Ian makes a low sound — almost a laugh. “Fair point.”
Before I can reply, Reth glances back over his shoulder.
His eyes find mine instantly, like he always knows exactly where I am. For a second, he just looks at me — that winter-blue stare cutting straight through the noise of the market — then turns back to the crowd like nothing happened.
But only for a heartbeat.
He pivots, moving with that lethal grace that still makes my stomach flip, and suddenly he’s right in front of me. Towering. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. The rest of the world fades to a dull hum.
He leans in. Close enough that if either of us moves even a fraction, we’d be kissing in the middle of this crowded market like we’re the only two people left alive.
“You’re analyzing me.” His eyes drop to my mouth then drag back up, dark and hungry.
“I’m watching you.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Then tell me how it works.”
His hand slides around the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me, thumb stroking the side of my throat, right over my racing pulse.Eyes burn into mine with that terrifying, beautiful intensity that makes me feel completely owned.
“Keep watching,” he says softly, dangerously. “See what happens.”
He nips my bottom lip — sharp, possessive. Then he pulls away just enough to leave me aching, turns, and continues walking like he didn’t just set my entire body on fire in the middle of the market.
Ian’s still got the cheese in his hand. “You two are going to get us arrested.”
"I want to try the honey.”
"You get eye-fucked for three seconds and suddenly you want honey." He falls into step beside me, cheese still in hand. "I'm going to need therapy. Professional, expensive therapy. The kind with a couch and a wall of diplomas."
"You're fine."
"I'm traumatized." He gestures broadly at the market around us. "There are children here, Sophia."
I take the cheese out of his hand and give it back to the stall owner with an apologetic smile.
"Hey—"
"You weren't going to buy it, anyway."
"I was considering it."
"You've been considering it for twenty minutes."
Ian opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks at Reth's back ahead of us. "He bit you," he remarks. "In public. In a market. In Greece."
"Ian."
"I'm just noting it for the record."
Ian buys bread he claims is the best thing he's ever put in his mouth and makes me try it, and it is actually extraordinary. Reth stops at a stall selling local wine and exchanges a few words with the vendor in what sounds like functional Greek. I watch him do this, one hand loose at his side — and feel the complicated tenderness of loving someone in all their contradictions.
Ian appears at my shoulder. "He speaks seven languages," he says quietly, following my gaze. "Eight if you count the one he made up to confuse Andrei."
We’re standing at the honey stall together when I feel the shift in Reth.
His right hand drops from his side in one small, controlled motion — sliding closer to the inside of his jacket. Most people wouldn’t notice. I do. That tiny movement means the world just became dangerous.
