by Jerry Cole
When he’d finally unpacked his suitcase, which had remained where it was left when he arrived home after his long flight, he lifted out a shirt and smelled it. It smelled of Alex. Greg had taken it to bed with him that night and nestled into it, stroking the fabric like he had the computer screen, as though by glancing his fingers over parts of Alex, it would mean the man himself would appear.
It was Henry who pushed him in the end. He needed his best friend to give him the nudge, because he was too scared to do it himself. One night, when he was alone at home, he heard a knock on the door and opened it to find Henry on his doorstep once again, holding out an envelope.
“Just fuck off,” he said. “Get the hell out of here and go see him. I can’t stand to watch your depressing little face any more.”
But as he turned around, he did so with a grin and a wink, then got into his car and drove off. Greg closed the door and opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of paper Henry had printed off his computer, showing that he had booked Greg on the next available flight to Thessaloniki. Via Amsterdam, this time. Greg breathed a sigh of relief in among his tears when he saw that Henry, good, loyal Henry, had made sure to put him in first class.
Chapter Thirty-One
He had the right place, finally, but having gotten lost among the twists and turns of the narrow streets, he was late arriving. The parking lot was full of cars. Greg climbed the steps and walked into the main hall. It was packed. He was in a school just outside the city of Thessaloniki, but there were no kids around, as it was vacation time for them. Instead, the building was being used by hundreds of reporters for the first official press conference since the earth-shattering discovery.
There were flashes of light all over from cameras pointed toward the front of the hall. Greg could barely see over the heads of everyone in the room, but eventually there were calls for people to take their seats. Greg grabbed a chair at the back, his eyes focused clearly on the front of the hall. When everyone sat down, his breath caught in his throat when he saw that at the front of the hall was a table where a row of people sat facing the crowd. Greg recognized Costas Dimitriou in the center, and to the left of him, sat Alex. Greg smiled a little at the sight of the man he loved, no longer in comfortable jeans and linen shirt but instead in formal wear; a sharp gray suit and a tie that seemed to be choking him. Greg watched as Alex tugged at the collar, and he knew the man wanted to rip the tie off and open the top button.
Dimitriou leaned forward and began to speak in Greek to the crowd, then switched to English.
“We have many reporters from all over the world here,” he said, “so the rest of this interview will be conducted in English. Please direct your questions as such. We will now take a small selection of questions from the media.”
Immediately there was chaos as hands shot up and people got to their feet, desperate to be the first to ask something about the iconic find. Dimitriou pointed to a woman on the front row.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Dimitriou,” she said, with what sounded to Greg to be an American accent, “it’s been leaked to the press that you may have found the last resting place of Alexander the Great. Is this true?”
Dimitriou was expecting the question. It was the most obvious one to be asked, the one everyone was expecting an answer to.
“It is too early to speculate on whose body we have found,” he began, and immediately the press, unhappy with the evasive answer, once more leaped to their feet and began to shout out. Dimitriou held up his hands.
“As I was saying,” he intonated, “it is too early to speculate. However, I can confirm that the team has found a body in a tomb underneath the palace. It was uncovered when a mosaic was lifted and was found to be concealing steps that led further down. We will be conducting research and tests, and I’m sure you will be the first to know of any developments.”
He pointed to another journalist, who looked down at a small pad in his hand, then back up.
“Mr. Dimitriou, it’s been suggested that if the body was that of Alexander the Great, then the find would be the biggest since the discovery of Tutankhamun in 1912. Would you say that was correct?”
Dimitriou scoffed.
“We are talking about the most famous human being ever to walk the earth, save for our Lord himself. What is an Egyptian king compared to that?”
Greg could only shake his head and smile at the secretary general’s easy dismissal of Carter’s discovery. His eyes flicked to Alex, who seemed unsure of the attention the press was giving him. Dimitriou pointed to another journalist.
“Caroline Morris, from the BBC,” said the woman, in a clipped British accent. “We have all seen the wonderful pictures of the mosaics on the floor of the palace that have been discovered. Have you found other artifacts, perhaps gold or other precious metals?”
“I doubt we would be telling the British press about that if we had,” replied Dimitriou, sardonically. “They have a habit of taking things from Greece that do not belong to them.” And with swiftness, he pointed to another woman in the front row.
“Would it be fair to say that since the ancient ruins of Thessaloniki’s palace have been found, any work to build the metro in the city will be halted once again?”
The politician in Dimitriou returned and he was more careful in his consideration of the answer before he spoke.
“We will continue to ensure the best possible developments are made to benefit the people of Thessaloniki,” he said. “However, at this time the most important issue is the preservation of the important artifacts.”
He paused, and when the rabble began again, he waved his hands. “We will have more for you in the future,” he said, “but in the meantime, we will be taking no further questions. Thank you for coming.”
Everyone groaned with frustration at the tight-lipped answers they’d been given, but Greg could see that Alex was relieved that it was over, and that he hadn’t been called on to speak. Not that he would have had much of a chance, thought Greg. This was the most interesting thing that had happened to Costas Dimitriou in a long time, and he seemed to enjoy the attention.
The journalists had come from far and wide but were hardly rewarded for their patience with such a short press conference, but Greg was glad. He shook with nerves, butterflies dancing in his stomach as one by one the cameras were turned off and the press filed out of the room. Dimitriou disappeared and Alex stood up and turned to leave. Greg seized his chance.
“Alex!”
He ran down the center aisle and curious onlookers turned to see where the voice had come from, but Greg ignored them. Alex was shocked when he saw Greg running down the aisle, but he didn’t walk away. Instead he dropped down off the small platform that had been erected for the brief press conference, and walked slowly toward Greg.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. Greg looked around and guided Alex away from the crowd of people, to behind a large screen on which was a picture of the first mosaic they’d discovered that night, the one Greg had been privileged to have seen before almost any other person alive.
The screen gave the two men privacy, and once behind it, Greg took Alex’s hands in his own. Alex looked around him warily, but did not pull away.
“I’ve been a fucking idiot,” Greg began. He’d thought all the way along his journey about what he would say once he was face to face with Alex once more, but for all his rehearsing, the practiced speech was forgotten and instead Greg spoke only from his heart.
“I was wrong to just leave that night. I should have stayed and supported you with all the media craziness.”
“I handled it,” said Alex. “The team is pretty shy so I’ve had to get used to being in front of the camera.”
“You looked great,” said Greg, and he smiled. “I saw you that night, on the news, when I was at the airport. I should have turned right around then, and come back to find you, but I was stupid.”
“So why are you back now?” asked Alex, and Greg could see the h
urt in his eyes. “Come to dig more tunnels?”
“I’ve resigned,” Greg answered. “I resigned as soon as I got back. I’ve been spending the last couple of weeks walking around in a daze and I’ve realized why.”
Alex was silent. Greg looked at him pointedly.
“Don’t you want to know why?” he asked, and Alex shrugged, but Greg could tell by the way Alex’s fingers had tightened their grip on his own that his apparent nonchalance was not giving the full story.
“I’ve been miserable because I haven’t been with you,” said Greg. “I’ve been going to sleep and waking up thinking you’re going to be next to me. When I open my eyes, you’re not. I’ve been kicking myself for not telling you the truth when you said what you did to me that night, before I left. The thing is, I love you, too.”
And the hot flush that flooded Greg from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair was not from embarrassment, but from pride.
“I love you, Alex.”
Alex gave a bashful grin, and looked down at his feet. When he looked up again, Greg could see there were tears in his eyes.
“I thought you were gone forever,” he said, the words catching in his throat. “It was so hard to be happy about the discovery when I felt it had come at a price. It hurt so much to see you walk away. I don’t think I could do that again.”
“You will never have to do that again,” said Greg, firmly. “I won’t leave you. I’ll come and live here, and we’ll dig up the world together and we’ll find incredible thi—”
The words were cut short as Alex grabbed him and pulled his face close, kissing Greg on the lips with force. Greg didn’t care whether anyone saw him. He wrapped his arms around Alex and the two men kissed passionately. Then they broke away and both were grinning.
“What about America?” Alex asked, and Greg shrugged.
“I can’t say I won’t miss it,” he said. “But my life has a different purpose now, and I want to see where it leads me. I want you with me every step of the way. What do you say?”
And Alex kissed him again.
*fin*
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