Rumors Behind the Greek's Wedding

As she reached the table neither seemed capable of moving and, while the waiter discreetly retreated, they faced each other like combatants.

Breaking the spell, he rounded the table and pulled out her chair for her, his arms either side of her feeling the heat from her body through the thin linen shirt he wore, his sleeves rolled back so that the fine dark hairs on his arms pricked up. He lingered imperceptibly, pausing just long enough to try to identify the gentle swathe of perfume kissing his senses, one he vaguely remembered from before. It was a bitter-sweet citrus scent that was balanced by something fresh and delicious that reminded him of basil.

He felt her flinch beneath him and removed himself from temptation, skirting back around the table and resuming his own seat. He sighed. No one was going to believe they were engaged if she kept jumping every time he came within a hair’s breadth of her.

‘Did you—’

‘You look—’

They had spoken together and each cut themselves off mid-sentence at the same time. Loukis frowned his discomfort. There was an awkwardness between them that hadn’t been present before. But then, before, they’d been working together. Now they were...

He gestured for her to go first.

‘Did you manage to get hold of Annabelle?’

Loukis clenched his teeth, not needing to vent his frustrations at this moment in time. He would wait until later for that. ‘Meredith had decided to take her out for the afternoon, so I will have to try again later.’

She nodded and looked about. He wondered what she was seeing. The balcony of the restaurant jutted out from the building like an architectural feat, dramatically increasing the floorspace of the flat rooftop. He had reserved the whole area. For privacy and for other important reasons, not least because of the beautiful views of the Athenian skyline at night. Framed by the dark slash of the mountain range, the Parthenon was lit dramatically in the distance, its place high up on the hill drawing every gaze, tourist and local alike. Dusk had fallen, barely an inch of pale purple remaining as the dark promise of night bled into it.

Loukis took this all in in one glance, his gaze reluctant to leave her for more than a few seconds.

‘You look beautiful.’

Her amber eyes flew back to him from the horizon, as if she was attempting to silently interrogate his meaning, his motivation.

‘Better than the beige T-shirt, then,’ she said, the sting of the bitterness in her tone dimmed slightly by the sadness he didn’t miss in her eyes.

‘The item in question was offensive only in that it was painfully obvious what you were trying to hide.’

‘And that was?’ she asked, seemingly genuinely intrigued.

‘Everything in you that is innately beautiful.’

He hadn’t

meant to say those words. He hadn’t mean to be so truthful. But there was a vulnerability about her that night that called forth the only honesty he could give her.

He knew women well. Had made it his mission to study and understand them when his own mother seemed so impossible to predict, to identify. So he knew women who would hide their pain beneath brittle masks, knew women who displayed their sensuality like a glorious fan of peacock feathers, knew women who aggressively sought dominance where they had once lost it in the past, and knew women who hid their inner sense of power and sensuality, hoarding it protectively from view. And he very much thought that Célia was of the latter variety. But as if sensing it was too much for both of them, he picked up and perused the menu blindly.

‘What would you like to drink?’

As if the waiter had sensed it was safe to return, he appeared on the balcony to take their order.

Célia seemed to take a deep breath, turned smilingly at the man and ordered a martini. It surprised him; her choice bold, the drink dry, and the request for a twist of lemon rather than an olive seemed to suit her.

‘Same,’ he stated to the waiter without taking his eyes off Célia, who was clearly uncomfortable with his constant gaze.

‘I’m surprised that you didn’t order for me,’ she said, placing her hands on her lap beneath the table. Probably, he assumed, turning them within each other as she had done before.

‘That was for speed and efficiency. This is not.’

‘What is this for, then?’

It was then that he decided not to tell her of his plans for that evening. He would need her to be as natural as possible—and even before they had ordered drinks she’d had a streak of tension through her as if she were ready to bolt.

‘This is so that we can get to know each other a little more.’

‘Is that necessary?’ she asked, still unable to meet his gaze.