I press my fingers along the bridge of my nose, willing myself not to cry.
“I can’t believe I let myself get involved with someone like you.” Preston shakes his head. “I’m surprised you aren’t trying to spin more lies. Go on, you’re going to try to deny everything now, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. It’s true. I lied about everything.” I clench my hands. “And I can see by your reaction that I was right to. If you had known who I really was, you would have looked at me with disdain and condemnation, like you are now. The only mistake I made was…” I put my hand over my mouth before I can finish what I was going to say.
“Only one mistake? You made a lot of mistakes.”
I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath. I’m glad I didn’t tell this pompous jerk what that one fundamental mistake was. Oh, how he would gloat if he knew that I had made the ultimate mistake—falling for the wrong guy. Someone I could never be with, not in a million years.
Cocking my head to one side, I say, “Look, we just have to get through class tomorrow. I’m sure we can manage to be civil to each other for a few hours, then we never have to see each other ever again.”
“Fine by me, Virginia Morgan Maarschalkerweerd,” he says, his eyes hard and unforgiving.
I turn, but before I can resume walking, I feel Preston’s hand on my shoulder.
“Get in the taxi, Ginny,” he says. “You can’t walk all the way back to the retreat center.”
I spin around to face him. “Can too.”
“Can not.” When I don’t respond, he scowls. “Just get in.”
“No,” I say, putting my hands on my hips.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
I watch as he gets back in the taxi and slams the door shut. So this is how a holiday fling ends—slamming car doors on his part and lots of tears on mine.
* * *
Preston’s taxi follows me all the way back to the retreat center. Periodically, he leans out of the window and tells me to get in. Each time, I refuse. My feet are killing me—high heels and cobblestones are not a stellar combination—but there’s no way that I’ll let him know that.
By the time I reach the marble steps leading up to the villa’s entryway, I’ve made a solemn vow to Saint Crispin—the patron saint of shoes—to wear sneakers and flats for the rest of my life. I pause for a moment, expecting Preston to tell me to wait for him, but when I turn around, I see the taxi pulling away down the circular drive and Preston’s retreating back as he walks across the grounds toward one of the annex buildings.
Fine, I didn’t want to talk with him anyway.
I slip off my heels and slowly walk to the residential annex, occasionally wincing in pain. After entering my room, I scoop Giuseppe off the bed and slump to the floor.
I only have myself to blame for this mess I’m in. The minute I found out that Preston was in my cooking class, I should have dropped out. So what if I would have lost all the money I paid? That would have been far better than losing my heart.
My heart.
How could I lose something I never gave to him? It was a summer fling, right? It wasn’t serious. Just a bit of fun.
Except it wasn’t.
It was more than that.
A whole lot more.
I press my back against the door and snuggle my teddy bear against my face. I wait for ages, expecting Preston to knock on my door. He doesn’t.
You’d think I would be relieved that I didn’t have to deal with another confrontation with him. Instead, I feel disappointed.
I pull my phone out of my purse and scroll through the pictures like a masochist. There’s one of Preston kneading pasta dough. And another one of him sautéing sage leaves in butter. The next one is one I took of him the night we had dinner at Mama Leoni’s restaurant. I smile at how nerdy he looks wearing that polka dot bow tie of his. Then I sigh as I remember how blue his eyes are.
My phone rings. My first instinct is to fling it across the room. The last thing I want to do now is talk to Preston. But I restrain myself and glance at the screen. It’s Celeste. We’ve kept in touch, mostly through emails and text, but for her to call me out of the blue seems strange. It’s even stranger when I recall how I initially thought Gabriela was Celeste.
“Is everything okay?” I quickly ask.
“Everything is just dandy,” she says. “My niece flew over to Greece to stay with me for a bit. It’s so much fun to have a young person around that it made me think of you and the other girls. We sure did have a good time on the cruise ship, didn’t we?”
“We did,” I say, my voice cracking slightly.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“Nothing.”
“Sweetheart, don’t you nothing me. I can tell that there’s something wrong. Now, go ahead and tell me what’s going on.”
I spill my guts, pausing several times to wipe away my tears and blow my nose.
“You know what you need? Some of Celeste’s TLC. Pack your bags and come to Greece. The change of scenery will do you good.”
“No, I couldn’t impose on you like that,” I say, standing up and placing Giuseppe back on my pillow.
“It’s not an imposition at all.”
“But your niece is there. I don’t want to crowd you.”
“Goodness, don’t be silly. The house I’m renting is huge. The more, the merrier.”
“Well, if you’re sure. A change of scenery would be nice.” I pace back and forth, thinking through the logistics. “We have our last day of class tomorrow, so I could leave here on Saturday.” I stop and look out the window. Several of the Silver Foxes are gathered in the courtyard below me, their attention completely focused on a man wearing a very familiar tweed coat. I shake my head. There’s no need to stick around here. Having to see Preston again tomorrow would be torture. “You know what, Celeste. Why wait? I’m going to skip class and head to Greece in the morning.”
13
Cat Burglars
After an insanely long journey involving four trains, five taxis, and three ferries, I finally make it to Celeste’s place. You’d think that an ordeal like that would help me get over my aerophobia. Hopping on a plane would have been so much easier. But there was no way that was going to happen. The very thought of it still makes me break out in hives and hyperventilate.
The house Celeste is renting is beautiful. I stand in the courtyard and look around in awe. Sunlight bounces off its whitewashed walls, and the bright blue paint on the door and shutters is the same color as the waters surrounding the island. Flowering vines clamber over a pergola, providing much needed shade in the middle of the day, and the infinity pool is large and inviting. I bet even people with aquaphobia would be tempted by this pool with its views of the sailboats anchored in the bay below.
Celeste welcomes me with open arms. “How long has it been since you broke up with Preston?” she asks after she embraces me.
“Um…I’m not sure.” I start to count the days on my fingers, but stop as it’s too painful. My hand is aching from hauling my luggage up the steep path that leads from the ferry dock to the top of the hill where Celeste’s rental house is located. The wheels on my suitcase were pretty much useless on the cobblestone path, and the steep incline meant I had to keep a tight grip for fear my bag would slip and end up back at the bottom of the hill.
I chew on my lip as I remember when I first met Preston and how he helped me with my bags at the train station. He had loved my suitcase’s retro vibe. It suited his old-fashioned personality perfectly. When I rub my fingers, trying to get the circulation back, memories of Preston kissing the back of my hand come flooding back.
I purse my lips. Too many memories of my time with Preston. I’m here in Greece to get over him and erase those memories from my mind.
“I’m not sure,” I finally say. “It’s somewhere between not long enough and too long.”
She envelops me in another hug. “Don’t worry, the perfect guy is out there for yo
u. I remember before I met my Ernie, I had been going steady with another fellow. He broke up with me and I was devastated, but it turned out to be for the best.”
“Did you know it was for the best right away?”
“No. I cried my eyes out for weeks. But then I found out that he had been hiding something from me.”
“What was that?”
Celeste’s eyes dart around to make sure that we’re alone, then satisfied that no one is eavesdropping, she leans forward and says, “He was a cat burglar.”
“Why would anyone steal a cat?”
She laughs. “No, he didn’t steal cats. He stole jewelry. He broke into rich people’s homes in the middle of the night and stole their rings, bracelets, earrings, and watches. One time, he even made off with a ruby and emerald tiara.”
“I’m still not getting the connection to cats.”
“It’s how he did it—he’d climb over roofs, through windows, even jump from balcony to balcony. He was agile, like a cat.”
“Yet another reason why I don’t like cats. They’re sneaky. They—” I yelp and jump backward as a streak of black fur flies past me. “What was that?”
“That’s Midnight, the resident cat. He has free rein of the house so keep your door closed if you don’t want him in there.”
“Duly noted.” I glare at the black cat. He’s casually washing behind his ears while plotting how to sneak into my room in the middle of the night and cough up a hairball on my suitcase.
“Have you seen To Catch a Thief?” Celeste asks. I shake my head. “It’s wonderful. We’ll have to watch it while you’re here. Cary Grant’s character reminds me of my old beau. Sure, he could have gotten me wonderful diamond jewelry, but it would have been awfully lonely when he was in jail. So, you see, he wasn’t the perfect guy for me. Things definitely turned out for the best.”
I take a deep breath. “Yep, this is for the best.”
She cups my chin in her hand and looks me in the eye. “Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
“You think so? You don’t know so? That doesn’t sound very sure. Could it have all been a misunderstanding?”
I stiffen. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t misunderstand him. He called me a cheater.”
“Are you sure that’s what he said?”
I think back to what transpired after the cooking demonstration. I’ve tried so hard to block the memories of that day out of my mind, that things are a bit blurry. What exactly did he say? I accused him of being a cheater, then he called me a cheater. Or did he?
I shake my head. Of course he did. That’s what everyone assumed. I was accused of plagiarism, so I must have committed plagiarism. No one believed me. Why would he be any different?
“Honestly, it doesn’t matter what he said. We were never meant to be. I’m glad it’s over.”
“Well, as long as you’re sure. Now, come and meet my niece.” Celeste leads me to the kitchen. A young woman with a tousled bob turns and beams at me. Standing next to her is a man who looks like a marble Greek statue come to life—tall and muscular. Except instead of holding a spear or a bow and arrow, he’s holding a spatula and a jar of honey.
“You must be Ginny,” the woman says. “I’m Olivia and this is my friend, Xander. You’re just in time. He’s going to teach us how to make baklava.”
“He owns the taverna by the ferry dock,” Celeste says. “You must have seen it when you arrived.”
“We ate dinner there when I first arrived,” Olivia says. “Xander is the best cook on the island.”
He sets the spatula and honey on the counter, then brushes a lock of hair off her face. “I think you might be a bit biased.”
She smiles at him. “Not at all. I know what I like and I like your cooking.”
It’s obvious that they adore each other.
Celeste puts her arm through mine and whispers, “Isn’t he a doll? I think he’s taken a fancy to her.”
“He’s smitten with her,” I mumble under my breath.
“What’s that, dear?” she asks.
I don’t think I can take watching how cute they are together for much longer. It reminds me too much of Preston. “I was asking if it would be okay if I skipped the baklava right now. I’m exhausted from the travel. I think I might go lie down for a bit, if that’s okay.”
“Of course, dear,” Celeste says. “Your room is at the end of the hall. Don’t forget to keep the door closed unless you want Midnight to keep you company.”
* * *
Greece is beautiful. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. To be honest, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t stepped foot outside of Celeste’s house since I got here. And that was a week ago.
I spend most of my time sleeping. When I’m not sleeping, I wish I could fall asleep. It’s only when I’m sleeping that I can forget about Preston and, even then, half the time I end up dreaming about him. The other half of the time I dream about yoga pants.
Why yoga pants? Well, that’s probably because I had a tragedy on my first day here. I opened my suitcase, rustled through its contents, and discovered that I hadn’t packed those delightfully stretchy garments. I could see in my mind’s eye the drawer where I kept them, but in my rush to get packed and flee the retreat center, I completely forgot to grab them.
Celeste suggested that we go in search of some at a local shop, but I couldn’t be bothered. Instead, I lounged around her living room in my pajamas. Pajamas are almost as good as yoga pants. Almost.
I wish that I had forgotten to pack my phone instead. There are countless texts, emails, and voice mails from Preston, more each day. I ignore them all. The last thing I need is to hear how little he thinks of me. Deleting them immediately is one of my key coping strategies.
Celeste peeks her head into my room. “Honey, don’t you think it’s time you got up? You’ve moped around enough. One hundred and seventy-two hours, to be exact. Now, go take a shower and put on a pretty dress. We’re going for dinner at Xander’s taverna. He’s going to make his specialty—moussaka. You can’t disappoint him.”
After a few more minutes of her trying to cajole me, I give in to Celeste and shuffle off to the shower. When I emerge in the living room an hour later, Celeste smiles at me brightly. “You look lovely, dear.”
“That color really suits you,” Olivia says. “And the way the straps cross in the back is super cute.”
I smooth down the front of my dress, remembering how Preston complimented me when I wore it. As we walk down the path to the dock, I’m determined to enjoy the evening. I’ve been a terrible houseguest and an even worse friend. Celeste has gone out of her way to take me in and try to cheer me up, but I’ve resisted her every step of the way.
Xander’s moussaka is wonderful—the layers of eggplant, minced lamb, and bechemal sauce explode with flavor in my mouth. I gobble down two helpings, practically licking my plate clean. After a week of not having an appetite and picking at my food, I’m ravenous.
“You like it?” Xander asks.
“I love it,” I say. “I should have gone to a Greek cooking school instead. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”
Xander wags a finger at me playfully. “Fine, but I’ll want a favor in return.”
“Sure. I’m happy to do the dishes.”
“No, not the dishes.” He looks at Olivia, who is walking back to the table from the restroom. “I’ll fill you in later,” he says quietly. After pulling Olivia’s chair out for her, he claps his hands. “Who wants baklava?”
We all raise our hands, me more enthusiastically than the others. After I eat my last gooey bite of the flaky, cinnamon-flavored phyllo pastry oozing with honey and nuts, Xander tells us that he has a surprise for us. He summons a teen-aged boy from the kitchen. “This is Demetrius.”
The boy nods shyly at us, then hands each of us a woven leather bracelet.
“Demetrius made these,” Xander explains. He points at the blue and white glass charm dangling from the bracelets. “That
is an evil eye. It will protect you from harm.”
“It’s very pretty,” Olivia says. “Thank you, Demetrius.”
While Xander helps Olivia fasten the bracelet on her wrist, Celeste turns to me and glances at my bare wrist. “I haven’t seen you wear that lovely charm bracelet of yours since you’ve been here.”
“When you’re attired in pajamas every day, you don’t really need to wear a lot of accessories,” I say wryly. I rub my wrist and try to recall the last time I wore the bracelet my parents gave me. I had it on at the cooking demonstration. I remember Preston warning me not to let the charms dangle in the ricotta cheese. I also remember seeing it on my wrist when I jabbed my finger at him during our argument later that afternoon. But I don’t remember seeing it after that.
My good mood vanishes in a flash. The moussaka and baklava sit heavy in my stomach, and my eyes start to tear up. Not only have I lost Preston, I’ve lost my charm bracelet as well. The bracelet that was one of my last links to my father.
I look at the bracelet Demetrius gave me. If only I had been wearing an evil eye during my time in Ravenna, it might have protected me from all this heartbreak.
14
Hairballs
Later that night, I lie in bed alternating between twirling my new evil eye bracelet around my wrist and glaring at Midnight. The cat is perched inside my suitcase, having sneaked into my room when we were out to dinner. When I tried to shoo him away earlier, he growled at me until I backed off and kept my distance. Now he looks content, purring and kneading his paws, making a cozy nest in my clothes. I shudder as tiny droplets of drool form at the side of his mouth.
My phone buzzes repeatedly. I grab it off the nightstand and gulp when I read the texts from my mom.
Preston called me.
Why is Preston calling my mom? I never even told her about him.
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