Hidden Truths (Truths and Lies 1)

“I should be back by dinner time. Adrian will be around watching you.” He pulls my face toward his and traps my bottom lip between his teeth before he licks across my flesh. “Behave, and I’ll take you to dinner when I return.”

After cleaning up after breakfast, I throw on my bathing suit, a pair of cut-off jean shorts, and flip-flops, then head down to the beach for a walk. With Kostas renting us this home, the beach we’re on is private, cut off from the rest of the world. With the only sound coming from the waves crashing against the shore, it’s serene and peaceful. My own little piece of heaven.

Unrolling the towel from the bag I’ve packed, I lie down on it and pull up my Kindle app on my phone so I can get some reading in. The sky is shining down, and the wind is whipping around my face, calming my heartrate, and before I know it, my eyes are fluttering shut.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

My eyes pop open, and for a second I forget where I am. That is until I feel the salt sticking to my limbs and remember I’m on the beach in southeast Crete.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Grabbing my phone from where I left it next to me, I answer the call without looking to see who it is. “Hello.”

“Talia, cara mia. How are you? How was the funeral?” My mom. I spoke to her briefly after I was almost taken so she knew I was okay. She cried and begged me to come home, but she knew it wasn’t happening. I haven’t spoken to her since the funeral, and I know she’s concerned about Kostas. More about his reaction than how he’s handling his feelings toward his mother’s death. I haven’t brought my mom up to him, and he hasn’t either. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Eventually, I’m going to want to visit my mom, or have her visit me, so I imagine I’m going to have to broach the subject and see where he stands, but right now, it’s too soon. His wound is still too deep.

“It was okay,” I tell her. “Sad, of course. How are you? How’s Stefano?”

Mom breathes out a sigh, her telltale sign she’s about to tell me something I’m not going to like. “We’re okay. But…we…umm…received your bill for your classes for next semester.” The classes I signed up for just before I was taken to Crete and told I would be marrying Kostas.

“I’ll go online and cancel them,” I say, each word getting caught in my throat. “I don’t want to waste your money when we know I won’t be back.” And I won’t be graduating. Tears of hopelessness fill my eyes.

“I looked online,” Mom says. “Did you know there’s a college near you in Agios Nikolaos?”

My chest blooms with hope. I didn’t even think to look at colleges here. I was too busy fighting off psycho rapists and potential kidnappers.

“I can email you the info,” she adds.

“That would be great. Thank you, Mom.” I miss her so much. Her hugs and kisses. Her comfort.

We talk for a few minutes about the school, and the more information she gives me, the more I want to check it out. After we hang up, I click on the email she sent and browse the online catalogue. It has all the classes I need to finish my degree. Now it’s just a matter of convincing my thick-headed husband to let me go.

And then an idea blooms…

The door slams shut, and I quickly light the candles I found at the market to create a romantic ambiance. Standing, I run my sweaty palms down my tiny black dress—another find at the market—and quickly fluff my hair as I wait for Kostas.

There’s a crash and a bang and then a “Fuck!” followed by “Talia! Why the fuck is it so dark in here?” Kostas enters the dining room and stops in his place. The brightness of the candles hit his eyes and I can see the irritation in them. He’s had a bad day. And my heart sinks. This isn’t going to go over well.

“What’s all this for?” he asks, taking in the candles and dinner and me in my dress.

“Surprise.” I shrug, attempting to smile even though my nerves are getting the best of me and my entire body is now trembling. “I made you dinner.” I lift the metal lid, exposing the chicken parmesan, pasta, and broccoli. Kostas eyes me speculatively but doesn’t say a word, sitting in his seat.

“It’s Italian,” I tell him, taking his lid off, and then filling his glass with an Italian white wine I found.

“It smells good,” he says with a small smile. “Thank you.”

I sit adjacent to him and we begin eating in silence. When I can’t take it anymore, feeling as if this night is going to shit, I break the silence. “How was your day?”