“Sir?” Martina’s brows ruffled as she cocked her head.
“If you ever want to open your own restaurant, you have to let me back you.”
“Alright, Mr. Giannopoulos.” Martina could only manage to laugh and shake her head as she resumed preparing tonight’s vegetables. “You’re certainly in a very good mood this afternoon.”
“Well, Marti,” Raph said as he walked around the kitchen island. “It’s a very good day for me.” He kissed his home chef on the temple, and as she laughed and blushed, he swiped half of a cherry tomato from her cutting board, popped it into his mouth, and headed toward the narrow stairway off the living room.
Raph could hear the gentle hum of the hot tub jets as he climbed the stairs to his rooftop terrace––a private oasis with lounge chairs, an open-air kitchen, and an unbeatable view of the bay. The open door at the top let in an evening breeze that carried the scent of eucalyptus from the potted trees arranged around the perimeter of the space.
He stepped onto the concrete tiles to find Helena in the bubbling water, her phone pressed to her ear as her favorite Greek pop singer, Marina Remos, played from the integrated speakers. She was topless, with her light brown hair piled loosely on top of her head.
The sight of her should have sent heat shooting through him, but instead he froze, as though entering an Arctic tundra––her words hitting him like a physical blow.
“To xéro, Anna, but I just don’t know how to tell Raph I’m not in love with him.”
Raph was gripping the doorframe so tightly his knuckles went white.
“I know that it’s not fair, but I can’t stop thinking about him… I feel so…alive when I see him. It’s nothing like when I’m with Raph…” She began to cry, her sun-kissed shoulders heaving in the faint artificial light of the patio. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt him, but he’s so…so guarded, you know? I felt it when we first met, but I thought it was because we didn’t really know each other yet. I thought with time, he would loosen up, but it’s been six months, and I don’t feel like I know him any better. I just can’t feel him. He’s so…cold…”
Her words carved through Raph like blades, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Her beautiful, Athenian accented Greek that had made his knees buckle in Oía was now cutting him to the core.
Raph edged back inside and slumped against the wall, his chest tight and burning. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in his ears.
Helena, his first love, was in love with someone else. Someone who made her feel alive in a way he apparently couldn’t.
Who was he? Did he live in L.A.? Athens? Or one of the dozen other cities she visited for work? Had they slept together?
Does he know about me?
The questions multiplied like cancer cells, each one more painful than the last.
Raph’s hands balled into fists as his heart hammered against his ribs like a caged animal. Six months of believing he’d found something real, something worth the risk of vulnerability, had all turned to ash in an instant. While he’d been planning their future together, designing the perfect ring, scheduling a contactor to expand his closet, rearranging his entire life for her, Helena had been looking for a way out.
“Of course I haven’t told him how I feel, and I’m not going to! It’s impossible to think we could ever actually be together, but every time I look at Raph…” She paused, her voice choked with tears. “Anna, I just don’t know how to tell him the truth.”
The familiar numbness that had been Raph’s constant companion for most of his life, consumed his heart as he willed his pulse to slow.
He had heard enough. It wouldn’t do him any good to listen to anymore of Helena’s confession to her best friend––a woman who already knew he was planning to propose––about her love for someone else. He didn’t want to know who the man was, he decided. His identity didn’t matter. What mattered was that Helena didn’t want him.
Raph pushed himself away from the wall and trudged back downstairs, the velvet box––his promise to Helena––now burning a hole through his jacket pocket, and his heart.
* * *
Raph stood rigid under the blast of his ensuite shower, and surrendered to the bitter, desolate sensations building inside him. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to come to terms with what he’d overheard. His chest ached as though his heart had been wrenched from his body, each tear a bitter reminder of the love he thought was his.
He froze mid-breath as a shadow crossed the doorway. He turned, and his hand balled on the marble wall when he saw Helena entering the bathroom in a short-sleeved terry robe. Thankfully, the spray masked the tears streaming down his face, buying him the seconds he needed to reel himself back. He forced his posture straight and his expression neutral before she could realize that he was completely undone.
“Hey, baby,” Helena said, walking toward him with that sweet, loving smile he now knew was a lie. “You’re home early.”
He stared at her through the steam, memorizing every graceful line of her face, even as his heart broke into smaller and smaller pieces. Water droplets still clung to her arms, and he remembered how those same arms had been wrapped around his shoulders just last night, how she’d shattered beneath him with what had seemed like complete abandon.
“Can I join you?” she asked, her hands drifting to the belt of her robe, her fingers teasing the knot.
For a fleeting moment Raph almost forgot what he’d overheard. Almost let himself believe in the fantasy for just a little longer, but the memory of her words cut through the haze like broken glass––sharp and unforgiving––steering him back to his new cold reality. He turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower. “Sorry, I have a few things I need to take care of before we eat,” he said, stepping around her and reaching for his towel while trying to avoid touching her at all costs.
While he dried his hair and upper body, she shed her robe and hung it from the hook that had become hers. “You sure you don’t want to join me in the shower?” she asked, her eyes raking boldly over him like he was something she possessed.
Her duplicitous gaze made him feel even more exposed and vulnerable than he already was, and he quickly wrapped the towel around his waist. “I’m very sure,” he said, moving to the marble bathroom counter, and reaching for his face cream.
