squashing you and getting your shirt in a mess.”
“Oh, this is far too nice.” Stefanos gawps at me, shaking his head. “I was thinking something along the lines of a T-shirt.”
“Nonsense.” I wave him off with my free hand. If there’s one thing I can spare, it’s a shirt, at the very least. “I’m a clotheshorse. I have plenty of shirts. It’s a waste to have them all hanging there, unworn.”
“Well, if you insist…”
“I insist with every single fiber of my being,” I say.
A smile plays with the corners of his mouth. I do my best not to stare.
“Okay,” Stefanos agrees. “As long as it’s every fiber.”
