by Mandy Baggot
‘Come in the water!’ Sonya called.
Tess opened one eye and looked at her friend some hundred metres away, shoulder deep in azure sea. The outlook was spectacular, ocean still and sparkling, sun high in the sky, small boats coming in and out, the faint sound of Greek music from the beachside tavernas. The recognition of the music reminded her of the previous night. Dancing. In front of a whole restaurant. And that kiss …
‘In a minute,’ she called back to Sonya. And it would be a very long, Greek minute if she got her way.
‘Perhaps a cocktail? Compliments of my friend Yiannis’s taverna.’
At the sound of Andras’s voice, Tess sat up and opened both eyes. There was their boat captain, holding a tray with three delicious-looking drinks filled with ice, straws and neon plastic monkeys clinging to the rims.
She grabbed one and sucked greedily, only pausing to say, ‘We need to talk.’
‘I agree,’ he answered, putting the tray on the small table and dropping on to a vacant lounger. ‘I have a restaurant to run. I cannot be your guide man for the whole of the day.’
‘What?’ Tess said, turning her head. ‘No. You need to tell me exactly why I have to be your fake girlfriend.’
‘Ah.’
‘And, I’m afraid, if the reason isn’t good enough then I’ll have to—’
‘My mother wants me to marry my cousin.’
She put the cocktail glass down quickly, eyes moving back to Andras. He was prostrate, eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses, arms behind his head, that skin-skimming T-shirt taut across his body and revealing just a hint of the waistband of his jeans.
‘Oh.’ It was all she could manage.
‘It is a good enough reason?’ he asked, turning his head to face her.
‘Well … I didn’t know the Greeks were into arranged marriages.’
A long, low sigh left him. ‘It is not to do with religion. It is mainly to do with my mother.’
‘And you couldn’t just tell her no?’
‘Not unless I want to suffer the same fate as Uncle Dimitri.’
She immediately imagined a stoning or one of those medieval torture racks, with Andras strapped to the wood, squirming under tight rope bindings … naked. She swallowed. No, that wasn’t torture, that was Christian Grey-esque. And she needed to stop this right now. The fact he was right here, practically her boyfriend – so close and yet so far – wasn’t making anything easier.
‘So, you couldn’t have found a nice, easy-to-please Greek girl to … fill the position.’ She cleared her throat as a flush spread up her body.
‘No,’ he answered. ‘My mother knows all the Greek girls and I think that might please her almost as much as marrying my cousin. Plus … He stopped and she found herself leaning a little towards him, eager to hear what was coming next.
‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘For some reason, when I invented the girlfriend … she was English.’
Tess felt her lips form into a smile. ‘Ah ha.’
‘With blonde hair,’ he continued, turning his face towards her.
She couldn’t see his eyes through those mirrored sunglasses. She didn’t like not seeing his eyes, particularly when her heart had started palpitating, reminding her that she hadn’t had sex in a few weeks, which was basically for ever.
‘And blue eyes,’ he finished.
She wet her lips and cleared her throat before making any attempt to reply. ‘And there I was.’
‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘There you were. In my restaurant.’ He smiled. ‘And I knew you were perfect.’
‘Perfect?’ she queried.
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘We had already argued. You are wrapped up into your work with the Internet. You would not think this could be anything but a business transaction. A favour for a favour.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Tess said, sitting up a little and elongating her body. ‘You couldn’t pick someone who was going to fall in love with you.’
‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘How did you know?’
‘Well, let me see …’ She tapped her left index finger with her right as she started to count. ‘You’re a Greek waiter …’
‘Restaurant owner,’ he interrupted.
‘Sorry – restaurant owner. This means you’re basically on show to holidaymakers for four months of the year—’
‘It is really about seven months,’ he said. ‘We start at the beginning of April and finish at the end of October.’
‘What I’m trying to say is you must have your fair share of swoony singles trying to get a piece of your meze.’
She watched the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in amusement.
‘Do they tell you they love you?’ Tess carried on. ‘Do they whisper it over the candles, with dewy eyes as you serve up one of those apricot and vanilla cheesecakes? Are there tears at the steps of the transfer bus?’
‘I don’t date—’ he started.
‘Purlease! Don’t give me the “I don’t date customers” line. You’re dating one right now. Me. Your best fake date ever.’
‘I don’t date at all,’ Andras finished.
The short sentence almost made Tess catch her breath. He didn’t date. What did that mean? He wasn’t in a relationship if he needed her, so what else was there apart from dating? Being happily on his own? She shuddered like a keen wind had shattered the wave of heat.
‘What do you mean you don’t date? Are you … a monk?’ Tess asked.
He laughed and shook his head. ‘No.’
She would probably get it more if he had said yes. She swallowed. ‘I don’t understand.’ She blinked, still looking at him. ‘Are you secretly gay?’
He lifted up his sunglasses, revealing those dark eyes. ‘What would that have to do with not dating?’
She didn’t know really. She was clutching at straws. ‘Well, I thought, with your mother keen for you to marry, and you asking me to …’
‘And me not saying the cousin she wanted me to marry was female …’
She nodded. ‘That’s true. Although I’m not sure how that would fit with her Greek traditions.’
He laughed then, loud and hard. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘And I am not gay, Trix.’ He pulled in a long breath. ‘I just do not date. It is as simple as that.’
Simple? Not dating wasn’t simple. It was crazy. Mad. Unthinkable. And he’d called her Trix. Why had she invented that stupid nickname?
‘But …’ She couldn’t help herself. She had to know. Perhaps this was going to be an insight into how she could stop people from proposing to her after weeks. ‘What about sex?’
Long seconds seemed to pass by and Tess could feel the sun on her skin, each centimetre sizzling as she waited for his response. This time he took the aviators off and put them down on the table. He shifted his body weight, turning onto his side and looking directly at her.
‘I have sex,’ he stated.
The three words all seemed to roll over Tess like a deep tissue massage. She found herself holding her breath.
‘But that is all,’ he answered shortly. ‘Sometimes good sex, other times really, really great sex – you know …’
She was actually considering if she did know, because he was making this no-dating-at-all sex sound like the Big Mac of All Sex. Perhaps this was where she had been going wrong. Thinking that casual dating was casual enough. Andras just had sex. No Italian meal as a prelude. Just sex.
‘There is no confusion. We have sex. We say goodbye. There is no breakfast in the morning or holding hands. Everyone knows where they stand, no?’
He was staring at her and she couldn’t look away. She wanted to have sex with him. In fact, she didn’t think she had ever wanted to have sex with anyone more.
‘Tess,’ he whispered.
‘Uh huh,’ she replied, her stomach revolving with longing.
‘Keep very still.’
She instantly tightened her core, her whole body aching for another one of those kisses …
Then,
suddenly, he waved a hand and she screamed as something fat and black took flight from around her midriff area, buzzing its way past her face. She leapt from the sunlounger, hands flapping, feet stamping into the fine stones. She hurriedly shoved them into her shoes.
‘What was it?! What was it?!’
He laughed. ‘It was just a bee.’
‘Oh no,’ Tess began. ‘Bees are yellow and black, small, should be in hives. That thing was black like a … flying beetle.’
‘It is a carpenter bee. They can be a little aggressive.’
‘Really? Well, so can I if it comes near me again.’
He laughed at her again, shaking his head. ‘Please, tonight, you must wear repellent for the insects.’
‘Ah,’ Tess said, brushing sand off her lounger before dropping down onto it again. ‘Well, thank you but Sonya and I are eating at the Durrells’ house tonight, the White House restaurant.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Andras stated. ‘I had a text from Spiro. There is a family dinner. You must come with me.’
‘What? I can’t,’ she exclaimed. ‘I have Sonya to—’
‘She can come too,’ Andras answered.
‘But—’
‘You do not need the Wi-Fi any longer?’ he asked. ‘Or someone to point out the house of the Rothschild family as we sail back?’
He knew she needed Internet connection as much as she needed air to breathe. And she needed this holiday to be perfect for Sonya.
‘And if I come …’ All she could think about was sex. Sex with him. Theoretically, if this sex was as casual as he was implying, she wouldn’t be breaking Sonya’s single rule if she had it, would she? She shook her head, refocused. ‘I want you to take us somewhere tomorrow too. Anywhere Sonya wants to go.’
‘I—’ he began.
‘That’s the deal,’ she said firmly.
‘Then we will find a way,’ he agreed.
‘Tess!’ Sonya called. ‘Come into the water! It’s just so cleansing!’
‘In a minute,’ she called back. She picked up her cocktail and took another sip.
‘She is right,’ Andras said. ‘The water is beautiful.’
Eyes moving right, she watched him strip off his T-shirt then unfasten the buttons of his jeans. Why did the guy talk about sex all the time and have a body to die for? Now, wearing nothing but those small trunks, he stood in front of her.
‘Are you coming?’ he asked.
There went her G-spot.
She rushed out an answer. ‘Soon.’
He nodded. ‘OK. Well, remember: do not forget to take off your shoes.’
Tess looked down the sunlounger to her feet. They were still clad in the gold strappies she had felt the need to slip on when soles met sand to ward off the bee. Dating. Casual sex. Whatever she did, nothing had really changed since that summer day in July last year.
‘I’ll catch you up,’ she replied, sitting back with a sigh.
Twenty-two
The beach near the Rothschild Mansion
Andras cut the engine and moved to the rear of the boat to drop the anchor. They had left Nissaki and taken a slow cruise back up along the coast, passing Kouloura and Kalami and stopping, much to Sonya’s delight, at the beach right underneath the Rothschild family mansion.
‘There are signs,’ Sonya called. Stripped to her tankini, she was hovering above the gap where a small metal ladder dropped into the ocean. ‘Private property and … is that a hazard sign?’ She put her hand up, shielding her eyes from the sun and looked closer.
Tess’s eyes went from where she was applying more suncream on her shoulders to Andras, who had just ripped his T-shirt over his head. She swallowed. On board a boat, bobbing in the azure sea off a gorgeous Greek island with a hot Adonis she could kiss the face off – well, apparently only in role-playing terms.
‘The beach cannot be private,’ Andras informed them, his hands on the waistband of his jeans.
The way he said ‘private’ was almost perverted.
‘No?’ Sonya asked.
‘No,’ Andras said. ‘No beach in Greece can belong to someone.’
‘Great,’ Sonya said, turning around and shuffling backwards towards the ladder. ‘Come on, Tess! Swimming around below the Rothschild mansion. In the same water as Charles and Camilla.’
‘I’m not sure that’s selling the experience.’ Tess watched Andras unbuttoning his jeans. Someone this hot getting his kit off was definitely selling it to her.
There was a noise from her bag, immediately recognisable as emails arriving. Out here, in the middle of the sea, there was Internet. She put down the suncream, wiped her hands on her towel and grabbed for her bag.
‘Ooo, a little cold on the toes!’ Sonya exclaimed, lowering herself in.
‘You should let go,’ Andras called to her. ‘Just do it, quickly.’
Tess found her email hoping there would be one from work, telling her they had realised what a literal cock-up they had made of the Blackberry Boudoir branding and they were reverting back to her designs. She scanned through. John Lewis. Travel Republic. Vistaprint. Nothing new from McKenzie Falconer. She was going to have to make that call.
Suddenly the phone was taken from her hands.
‘Come in the water,’ Andras said.
She got to her feet quickly, swiping for her mobile and just hitting air as he held the item out of reach. ‘Give that back. I need to make a call.’
‘Going in!’ Sonya called.
‘Relax,’ Andras urged, his hand with the phone still at full stretch. ‘Have fun with your friend.’
Just as Tess’s eyes moved to the back of the boat there was an almighty splash and Sonya disappeared, quickly re-emerging with a gasp of delight.
‘Cold but … amazing!’ she breathed, arms performing a quick breaststroke as she began to tread water.
‘I’ll come in,’ Tess said, eyes back on Andras.
‘You will?’ Andras stated. He couldn’t have sounded more unconvinced if he had tried.
‘If you give me my phone.’
He held his arm firm, the phone still too high and too far.
‘We should take a photo,’ she said. ‘Of the two of us.’ She swallowed. ‘Being a couple.’ She smiled. ‘To show your family on Facebook.’
He smiled. ‘I am not on Facebook.’
‘What?’ He couldn’t be serious. Who wasn’t on Facebook?! ‘But how do you … connect with people?’ The moment the words were out she felt like an idiot. She started to blush. Just how social-media needy did she sound right now?
‘We talk, Trix,’ he answered. ‘Using our voices not our fingers.’
She swallowed, eyes going to those long, lean, olive-skinned fingers curled around her phone. The things they could do …
‘I’m swimming to the beach!’ Sonya shouted, appearing over the side of the boat, hair now slick from the water, arms moving as she propelled herself along.
Andras finally lowered his arm. ‘But we can take a photo,’ he agreed. ‘Show my mother we have been out today.’ He handed her phone over, then slipped an arm around her shoulders, ready to pose.
That torso was so close, almost touching hers. She held her breath, fingers seeming to find it difficult to open the camera app. Finally, she had it open and selected selfie mode.
‘Ready?’ she asked him, eyes directed at the camera.
‘Etsy,’ he replied.
She snapped the photo then quickly tapped to see the result.
‘It is OK,’ Andras said, looking at the picture.
Tess swallowed. It was more than OK. It was brilliant. Blue sky and perfect sea behind them, boaty stuff just visible and Andras looking like David Gandy’s younger brother. She couldn’t wait to load that up to all her social-media accounts.
‘So, now we put this down,’ Andras said, taking the phone from her again and dropping it onto the seating without care for its delicate disposition. ‘And we jump into the water.’ He took hold of her hand.
‘Jump?
’ Tess queried. ‘But Sonya went down the ladder.’
‘It is better to jump,’ Andras encouraged her, pulling her over to the back of the boat.
Tess swallowed, immediately looking down at her feet. There was no way she wanted to lose the shoes to the bottom of the sea like the Heart of the Ocean necklace in Titanic but the alternative … She was keeping them on. Andras still gripping her fingers, she stepped up alongside him looking down into the water, strips of turquoise combining with deep, inky areas.
‘After three,’ he said, squeezing her hand.
She didn’t reply, just felt the need to close her eyes.
‘Ena, dyo, tria!’
She jumped up and out, Andras’s motion taking her forward faster, and within split seconds she felt the sea pull her in, her body shooting downwards, cold water enveloping her and momentarily stealing her breath. She kicked for the surface, lungs bursting, until she emerged, sunlight on her face. Her shoes were still on her feet.
‘Oh! It’s cold! Cold!’ Tess shrieked.
‘It is good, no?’ Andras responded.
He was right next to her, far more adept at keeping himself afloat than she was. He was calmly swaying in the water, while her moves were more warding-off-potential-attacker. It was then that the cramp hit. Her calf suddenly tightened, delivering a hideous straining pain that had her gasping.
‘What is wrong?’ Andras asked, moving closer to her.
‘My leg,’ she breathed, shaking it out and trying to stretch against the weight of the water. ‘It’s cramp.’
‘Hold on to me,’ he urged.
She didn’t hesitate. She put her arms around his neck and focused all her effort on making the ache stop hurting. His arm went around her waist, drawing her into his body as his legs worked at keeping them above the water.
‘You are OK?’ he asked.
Finally, the pain began to subside and she nodded, taking a deep breath. It was only then she realised the intimacy of their position. Her arms around his neck, his torso fixed to hers. His hair was wet, slicked back from his face, those heavenly ebony eyes framed by deep, dark, long, wet eyelashes. Tinder Tess would have taken advantage of his perfect tableau of gorgeousness and occupied those lips with hers. Could she? Should she? While Sonya was busy on the other side of the boat swimming to the beach?
