by Leylah Attar
So this was why he was so easygoing. Thomas knew it was pointless to argue with Isabelle. If he let her run wild, she’d eventually hit a wall. And when she did, he’d swoop in to save the day. On the surface it looked like Isabelle was in control, but really, Thomas was steering the ship.
I pulled Isabelle aside when he wasn’t looking. “So? Did you take the test?”
She responded with a blank look.
“Are you kidding me? The pregnancy test? Are you pregnant, Isabelle?”
“Oh, that.” She grinned. “Turns out, I was just late.”
I shot her daggers with my eyes.
“After all the trouble I went through to get you that test, the least you could do is give me a niece or nephew.”
Isabelle giggled. “Umbrella, Moti. The sun’s hitting my face.”
While our white friends were forever chasing a summer glow, Isabelle and I were raised to covet the other end of the spectrum. Our mothers had a heart attack if our brown skin turned a degree darker.
“Who’s going to marry you now?” they moaned. “An Indian bride should always be fairer than her groom.”
Of course, this wasn’t true for Isabelle and Thomas, and as ridiculous as the notion was, Isabelle felt flawed for it. I’m pretty sure she swapped out Thomas’s sunscreen for tanning lotion. And his hat kept mysteriously disappearing whenever we were out. If Isabelle couldn’t get any fairer, Thomas was just going to have to get darker.
Bake, Thomas, bake.
We were all sweating under the heat of the sun. At Black Beach, the romantic Walk-On-The-Beach Shot turned into a trot because the sand was unbearably hot. Thomas and Isabelle looked like they were treading on burning coals. By the time we got to Oia for the last location on the list—the castle—Isabelle’s feet were angry and charred. She kicked off her shoes and rummaged in the bag for her spare pair.
“Dammit. I think I left them on the boat.”
Thomas, Teri, Fia, and I clustered around to keep the crowds from trampling her as she searched the suitcase. It was still hours before sunset, but everyone seemed to have the same idea—to head to the castle early and snag a spot before the main event. Matchy-matchy couples thronged by, along with women negotiating cobbled streets in high heels and photography enthusiasts with lenses the size of the Hubble telescope.
“Dammit,” Isabelle said again.
“Just go barefoot,” Thomas said. At this point, we were all de-corked, de-fizzed, and ready to call it a day.
“But there’s donkey poop everywhere. Just call them.”
“Call who?”
“The boat. Call Captain Bailey and ask her to send someone over with my shoes.”
Which was how I ended up at an ice-cream shop, waiting for Isabelle’s shoes, while everyone else went scouting for the perfect location to capture the sunset. I had a newfound respect for married people. Taking wedding photos was hard work and also, the last chance to see what your partner morphed into under extreme pressure.
Tucking the umbrella under my arm, I peered over the flavors in the gelateria. Settling under the awning with my waffle cone, I watched one of the employees write on the outdoor chalkboard marquee: Stavros is looking for a wife.
Someone, presumably Stavros’s mother, cackled from the street.
A pink scooter sputtered to a stop outside the ice-cream shop. A girl at the next table elbowed her friend and they both stared at the new arrival.
Alex. In off-duty mode. Frayed jeans, a white T-shirt and messy hair, made even messier by his bike ride.
My cheeks burned when he picked me out and dismounted. Suddenly, I was looking at him through teenage eyes, re-living first crushes—the way your heart pauses, then picks up, double-time.
What the hell is going on with me?
It’s because he can cook, another voice answered. What woman can resist an alpha-beta combo?
“Special delivery.” He straddled the bench across from my table and slid Isabelle’s shoes toward me.
“Thanks.” My skin prickled as his eyes drifted over my bare shoulders. The light was golden, the air still hot and heavy. “Nice ride.” I motioned to his bike.
“The only rental I could get at this time of the day. Captain Bailey said to get these here as fast as possible.”
“Right.” I grabbed the shoe bag from him and stood. “I should get going. Isabelle is waiting on these.”
“Wait a minute.” His fingers clamped around my wrist. “You’re walking around like that?”
I glanced at my bare toes. “I lent Isabelle my shoes.”
“So put hers on.”
“Isabelle’s shoes?” Blasphemy. We wore the same size, but I could never stuff my feet into her designer beauties. “These are part of her bridal trousseau.”
“So? It’s just for a short stretch.” Then his hands were on my foot, cupping the heel as he slid the shoes on.
Prince Charming, with the glass slipper.
I smiled at my Target feet in Jimmy Choo heels. Sparkly rose-gold stilettos that looked damn fine with my blue off-shoulder top and cream linen shorts.
“Alex, I can’t walk in these.”
He looked up at me, then down at the spiky shoes. “No?”
I slid them off, along with my fifteen seconds of crystal-encrusted glory.
“Fine. You stay here. I’ll go.” Alex put the shoes back in their bag. “Where do I find them?”
His kindness snuck past my defenses and disarmed me.
“Moti?” He waited, T-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, one hand on a pink handlebar.
“You won’t need the bike. They’re over there.” I pointed toward the castle.
“Okay. I’ll be right back with your shoes.”
I nodded and sat back down. Why did he have to be so nice to me? I needed Alex to be annoying, irritating, overbearing.
He returned with my sandals dangling from his fingers. Flat, comfy, and non-sparkly.
We watched the trail of tourists making their way to the hilltop spot. Couples, couples, everywhere.
“Are sunsets in Santorini really that beautiful?” I asked.
“Not if you head up there now. All you’ll get are glimpses from behind a line of shutterbugs. But yes, they’re beautiful. Vivid. Electric. Not something anyone can really describe.”
“Are you staying for it?”
He shook his head. “I have a ferry to catch.”
“Well, I better get going.” I grabbed the umbrella and stood. “Did Isabelle and Thomas find a good spot?”
“They’re up front. If you use your elbows, you just might get through.”
“Right.” I chuckled and headed for the street. “Enjoy your time off, Alex.”
I heard the revving of the engine behind me as he got on the scooter. Then his voice called over the crowd. “Hey, Moti!”
I turned and caught his eye across the street.
“You ever get time off?” he asked.
Time off? What was he talking about? I was on vacation.
“Hop on.” He gestured to the empty spot behind him.
“What?”
“If you want to see the sunset, hop on.”
“But…” I glanced toward the castle.
“Away from the crowds.”
“Don’t you have a ferry to catch?” We were volleying back and forth over the stream of people.
“I do.”
We both had things to do, places to be, and yet…
I took a step toward him. Then another. “I should go find Isabelle.”
He waited, blue smoke spewing from a pink scooter.
“Is this thing safe?” I poked the cracked leather seat.
He didn’t answer.
“No helmet?” I handed him my umbrella. He reached into the cargo basket and slid it into his backpack.
“I can’t just take off.” I hoisted one leg over the saddle.
“They’ll worry…”
My words trailed away as the scooter took off with
a lurch.
I shrieked and grabbed Alex tight.
“Where are we going?” I yelled, my hair flapping in the wind.
“Imerovigli.”
“Where?”
“Another ten minutes and we’ll be there.”
Ten more minutes.
I clung tighter.
My first motorbike ride was nothing like the high-powered thrill I’d expected. The scooter struggled and sputtered to keep up with traffic. We got honks and dirty looks as cars and trucks whizzed by. Each time, I prayed we wouldn’t get nudged off the narrow winding road. It clung to steep cliffs, with guardrails at only the most dangerous spots. I squeezed my eyes as a bus carrying a shitload of sunset-chasers whooshed by us around a blind curve.
“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Alex tilted his head toward the jagged coastline.
Spectacular, my ass. Spectacularly dangerous. The sheer drop, the cobalt sea, the sun low in the caldera.
With my arms snaked tight around his waist, I pressed my cheek between Alex’s shoulder blades. It was a nice spot. Warm and solid. It kept the wind from my face. Through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, his muscles felt indecently firm and toned.
Not fair, considering he’s around food all day.
The tighter I held on to him, the more his stupid abs got on my nerves. Good. He was being annoying again.
“Better,” I muttered, feeling his core flex as he navigated a hairpin turn.
“What did you say?”
My voice rose over the drone of the engine. “I said this better be worth it.”
“It already is. Look how much you’re enjoying snuggling up to me.”
I let go when we entered a quaint little village and we parked the scooter. Alex strapped his backpack on, and we wound our way through the side streets.
Imerovigli. White houses spilling down the edge of a submerged volcano. Panoramic views at every turn.
“Skaros Rock.” Alex pointed to a square-topped rock jutting out into the sea, high above the water.
“Is that where we’re heading?” A path headed toward the looming rock—hundreds of rocky steps descending, then ascending to the peak.
“We don’t have time to make it all the way there, but I know a place where the view is just as spectacular.”
Everything around us was starting to take on a pastel hue as we followed the trail toward Skaros Rock. The contrast of red and black cliffs against the shimmering blue of the Aegean Sea was indescribable.
“Here.” Alex veered off the path and followed a dirt trail to a rocky overhang. We sat there, at the rim of the caldera, our legs swinging over the edge. Before us was a spectacular, unobstructed view of the bay.
“Ready?” he asked, slipping his backpack off.
“For what?”
He grinned. One flash of his dimple and I knew I was in trouble.
He pushed himself off the rock and landed on the ledge below. “Come on.” He held his arms out, waiting for me to jump.
“No way.” I threw his backpack at him instead. “I’m fine up here.” I couldn’t even see the ledge, just his cocky face looking up at me. Behind him was a dizzy drop to the sea. Water, water, everywhere. The thought of plummeting into its dark depths and never coming back up terrified me.
“Moti?” Alex tilted his head. Fear has a face, a look, a desperate energy that’s hard to hide.
“You’ll think I’m silly, but when I was born, a fortune-teller told my mother I’d die in the water.”
He clued in and glanced at the waves crashing below us. “It doesn’t matter what I think.” His eyes flickered for a moment. “Is that what you think is going to happen?”
I shrugged. You accept a lot of things as a kid. You accept the things your parents tell you. They’re your first point of contact with the world. You trust them. You base your worth on them. Parts of you remain hardwired when you grow up. Even when you know better, you still feel it.
“Hey.” Alex grasped my hand, pulling me back from my thoughts. “I think what you’re doing is incredibly brave.”
“Clinging to this rock?”
“Learning to swim. Despite being so afraid of the water. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrugged and gazed into the horizon.
“Trust me?”
He’d asked me once before—in the pool, and he’d lost. He was asking again. He took a step back and raised his arms.
“I promise I’ll catch you.”
His words bounced against the rocks and echoed in my ears.
I’ll catch you…
You…
You…
The wind paused and the waves stopped crashing below. My heart stilled at what I saw in his eyes:
Me…
Me…
Me…
When you’ve been looked over your whole life, it’s startling to find yourself in someone’s eyes, to be held in their vision, the same way they hold sunsets and beautiful things.
“Jump,” he said.
I closed my eyes and jumped.
My breath escaped as he caught me. Clasped tightly in his arms with my feet dangling off the ground, I forgot about the sun, the sky, the sea. I forgot we were perched on a ledge, high off the volcanic cliffs.
He let me down slowly, but when my feet touched the ground, he held onto me. I wound my arms around his neck. His body tightened, pupils dilating. A spark of electricity shot through me. I traced his jawline with my nose, the stubble scratching my skin like pinpricks—up, up to the corner of his mouth. There I paused, nerves pulsing, overwhelmed by the feeling swelling in my heart.
He lifted my chin and ran his thumb over my lip. “Tell me you’re not thinking about Nikos.”
“Nikos who?” The sun made his skin glow from within. He made me breathless, and I paused at the marvel of it.
“My egg timer, she takes,” he said. “But this?” His lips shadowed over mine, close enough to send sparks flying. “This kiss that’s been dying to be claimed…she stalls.” His voice was husky, eyes half-closed. “Christ, Moti, I want to taste you so bad, I feel like I’m going to fucking explode—”
I pressed my lips to his. Softly.
An exploration. A proclamation.
We like you, they said. A whole friggin’ lot. We like the way you taste. The way you feel. The way you fit.
His lips curved when I stepped away—as if he heard the silent exchange. His eyes remained shut, savoring the moment. Then his arms snaked out and dragged me back against him. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Oh my God.” I gasped as my body came in full contact with him. “You really are ready to explode.”
He looked at me quizzically and then chuckled. “Sorry, is it poking you? It’s kind of squished between us.” He kept his eyes on mine as he reached between our bodies.
No. Tell me he’s not pulling it out.
But Alex was pulling it out. It was unbelievably hard. And long. It went up. And up. Past my navel, past my ribs. Holy hell. Alex was housing a one-eyed Greek monster in his pants.
I stepped back, steeling myself for a sight of Mr. Cyclops.
Alex was solemn as he held the umbrella up, its capped end pointing toward me. It had been sticking out from the backpack. How it ended up between us, I didn’t know, except that it might have been dislodged when I threw the backpack over. The metal shaft was sheathed in fabric and curved into a wooden handle at the other end.
I tried to keep a straight face. He did the same. Our gazes held until I cracked.
“I thought…” I couldn’t stop laughing. “I thought…”
“I know what you thought, and I’m completely flattered.” He grinned and tossed the umbrella aside. “Now, where were we?” He pulled me in, his heated gaze dropping to my mouth. “I believe we were doing something with our lips.”
His head bent. Laughter faded as molten need flared up inside me. His lips were hot, rough, tender, demanding. Everything in me surged toward him with a surprising intensity. Nerve en
dings lit up like hundreds of hot spots.
“Moti.” Alex’s voice was thick as he nuzzled his way to the soft spot beneath my ear. He pushed a strand of hair away from my neck. I gasped as he kissed the pulse there, the feel of his stubble raw and delicious against my skin. “Look.” He nudged me around and pointed to the sky.
The sun was a big, red ball, setting against charred, volcanic islets in the bay. White homes perched like sea gulls on the cliffs, watching the wide-screen panorama. A sailboat broke the shimmering reflection of the sky, floating over the blood-orange sea.
“Okay. Enough of that.” Alex turned me around and went back in for a kiss.
I laughed and pushed him away.
“Fucking Santorini sunsets. How’s a guy supposed to compete?” His grin was playful as he unrolled a towel from his backpack.
“Where are you going with that?” My lips were hot and inflamed from his kisses. I wanted more.
“In here.” He ducked into a cavern—the remains of a house carved out of the stone. Cave houses were common in the area. This one looked like it had been built and abandoned a long time ago.
Spreading the towel on the ground, Alex patted the spot beside him. It was dark inside, which accentuated the colors bursting in the sky. Viewing the sunset through the circular entrance of the cave house was like looking into a kaleidoscope of changing light and color. Golden hues turned to violet as the sun tilted deeper into the sea. It retreated slowly, getting smaller and smaller, until it was a glittering dot where all the colors met. A white haze settled in the thin line where the sea met the sky. My hand inched toward Alex’s as we held our breath, waiting for the inevitable darkness to erase the boundary. Our fingers touched, tip to tip. Then his hand claimed mine.
If hands made sounds, mine would have purred. It was happy. Perfectly content, even though the man holding it was missing an extra thumb. In fact, it was a very bad hand for feeling so right in Alex’s warm grip. It was a hand in need of obedience training. It reached out and traced the fading sliver of light along Alex’s cheekbone. His breath caught and his eyes turned to mine, a wild flickering in their depths. When his lips grazed soft kisses across my palm, my entire body hummed in response.