or the island?”
“Both.”
“Not to the café, but to the island, yes.”
She couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder, her gaze sweeping the corner table as well as the pair at an adjacent table. Not one of the men smiled or nodded.
“Kind of an interesting energy,” she said.
“Very polite of you.”
She focused on him. “So you’re aware of the cold shoulder?”
“Absolutely. I’m not wanted here.”
“Why?”
“They are uncomfortable with me here.”
“Why?”
He didn’t immediately answer, and then he shrugged, wearily. “They call me teras. Thirio.”
Georgia silently repeated the words. “What does it mean?”
“It’s not important.”
“Tell me, Nikos.”
He sighed. “Monster.” He hesitated. “Beast.”
“What?” Her jaw dropped, shocked. “Why?”
He gestured to his face. “This.”
“That’s ridiculous. Those are burns. You were injured—”
“It bothers people here that I live and she does not.”
“Were you at the wheel?”
“No. I wasn’t even in the car.”
“Then how can they blame you?”
“It’s a small island. I live close by and yet I’m a stranger to them.”
“I find it hard to believe that’s why they call you such horrible things.”
“I’m an eccentric.”
“Yes, you are. But does that warrant such cruelty?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really care anymore. I just try to avoid this place. It’s why I didn’t want to come here. It’s why I stay on Kamari. It’s home.”
His refuge.
Georgia swallowed hard, hating what he’d told her and yet also understanding his desire to be alone. To have his own space. To be free of ignorant people’s hatefulness. “How do they even know about you and Elsa? Didn’t you meet her in Athens?”
“No. She was here on Amorgós on holiday with girlfriends, visiting from Oslo. They’d booked a villa for a number of weeks during the summer and while here, she met a handsome young man, a local fisherman named Ambrose, and they fell in love. He proposed. She stayed. The wedding was planned. And then she met me.”
“And she abandoned Ambrose for you.”
“Yes.”
“People took sides.”
“Yes.”
“And when she died in the accident, they blamed you.”
The edge of his mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “You know the story already.”
“It’s horrible.”
“I am, yes.”
“No.” She frowned at him. “You’re not horrible. The story is horrible. And they are horrible, too, if they call you such terrible names. You are not a beast or a monster—”
“I don’t blame them. She’s gone and look at me.”
“I see you. And I think you’re beautiful.” And then Georgia shocked everyone in the café by leaning across the table and kissing him on the lips. “Let’s go back to Kamari,” she whispered. “I’m tired of playing tourist.”
* * *
It rained during the return trip to Kamari. The clouds had been gathering during the morning and by the time they boarded the boat at noon the sky was gray, the clouds ominously low.
“I am wishing I’d requested the yacht,” Nikos said, taking Georgia’s hand to steady her as she stepped into the low, sleek speedboat. “But maybe we’ll beat the storm.”
She’d had such a great day and a half on Amorgós, had loved her night with Nikos, enjoying every moment of their trip until they’d sat down in that café on the harbor.
Now it was hard to get the villagers’ cold stares out of her head. Nikos’s explanation didn’t help, as she sensed there were pieces missing from the story. She wanted to ask more questions but didn’t think this was the time. “I’m not worried about getting wet,” she said, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s just rain.”
“You might feel different when we’re flying at high speed across the water.”
The storm broke while they were halfway between Amorgós and Kamari, and there were a few drops and then the skies just parted and the rain came down hard, and the wind whipped at them. The rain was cold and fell in heavy wet sheets, pelting them. On the speedboat there was nowhere to go, and so the rain drenched them, water streaming from Georgia’s sweater when it could hold no more.
Nikos had offered his jacket when the first raindrops fell, but she’d refused. Now he simply overrode her protest and peeled off his coat, wrapping it around her slim shoulders and buttoning it over her chest.
“Nikos, I’m fine,” she laughed, pushing wet hair back from her face.
“You’re not. You’re chilled through,” he said. He reached out to touch her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Your skin is cold.”
“I’m not that cold.”
“You’ll get sick.”
“We’ll be back soon.”
“Not soon enough,” he said, drawing her into his arms and holding her securely against him. “Not taking chances.”
“You never do,” she answered as he shifted his hold, one of his arms circling her shoulders to keep her upright, while the other moved below the hem of his coat to clasp her waist.
She had been cold, but his body was warm, penetrating her damp clothes. She loved the feel of his hand on her waist, too. The intimacy of the touch wasn’t lost on her. From the beginning Nikos had been protective, and on Amorgós he’d remained close, always watchful, always there to lend a hand as she stood up or navigated a steep set of stairs, making her feel safe, desired.
It had been a long time since anyone was there for her. She’d grown accustomed to taking care of herself, taking care of others, and it was a novelty
