Phae:I’m so sorry, Nat. WOW. Fuck. I wish I could hug you, and you know I hate hugging
Me:Second question: Auntie Min said I date older unavailable guys bc of my parents. That seems too obvious, too cliché. She’s wrong, isn’t she?
There’s a very long pause before the reply comes through.
Phae:Everyone’s a cliché sometimes
11
SANTORINI, GREECE
SIX WEEKS LATER
KLAUS
There’s little point in ruminating on everything I did wrong last year. I’ve no clue why I torture myself still. For several months after the catastrophe of our initial meeting, I briefly succeeded in winning Natalia’s cautious affection. But having made a mess of it again last summer in Montréal, I’d be mad to expect a third chance.
I’ve not seen her since the end-of-season party eight weeks ago in December, when I turned my back on her and strolled away with Sage Sikora. Our only contact has been a recent exchange of brief emails in which we set up this visit to launch the interview series.
Her flight is going to be late, which means when it arrives precisely on time,I’mthe one who looks late. She’s waitingoutside—fingertips drumming on the tow handle of her suitcase—as I swoop into a stretch of free kerb.
She offers a terse nod when I wave. I pop the boot and pull the safety brake, moving to climb out of the convertible Alfa Romeo to help stow her luggage.
“Please don’t,” she insists, her voice flat.
I lower myself into the seat again, and the car shifts as she slings her suitcase in. She strides to the passenger door, which I stretch to open before she can instruct me not to. Her huge octagonal sunglasses obscure half her face, and I push my Bulgari Le Gemmes up onto my head, hoping she’ll do the same when she climbs into the car so we can make proper eye contact. She doesn’t.
“How was your flight?”
“Mercifully uneventful,” she says simply, smoothing her travel-wrinkled skirt, then placing her handbag into the footwell.
I flick a glance over my shoulder and ease onto the road. For a few minutes, we say nothing. Natalia’s glossy hair roils like a dark storm cloud, and she digs a tatter-edged pink chiffon scarf from her bag, folding it diagonally and tying it beneath her chin like an elderly woman.
“I can put the top up, if you prefer,” I offer.
“I’m fine.”
After a pause, I venture a smile. “Hermès?” I ask cheekily.
She tips her head my way with a flat expression, lips in a severe line. “It used to belong to my aunt, and she probably bought it at the Woolworth in Lexington decades before I was born.”
“An orange Hermès scarf would look lovely against your hair and complement the blue of your eyes.”
“Thanks for the fashion tip, Tim Gunn. I’ll be sure to add thatto my list of ‘how to waste a thousand bucks on ninety centimeters of silk.’” She turns her attention to the scenery zipping past.
I’m stung by her rebuff, though I have little right to be. A dozen replies cycle through my mind over the next few miles. My frustration wins out and I cut a hard-jawed look at her. “Is this how we are going to be with each other? Because if so, it will make for a long and miserable season.”
“Oh, you arepriceless. I love how you assume I can flip a switch and be smooth and impartial with the jerk who toyed with my feelings for half of last year.” She whips the sunglasses off her face. “I didn’t want this assignment, Klaus. And—”
“Nor did I!” I shoot back. “Reece spent three days convincing me of the value in speaking with you at all before I assented.”
Natalia looks stung, to my surprise. After a beat, her eyes narrow and her expression reverts to indignation. “Sure.I’d bet my bottom dollar it wasyoursuggestion to do the first interview in Santorini. Coaxing me into your… sexy little spider lair.”
My lips quirk. “Sexy spider lair?”
“We could’ve met upanywhere,” she goes on, “because you’re a damned billionaire. The first interview could be at McMurdo Station in Antarctica if you’d wanted, but… nooooo!” She flips her hands with a sarcastic laugh. “It’s a sultry shag pad in Greece.Show-off.”
I have to bite my lip to hold back laughter. She jams her sunglasses back on and swipes a tendril of escaped hair under the kerchief.
