The waves rolled with an audible gush; the ocean breathed alongside them and the sun beat down, the elements fierce and organic, and Santos stood there pressed to Amelia, holding her against his body until the world had tipped neatly back onto its axis.
‘Your shorts are floating away.’
/> He lifted his head from her neck, confused at first before her words made any kind of sense. He angled his head to their left where, sure enough, his clothing was floating on top of the water.
‘Mine too, come to think of it.’ She laughed a little unsteadily.
‘Stay here.’ He pulled away from her with genuine regret, free-style swimming to their clothes and catching them in his palm.
‘Thanks.’ She took them from his outstretched hand when he returned. He put out an arm of support and she gripped it while she pulled on her shorts, smiling at him as though she was waking up from some kind of dream.
‘That’s not what I expected when we came out here.’
‘Me neither, though I suppose that shows we should always expect it as a possibility.’
‘That’s true. One week a rooftop in Athens, the next a private beach in the Aegean.’ She shook her head, her mouth curved in amusement.
‘Tonight, a roof-top garden in Paris?’
‘What?’
Her smile dropped, showing surprise. His tone was nonchalant, casual. ‘I offered to take Cameron there, to measure the Eiffel Tower. I’m sure he’d enjoy it a lot more if you were there too.’
‘Oh.’ Uncertainty shifted in her expression. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘It’s just... Paris.’
He waited.
‘You know, city of love?’
He burst out laughing. ‘And you think this holds some danger for us?’
Heat stole into her cheeks. ‘No, that’s silly.’ She laughed, but it was shaky. ‘But I’ll have to get back to England soon. Paris might be better kept until after I go.’
‘Paris is next door to London. Why not stop in on your way home?’
* * *
The finality of his offer filled her head with doubts. It was so casual, so carefree, as though ‘the way home’ was simple. As though a little detour would mean nothing. And it shouldn’t. It wasn’t the fact it was Paris, per se, but that it was yet another shared experience, something they were doing together. The night they’d spent in Athens had already begun to transform her dreams. Falling asleep in his arms beneath a starlit sky had seemed to weave her past and present together—fears and grief from her childhood, encapsulated by the heavenly spectre of glistening particles in the sky, had acted as some kind of balm. And ever since then she’d found it impossible not to think about that—and about him.
Santos had been clear about his wishes for this from the start, and she wasn’t stupid enough to hope for more from him, but nor could she deny that she was starting to want more. The idea of returning to England was no longer one she faced with any degree of pleasure. Nor was her teaching job—though that seemed impossible to believe. Her village and school community were the first home she’d ever known but they weren’t the only place she felt at home. Now, there was this island and this mansion, and even his place in Athens. It was anywhere Santos was.
A foreshadowing of disaster curdled her blood so that, as the Anastakos jet came down to land over the city, even the sight of beautiful Paris didn’t arrest the worry inside her. Perhaps the real Greek tragedy of her life was still ahead of her.
* * *
‘It’s not getting bigger.’
Amelia met Santos’s eyes over Cameron’s head and smiled. It was a smile that hurt a little—everything hurt at that point. She knew she had to leave but that didn’t stop her from feeling every single emotion.
‘Not recognisably, no,’ she answered, her voice a little raspy. ‘It’s a very gradual process that takes days of intense heat.’ She tousled her fingers through his hair then reached down for his hand. His small one fit inside hers and she squeezed it.
‘It’s still beautiful.’
She smiled at Cameron again. ‘Yes.’