I pick up one. It’s an office tower, all glass but shaped like a half-moon. “Wow. These are wonderful. You’re very talented.”
He shrugs. “I love it but I need more formal education. These you see here are for my portfolio.”
“I have no doubt you’ll be accepted to whatever school you apply.”
“Maybe.”
I narrow my eyes as I watch him. He’s lost in thought, looking out the window with an expression of melancholy. I want to ask what’s wrong, if there’s anything I can do to help but I get the sense that whatever it is he’s worried about or thinking about has nothing to do with me. He blinks and then turns to me, catching me watching him.
I’m about to say something when my mobile bings.
I’d forgotten I’d left it on. I go to turn it off but first I glance at the sender of the message.
Chase Walker.
My knees buckles and I reach out for the edge of Nicolai’s desk in order to steady myself. But it’s too late. A horrible knot is already forming in the pit of my stomach and my ears are stuffed with cotton as my vision narrows.
“Tessa?”
Nicolai’s voice echoes—muffled—as if coming from a distance. He puts his hand on my shoulder but I shrug it off because it feels too heavy.
I stumble through the door and hurry out of Nicolai’s apartment.
With no explanation to Nicolai, I bolt.
Chapter Twelve
I run. Well, I don’t actually run, I walk—quickly—right out of the guesthouse and down to the promenade where I continue to walk until I find myself on a cliff beneath the castle, staring off toward the horizon.
Only then am I able to breathe freely again and to see beyond the tunnel and hear past the bells.
Every so often I have one of these episodes. A sense of panic hits and I have to escape. It’s so rare and it comes upon me so quickly that I’m never prepared for it. I guess if I knew what the triggers were I could do something about it, but I don’t know what they are, so I’m never prepared. I mean, I’ve had messages from my ex-husband before. Yes, I react to them, but never like this, never this severely. Why now? Why here?
I don’t know. The only thing I do know is that when an episode hits, I need wide open space where I can breathe deeply and stare at the horizon. Eventually my speeding heart rate slows and I’m okay.
Taking my mobile out of my pocket, I scroll through the messages from the last few days. My hands shake as I reply to some texts from London and from a friend in New York, asking when I’ll be back in town. Then I get to the message from Chase.
We need to talk? About what?
The ringing between my ears has stopped, but I’m still experiencing difficulty swallowing. I stare at the message, my finger hovering over the delete button but I don’t press it. Instead, I turn my mobile off and sit down on a boulder, staring out at the harbor for another ten minutes, sifting through memories of my marriage, trying unsuccessfully to banish the anguish of the biggest mistake of my life.
Only once I’ve got a handle on my emotions and everything is neatly tucked away again do I return to the guesthouse to find Nicolai on the terrace, worried and pacing.
“Tessa, I’m sorry. I—”
I touch his arm and smile. “Don’t apologize. This happens every once in a while. I’m good now.”
“What happened?”
“Panic attack.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Panic attack? You?”
I laugh. “Don’t sound so surprised. We all have our quirks.”
“Was it something I said?”
I shake my head. “No.” I squeeze his hand. “It’s no big deal.”
He looks like he wants to say something else but before he has a chance I shove a flyer at him. It’s something I found at the tourist kiosk on my walk back to the guesthouse. The International Women’s Festival will end in a few days but there are a lot of events still going on as the festival wraps up, including a reading of Sappho’s poetry tonight at the museum in Skala Eressos.
I ask Nicolai to go with me. He doesn’t argue or try to convince me our time would be better spent at home...in bed. He just keeps watching me like he used to, except now his perplexed look is mixed with worry. It’s totally unnecessary and I vow to make it up to him.
We take the rental car for the trip because it’s already getting dark. Even though I’ve been driving since Nicolai was...well, I’m not even going to give voice to that comparison, he insists on driving. It’s chauvinistic and kind of sweet all at the same time.
It takes about an hour to drive there and once we arrive, we park on the outskirts of the small beach town, he walks me to the door of the museum and leaves me there.
“You’re not coming in?”
He regards the streams of women in the streets, many holding hands, playfully laughing and joking. He shakes his head. “No. I think you should go alone.” He points across the street. “I’ll be in the café there. Waiting.”
I’m early enough that I manage to find a seat in the second row. A few minutes later, the seating area fills.
“Is this your first time?” The woman beside me asks in a soft British accent. She’s petite with fair skin and large blue eyes.
“To the island or to the festival?”
“Both, I guess.”
“First time to the festival, second time to Lesvos. I came seven years ago and loved it so much I stayed four months.”
“Wow.” Her eyes widen in appreciation.
“Is this your first time?”
She shakes her head. “Third time to the festival. I love Sappho’s work. I wrote a graduate thesis on her.”
The presenter walks in at that moment and starts with an introduction about the 6th century BC poet who wrote about love between both men and women. Of course, it was because Sappho was from Lesvos that in the 19th century the term lesbian first became associated with love between women.
After the introduction, the presenter begins reciting Sappho’s Hymn to Venus.
O Venus, beauty of the skies.
To whom a thousand temples rise...
The reader is German and has a beautiful speaking voice that I find mesmerizing. However, the woman sitting beside me, Misty, doesn’t seem to appreciate the oration as much as I do because I hear her mutter something about Venus being Roman whereas Sappho was Greek and therefore wrote about the Greek goddess, Aphrodite.
Personally, I don’t care about translations. I’m just enjoying the poetry, particularly when the reader comes to the verse,
What frenzy in my bosom raged,
And by what cure to be assuaged?
What gentle youth I would allure,
Whom in my artful toils secure?
Who does thy tender heart subdue,
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who.
Oh dear. I can tell you who is the ‘gentle youth I would allure’. Nicolai, that’s who. Suddenly, my panic attack is forgotten and all I can think about is him. The way he looked this morning. So handsome. So fresh. So young and delicious.
After the reading ends, the presenter begins a discussion surrounding Sappho’s works, which have been translated from fragments and the subsequent modern interpretations. I pretend to listen while I think about Nicolai and how he looked as he pleasured himself last night. I can’t wait to see that expression on his face again. Next time it’s going to be me pleasuring him, first with my hands, then with my mouth. I imagine the sounds he’ll make and my hands clench as I think about stroking and squeezing him as I lick the tip of him.
I’m vaguely aware that the woman beside me is fully engaged in the discussion. Whatever she is saying, she’s passionate about it and there’s something about her that reminds me of Nicolai. Maybe it’s her quiet conviction.
I try to pull my attention away from my naughty thoughts to focus on what she’s saying about Sappho and how the poet was known to the a
ncient scholars as one of ten earthly muses, but that’s all I catch before my mind wanders again, this time imagining teaching Nicolai how to bring me to orgasm...with his fingers and with his mouth.
I don’t realize the session has ended until the woman beside me taps me on the shoulder. I look up into her smiling face and realize I’m breathing heavily.
“Sappho has the same effect on me,” she says with a grin.
We walk outside together. “I’m Misty, by the way,” she says.
“I’m Tessa.”
“Nice to meet you. What did you think of the reading?”
“Very enlightening,” although what I actually mean is arousing. “What about you?”
“Oh, I could discuss Sappho all day, as I’m sure you could tell. I’m such a sucker for ancient history.”
We pause outside the museum. There is a party atmosphere around town with loud music pouring out of each small café as if vying to outdo one another.
“Are you going to the beach party tonight? It’s retro, all 80s music.”
“It sounds fun, but...”
But what am I supposed to say to this woman I just met? It sounds fun but I’d rather go home and spend the night making out with this hot young guy I’m initiating into the world of sex. Yeah, I don’t think so.
“I hope to see you there,” Misty says.
I say good-bye and cross the street to the café where Nicolai is waiting. The table is covered with plates of food.
“I hope you don’t mind I ordered for us.”
“Not at all.”
I’m starving and the souvlaki and fresh pita hit the spot. I tell him about the reading and he adds his own take on things. It doesn’t surprise me that he has something to say on the subject. Of course he’s read Sappho’s work, just one more example of why he seems so much older than his years.
“You should have come,” I say.
He shakes his head and smiles.
After we pay the bill and head back out onto the street, I can hear the music from the beach party getting underway and I start singing along to the chorus of Hold Me Now by the Thompson Twins.
“What is this song?” Nicolai asks.
“You don’t know it?”
He shakes his head.
I berate him for not knowing classic 80s music. Going through a list of artists and song titles, I become more and more astonished when he shakes his head, having never heard of any of them.
Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics starts to play and I sing the first few lines. “What about this one?”
“No.”
I roll my eyes because his ignorance of eighties music is a reminder of our age difference. “Come on.” Taking Nicolai’s hand I pull him in the direction of the party. “You’re in need of an education.”
“Where are we going?”
“Beach party.”
“I’d prefer to go home.”
Home.
There’s that word. Lately, I’ve found myself thinking of the guesthouse as home too. Strange.
Whatever. I’m determined to educate Nicolai in something other than sex. “Come on. Just for a little while.”
Cyndi Lauper comes on singing, Girls Just Want to Have Fun, and Nicolai tugs on my hand.
“Now this one I know.”
“You do?”
He nods. He’s got a faraway look in his eye and a smile about his lips. Good. I keep dragging him in the direction of the party and he no longer protests but allows himself to be pulled along.
The DJ is on a platform surrounded by colorful lights and a fog machine. The area of beach in front of the stage has become a dance floor. Circling this large area are tables and we end up finding an empty one on the outer edge. Bars are set up all over the beach and Nicolai goes to get us drinks. When he returns, we sit in silence, watching the crowd of women. I look at where Nicolai’s hands are resting on the table and it suddenly strikes me that since my little ‘episode’ this afternoon, he hasn’t touched me.
I’m about to ask him about it when he says, “What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
He’s watching the women careening and gyrating on the sand in front of the stage and then turns to eye a couple kissing a few tables from us. “Being with a woman,” he asks softly.
I’m mid sip and the unexpectedness of his question makes me choke. Setting my drink down, I cough one more time and then ask, “How did you know?”
“Last time you were here, I remember you had a female...friend. I saw you one night. Kissing. I’d never seen two women kiss like that before.”
Ahh. He must be talking about Casey, the hopelessly romantic Australian. She was in Lesvos with a group of friends as a sort of pilgrimage. I thought we were discreet, not that the people of Lesvos aren’t accustomed to female/female couples. But obviously our brief relationship hadn’t escaped young Nicolai’s notice.
I reach for his hands, needing a connection. He stiffens at first but then relaxes as I run my thumbs over his knuckles. “Being with a woman is nice. It’s...different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. It’s gentler, more sensual. Women are like dessert. Sweet and delicious.”
“So you’re bisexual?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. My preference is men. But every once in a while I enjoy being with a woman.”
Nicolai watches me as he drinks but doesn’t say anything.
“Actually, my first lover was a woman.”
It’s his turn to choke and this is just what is needed to lighten the mood.
“She was a good teacher.”
“Did you love her?”
“Yes. I did.”
“How old were you?”
“I’m not going to tell you that.”
“Why?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I watch the people around us. But I’ve got the remnant of a smile on my face as I think of Melina...another story for another time.
“Are there any women here tonight who interest you?” His question is asked with forced casualness.
Meeting his gaze, I say, “I’m not really in the mood for a woman...” Under the table, I kick off my sandal and brush Nicolai’s lower leg.
He groans.
“But if I was...”
“You made it!” Suddenly Misty is standing beside our table, sipping a fruity drink from an umbrella straw. “I didn’t think you were going to show.” She glances quickly at Nicolai and then back at me.
“Hi, Misty.” I look to Nicolai for approval before inviting her to join us. “Have a seat.”
“You don’t mind, do you? I’m not interrupting, am I?” She looks first at me, then at Nicolai again.
“No,” Nicolai stands and extends his hand, introducing himself. “Let me find a chair for you.”
Once he’s out of earshot, Misty says, “Well, he’s a tall, cool, drink of water, isn’t he?”
I nod.
“Is he your boyfriend?” Her nose wrinkles at the word.
“No,” I say. “Just a good friend.”
“Oh.” She smiles hopefully and I’m about to explain to her that I’m not interested in any hook-ups, particularly of the female-female variety, but Nicolai returns holding a plastic chair. He sets it down between us and folds his tall frame into it.
I explain how Misty and I met at the reading and another conversation about Sappho ensues. I mostly sit and listen because it turns out I’m surrounded by two veritable experts on the subject. I’m already on my second drink and the two of them are arguing about whether translations should rhyme, as per our Western sensibilities, or stick more closely to the Aeolic verse construct with fixed meter.
Seriously.
We’re at a beach party. Everyone is dancing to Madonna while Misty and Nicolai discuss Aeolic verse. I sit back and let the two of them argue while I play my own little game. Namely, How-long-does-it-take-to-break-Nicolai-Kinellis. Using my toes, I caress up Nicolai’s leg waiting for him to falter
but—damn—he's so stubbornly stoic, the bastard! He keeps up this serious conversation as if I’m not running my foot suggestively along his leg. I up the stakes, letting my inquisitive toe make a daring move, nudging his inner thighs open so I can fit my foot between his legs.
Finally!
He practically leaps from his chair, half-glaring, half-grinning at me and mumbling about wanting to procure another round of drinks.
After he walks off with that oh-so-familiar, stiff-legged gait, Misty sighs and says, “What a lovely young man. How do you two know each other?”
“Friend of the family.”
She waits for me to elaborate. When I don’t, she says, “So...you’re not lovers?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Her eyes go wide. “You are lovers?”
How to explain my relationship with Nicolai? Friends? Lovers? Teacher/pupil? Friends with benefits? None of these descriptions fit. “We’re friends but...we’re also a little bit more,” I finally concede. “It’s no big deal.”
“Maybe not to you. It is to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s smitten.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You didn’t see the way he watched you when you went to get a drink. All moon-faced and doe-eyed.”
I don’t get a chance to reply because the moon-faced, doe-eyed man in question chooses that moment to return with some fruity party drink that tastes an awful lot like Sangria—a hangover-in-waiting.
The minute Nicolai sits down, Misty starts asking him more questions about the history of Lesvos and they get into this whole discussion on the Byzantine Empire.
I roll my eyes and feign a yawn.
“What do you think, Tessa?” Misty asks.
I have no idea what the question is because obviously, I haven’t been listening.
“I don’t know. It’s all Greek to me.” I think I’m hilarious. I’ve been waiting all night to use that line. Okay, I’ve probably had too much to drink. That’s what happens when I’m bored.
Misty laughs—bless her. “You sound like my girlfriend, Jane.”
Okay. I did not see that coming. I’m so surprised I blurt out a string of questions. “You’ve got a girlfriend? Is she here? Where is she?”
Seduction in the Sun: Adult Romance Box Set (9 Sizzling Tales with BBW, Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Alpha Males) Page 48
