I bob my head. “You’re really good with accents. Do you speak any other languages?”
“Italian and a bit of Spanish. Enough to find my way around there if I’ll ever need to but not enough to hold a decent conversation.”
“Impressive. Maybe one day you can teach me Italian.”
Although, French would be better.
French kissing.
The dimples in his cheeks pop when he smiles, eyes sparkling like the sky on the Fourth of July. God, I’m getting freakingpoeticinmy own head, all while I imagine climbing his lap like a tree and thrusting my tongue into his mouth.
“Where did you learn English? I bet it wasn’t at school. You’ve got a richer vocabulary than a lot of people who were born here, believe me.”
“I did take English lessons at school, but the curriculum was very basic, and after eight years of studying, I couldn’t even hold a decent conversation. I learned mostly from music, movies, and fiction books.”
“Why did you move to America all alone?” He casually sips his coffee, seemingly relaxed, but I can see he’s wound up tight, waiting for the answer as if he’s desperate to learn more about me but doesn’t want to let it show.
I squeeze the cup so hard that the lid pops out of place. I’ve got a rehearsed answer to this question ready. It’s simple, believable, and completely innocent. The same answer I fed everyone who’s asked so far. The truth is too disturbing and painful, but meeting Theo’s curious gaze, I’m hesitant to lie.
The truth will set you free.
Not in this case.
I wish I could tell him. Or anyone for that matter, but that kind of confession requires trust on an unbreakable level, and I can’t let myself trust that much.
New life.
New friends.
New beginning.
The past stays where it belongs.
“The American Dream,” I say with a sigh, swallowing the shame burning my throat. “Greece is a beautiful country, but it’s not somewhere you’d choose to live and work. Most people live mediocre lives, trying to make ends meet, worrying if they’ll have enough money to last until the next paycheck. I wanted a more stable life than that.”
“What about your family? Didn’t they want to move over here with you? Your parents? Siblings?”
I lean back, stretching on the sand, while the waves crash against my feet, reaching higher, lower, and higher again. “I’m an only child, and my parents are very traditional. They’d never leave Greece.”
I hope he won’t ask another question. I’m stepping on thin ice around him as it is.
By the look of him, the reserve and doubtful edge to his eyes, he knows that’s not the whole story. He turns away, staring at the calm ocean, and the flat look on his face feels like a slap across my cheek. I never want to see him so...detachedagain.
“Tell me about your family,” I say, hoping to God it’ll get him talking again because right now, he looks like he’s about to get up and leave. “It must’ve been fun growing up with six brothers.”
Taking his sweet time, he brings his eyes back to mine, and the smile he’s trying to keep at bay has my heart skipping a series of flickering beats. “Fun?” He touches the scar on his cheek. “That’s Logan’s doing. He shoved a stick into the wheel of my bike when I was eight. I landed face-first on a tree stump in the woods while we were away for a weekend with my grandparents.” He points at the bridge of his nose. “That’s Shawn and Nico. Shawn threw an iron at me when I was eleven. Nico broke it with his fist five years ago.”
“Hehityou? Why?”
Theo shrugs. “I was drunk, said some shit... I deserved it. He did that, too.” He points at the tiny scar on his lip, the one I want to run my tongue along to see if I’ll feel any difference. “Same evening. It took him one blast to break my nose and split my lip.” A peal of soft laughter wheezes past his lips. “Growing up with them had its ups and downs, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re close, and now that the triplets are starting to man up, they spend more time with us too.”
I never wanted siblings, but hearing the fondness in Theo’s voice makes me a little jealous that I’m an only child. Maybe if I had siblings, I wouldn’t be alone now. Maybe my brother or sister would be as close to me as Theo is to his brothers. I bet they always have each other’s back no matter what happens. I bet their parents are the same—caring and loving.
Not like my parents.
The sun dips closer toward the horizon, painting the sea a kaleidoscope of oranges, yellows, and purples, while we sit on the beach talking and laughing, the world passing us by. I could spend a few more hours like this, listening to his stories, but Theo has different plans.
“I’m starving, Thalia. I’m sure you are, too,” he says a while later, prompting me to glance at my watch.