As they drew nearer, Raph set his wine glass on the table, stood, and wiped his palms across his thighs.
“Hey cous, I want to introduce Hel––”
“Ah!” Anna squealed as Raph stepped from behind Dimitris, anxiously tugging on the hem of his blue, knit polo shirt. “Raph! I didn’t know you were here!” She threw her arms around him and kissed both his cheeks. “Are Neo and Tele here, too?”
He shook his head. “Óchi, not until next week. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with just me ‘til then.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find some use for you.” Anna eyed Raph playfully, like a cat ready to pounce.
He—and everyone else—knew she had always had a little crush on him, but it didn’t matter how beautiful she was, or how close their families were, he just couldn’t see her as anything more than a little sister.
Before anyone had time to think too long on what “use” Anna had in mind for Raph, Dimitris cut in. “Good to see you, Helena.” He kissed her cheek once. “I want you to meet Raph Giannopoulos—one of my best friends growing up.” Placing his hand at the small of Helena’s back, Dimitris turned her toward Raph, as though presenting her as a gift to a king. “Raph, meet Helena Christou.”
Raph’s throat went dry as he looked into her sparkling eyes. They were as deep and blue as the ocean surrounding them, with specks of silver that glinted like sunlight dancing on water––––alive, probing, and charged with energy.
Her smooth, pink lips parted easily into a warm smile. “Chárika, Raph,” she said, extending her hand.
Electricity surged through him as he closed his hand around hers, and her thumb lightly brushed his––a simple gesture that made him sweat despite the cool Meltemi winds. When he finally found his voice, it was little more than a whisper. “Chárika polý, Helena.”
“Anna, did you get tickets for Mykonos yet?” Dimitris gave Raph a subtle wink and led his cousin a few steps away, giving Raph and Helena a chance to get to know each other.
Raph nudged Helena toward the edge of the terrace, away from the prying eyes and ears of his friends. “So,” he asked anxiously, “is this your first time in Oía?” It was the kind of small talk that Raph hated, but he couldn’t think of anything more interesting to say. In her presence, his thoughts––usually ordered and direct––were a jumbled mess.
“In Oía, yes.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, the movement drawing Raph’s attention to the graceful curve of her long neck. “But I’ve been to Firá several times with my mom.”
“Oh, did you have friends there?” He leaned against the low stone wall, angling his body toward hers.
“Sort of. There used to be a little gallery on Dekigala Street.”
“I knew that place––next to Villa Namphio?”
She nodded. “My mom had a few exhibits there when I was in high school.”
“She’s a painter then?”
“Was… She passed almost a year ago now. Cervical cancer. They didn’t catch it early enough.”
“I’m so sorry, Helena.” His heart broke for her, having experienced the debilitating pain of losing a parent himself. He wanted to reach for her hand, but instead took a half-step closer, his voice dropping to something more intimate. “What was she like––your mom?”
Helena’s entire being glowed when she spoke of her “rather bohemian” mother, a painter and sketch artist who had raised Helena on her own, surrounded by the creatives, collectors, and eccentrics who peopled the international art scene.
She told him about the months they’d spent living at a monastery in Bulgaria when she was eleven, the parties where strait-laced politicians and other public figures partied as though no one was watching, and the super yacht that had been at their disposal in Monaco—a gift from one of her mom’s adoring, wealthy benefactors.
Their conversation flowed naturally, Raph thought, like slipping into a familiar rhythm. He found himself mesmerized, hanging on her every word, before Anna eventually pulled Helena away to meet some other friends.
* * *
Throughout the evening, as the party ebbed and flowed, they found themselves drifting back toward each other like planets caught in each other’s orbit. Raph told her about G3, the real estate development company that he and his brothers started while still undergraduates at UC Berkeley, and how with strategic planning, generous investors, passion, and a bit of luck, they’d grown it into an international enterprise, with annual revenue nearing one billion dollars, deals on three continents, and thousands of employees around the world.
And he learned that Helena had recently moved to Los Angeles, working as an art acquisition specialist for The Marlowe Group. Her expertise in Southeast Asian and Indian antiquities, and the relationships she’d fostered with her mother’s friends, she explained, allowed her to move through the insulated cliques of the fine art world with ease, and had positioned her perfectly for a life in L.A.
“I needed a fresh start after Mama died,” she confided, as they sat on stools in the kitchen, snacking on spanakopita, the rich, salty flavors pairing perfectly with the crisp summer wine. “L.A. gave me that—new city, new friends, new possibilities.” She absent-mindedly toyed with a silver locket necklace, her slender, French-manicured fingernails caressing the polished metal.
Raph found himself opening up more easily than usual––sharing details about the accident that claimed his father and grandmother when he was six, prompting his mother to move him and his brothers to Napa Valley where she was from originally––her version of a fresh start.
“It must have been difficult,” Helena said softly, “losing so much so young.”
And he knew she understood.
