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“Even if it’s with you?”
“Especially with me. We areforever. I don’t want a TV commercial kind of relationship but a real one. I’m Greek, and I have a hellish temperament. I’m controlling and arrogant, and I have no doubt that we will fight many times.”
“You can bet on it. After all, I love making up with you afterward.”
I feel his chest flutter behind me, and I know he’s laughing.
“Am I going to have to take you to sex addiction therapy, future lady Lykaios?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine with my addiction. In fact,” I say, getting up, taking off my shorts and shirt, leaving only my bikini on, “I want more.”
NEW YORK
One Month Later
“Are you telling me I’m single now?” I ask the lawyer who is talking to Christos and me on a video call.
“Yes. In fact, Miss Turner, you have always been. All that was needed was for the authorities to register that.”
Ignoring that we’re not actually alone, I jump into Christos’s lap and hug him.
I was working on a painting when he sent the maid to let me know he wanted to see me. I’ve enrolled in an online painting course to de-stress. I’m notPicasso, but I like my creations. The course has helped me manage my anxiety.
We arrived in New York three days ago. We went back to Bostonfrom Greece because I wanted to see my parents, but Christos had to come here to deal with some business issues.
“Did you hear that? Let’s get married,” I say to my fiancé, happy as a fool.
“Thanks, Steve,” Christos says, ending the call with the lawyer. “Tomorrow?” he asks me with one of his rare smiles.
“Not so quickly. I have yet to give my final approval for the dress. And there are some party details to figure out.”
“Leave it in Yuri’s hands. I’m sure he’ll sort it out quickly.”
“Also, Bia. She already told me that she wants to be the one to arrange the reception.”
“Okay, Miss Turner. As long as it means I won’t wait long until I see you walking towards me in a white dress.”
“And I can’t wait to have you naked on our wedding night.”
“Sassy girl.”
“Yoursassy girl.”
I am finishing the last few strokes on a painting I want to give as a gift to my mother when my phone rings. I don’t answer right away because I don’t recognize the number, but the caller is insistent, and huffing, I give up on trying to ignore it.
“Hello?” I answer, in a bad mood.
“Zoe?”
“Who is it?”
“Nelly Howard. Is this a bad time?”
Mike’s mother? What the hell does she want?
“Huh . . . no. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize the number.”Nor your voice because you never wanted to interact with me.But I keep that second part to myself.
“You wouldn’t have. We only met once.”
