Kiss the Girl (Naughty Princess Club 3)

My stomach flops with excitement and my skin gets warm when he pauses to give me a heated look.

“And what you’ve done with the Naughty Princess Club. It’s amazing. You should be really proud of that. You girls worked your asses off, building something out of nothing that has completely taken off.”

I blush at his compliment and try to brush it off.

“We were broke and desperate and tricked into thinking we would be princesses at a little girl’s birthday party,” I remind him.

“But you realized your potential and changed gears. You didn’t give up. It’s truly amazing. I’ve never had to work for anything in my life. It was all just handed to me, and I’ve always taken it for granted. All I had to do was ask, and I got whatever I wanted. And then I met you, and the first words out of your mouth to me were fuck off,” he laughs.

“And yet here you are. Still not fucking off.”

“Nope. I took one look at you and I knew for the first time in my life that I’d have to work my fucking ass off. And it would be worth every mouthy moment from you.”

Jesus, this guy is good. I’m pretty sure my underwear just ripped itself off of my body.

“Your childhood must have made all the kids in your neighborhood hate you. I bet you were one of those kids who had themed birthday parties with bouncy houses and caterers and your own merry-go-round,” I muse.

“Actually, my birthday was usually spent with my nanny. My parents traveled a lot,” he says with a shrug, taking a bite out of his taco.

“Jesus, that’s depressing. I guess I just thought you were close to them, with the whole yacht business and everything.”

“I was close to my dad. He’s the one who started the yacht business. He died when I was ten, and my mom took over running everything, and, I don’t know, growing the business became the most important thing in the world to her. At least it’s always seemed that way, although if you ask her, she’ll tell you everything she’s done was for me and to secure my future.” He grabs a napkin, wipes off his mouth, and tosses it on the table.

“So, I know you said your family was Greek, but the name Sailor . . .” I trail off.

Eric laughs and nods. “Yeah, my dad’s family was actually the ones who were Greek. His last name was Moustakas. I think you’d probably love my mother. When they got married, she refused to change her name and made my dad take hers. It was very scandalous back then, but she didn’t give a shit. She refused to change anything about herself for a man, no matter how much she loved him, including her name. My dad adored her, so he did whatever she wanted. That’s why my last name is Sailor instead of Moustakas.”

We finish up our lunch and throw our garbage away, then spend the next few hours lazily strolling through the booths. When we get to the last one on the map, I laugh and point at an item on the table.

“Holy shit, that ceramic bust looks like you!”

Eric grabs the item off the table and we both inspect it. The painted bust is of a man with short dark hair and bright blue eyes, wearing what looks like it could be a uniform from sometime in the 1700s.

“That’s Captain Pavlos Kotzias,” the man behind the table tells us. “He originated from Greece around 1765. According to some history books, he was on an exploration mission when one night, while the rest of his crew was asleep, he heard singing. Some say the singing put him in a trance as he walked away from the ship’s wheel in search of the sound. According to the legend, her looked over the ship’s railing and saw the most beautiful creature in the world swimming alongside the boat—a mermaid. She tempted him so much with her voice that he dove overboard, never to be seen or heard from again, leaving the crew to get the ship safely back to shore. Some say he’s still living at the bottom of the ocean with her, the songs she sings to him so heartbreaking that they make him never want to leave her side.”

Eric and I are both staring wide-eyed at the guy as he finishes his story.

“Well, that wasn’t depressing at all,” I mutter as I watch Eric pull his wallet out of his back pocket. “What are you doing?”

“Are you kidding me? I have to buy this.”

He spends a few minutes haggling with the man on the price, and when he’s finally satisfied, Eric hands over several bills with a huge smile on his face.

When we’re walking away, he hands the ceramic bust to me.