A Greek Affair (Seven Days to Fall in Love #4)

  A Greek Affair

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by E. M. Irons

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address:

  authoremirons@gmail.com

  First e-book edition June 2021

  Cover Illustration by Ilustratam

  Edited by Helena Bracken

  To all the romantics at heart: I see you, I am you.

  A Greek Affair

  E. M. IRONS

  1

  This was not how I imagined arriving in Greece: red swollen eyes, running make-up, limp hair, and the headache to end all headaches. On the plane, the flight attendant took pity on me when I couldn’t stop crying and gave me so much wine and snacks that it was almost worth it. Almost, but not quite.

  My boyfriend of the last year and a half - with whom I was supposed to be travelling with - dumped me on the way to the airport, saying that "we wanted different things", like an honest relationship, maybe? And well, he’d "just met a nice girl, and they were in love”, aka he cheated. Plus, that I “was definitely not part of the future”. No shit, Sherlock. Not really nice on his part, right? At least I was still going to Greece. Yeah, I’m trying to look on the bright side of the situation.

  Getting out of the airport, I made a beeline to the waiting taxis, and as per my luck from the last 6 hours, the next free taxi looked like it came straight from the eighties, I wasn’t sure how it was even still running. The driver was a Greek man, who looked 300 years old, tall and thin, with a full grey beard, but he was kind enough to get out of the car and help me with my suitcase. Once he looked at my face, his face crumpled and he patted me on the shoulder.

  "Korítsi, I don’t know why the sad face, but Greece will help it. Come, come, let’s go. Give me the name of your hotel, yes?” He said with a thick accent.

  In the backseat, after finding the name of a little inn I was going to stay for the next couple of days, and with some Greek music streaming from the radio, my eyes filled with tears again.

  “Oh, no, no, no, korítsi! Tell Stravos what is wrong with your heart.”

  Hiccuping, I told the story of my breakup. Or, actually, of being dumped. “My… boyfriend… broke up with… me. On the way… to the airport. He met… someone else.”

  “That boy is no good, you hear me? No good. But Greece will mend your heart. We have the bluest sea, to wash away those tears, and the brightest sun, to light up your soul. And the food! Korítsi, the food is… how do you say it? To die for! Moussaka, kolokythokeftedes, baklava, feta, olives. Good food!”

  That made me smile. “My mom always says that good food and a cup of tea can cure anything.”

  “And good Ouzo!”

  Laughing, I wiped the tears away, and Mr. Stravos gave me some Kleenex to blow my nose.

  “Thank you, Mr. Stravos.”

  “No need to thank me, korítsi. If my grandson was old enough, I would introduce you and then you would have a Greek man so you would know how a man should treat a woman. But he’s still young and learning, and you need a good man, not a boy."

  “Well, right now I don’t want any boy or any man. I think I’ll just become a spinster. That’s it.”

  “Nonsense! You’ll see, soon enough you’ll be swept off your feet. And that heartache will seem silly. Trust old Stravos, yes?"

  I smiled at him and finally took in my surroundings. Athens was a far cry from grey Edinburgh, and I was glad for that. From the driver's seat, Mr. Stravos sang a song along with the radio. The lyrics were in Greek, but the melody warmed my heart. The drive took us around half an hour, and Mr. Stravos kept pointing to sights and telling stories about the people and the places, and about his family and his friends. He made Athens sound like a small village.

  The hotel I was staying at was the Athinas Inn, ten minutes walking distance from the Acropolis and right at the centre of town. Perfect for my solo traveller status.

  Mr. Stravos parked the taxi right in front of the hotel, which was really a small doorway smack between a mini market and a souvenir shop, got my suitcase from the trunk and walked right in with me following in his footsteps. The reception was tiny, and the elevator seemed a hundred years old, made of iron and wood, opening to the staircase that circled around it. Grand, it was not, but it looked homey.

  “Good afternoon, Amara!”

  Mr. Stravos bent and gave a kiss on the cheek of the lady behind the desk.

  “Stravos! What are you doing here? Don’t tell me your wife finally sent you away.” The older lady laughed.

  “I zoí mou would never do that, you little minx. I brought you your guest.”

  He waved me forward and patted me on the back.

  “Korítsi had her heart broken, but I told her Greece would fix her.”

  “Oh dear, are you Olivia Leigh?”

  “I am.” I smiled at her, waving awkwardly.

  She then went on a rant in Greek, with Mr. Stravos answering, and they both got angry. My head was going from one point to the other, accompanying the back-and-forth argument, the hands moving and finally the nodding heads.

  “Dear, your reservation was cancelled earlier.” Mrs. Amara finally spoke in English.

  “Excuse me?” I squeaked.

  “I’m sorry, I got an email last night about it.”

  “There must be a mistake. Can I use your wi-fi, please?”

  I was already fishing my cell from my backpack and logging on the internet. My hands were shaking while I was opening the reservation app.

  “That motherfucker!” I cursed and burst into tears.

  “No, no, no. Come here, korítsi. Sit down.”

  Mr. Stravos was pushing me to a chair, and Mrs. Amara was giving me a glass of water. They kept talking, trying to calm me.

  “It’s ok. I’m ok. Everything is fine.” I was practically doing a mantra with those phrases.

  Oh my God, did he cancel the cruise as well?

  I raised my phone to my face and scrolled through my email, finding the travel agency contact. I shot them a quick question and waited. And waited some more. It felt like two hours had passed when the phone pinged with a reply.

  Dear Miss Leigh,

  Yes, your cruise is confirmed. You should be in the Athens port in three days' time, with your passport.

  We received a call from Mr. Shawn regarding a cancellation or a partial refund, but we informed him it was impossible due to the contract signed and the promotional price paid.

  If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to contact us.

  Best regards,

  Travel Easy

  That scumbag of an ex-boyfriend tried to cancel everything. And didn’t actually think to let me know. All my sadness vanished, and I was just pissed off. Really, truly pissed off. I opened the last message we exchanged and recorded a voice one.

  “You piece of shit, wannabe poet, horrible human being, I hope your new girlfriend realises the asshole you are and dumps you! What kind of person cancels reservations and doesn't let the other know? And you tried to cancel the cruise too, you dickhead? FUCK YOU!"

  And I hit send.

  There was silence around me, and when I finally looked around, Mr. Stravos and Mrs. Amara were looking at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Sorry.” I mumbled.

  “Better out th
an in, darling.” Mrs. Amara said.

  “Can I pay for the reservation with a credit card?” I asked, wiping away the tears. That jerk did not deserve tears.

  “You could, but I have no more rooms available.” She sounded apologetic.

  “What? How?!”

  “It's high season, and I had a couple walk in yesterday, looking for a room. I’m sorry."

  “Not your fault, is it?” I sounded pitiful even to my own ears. “Is there some place around here where I could get a room?”

  “There’s a hostel down the street, and maybe the hotel in the corner has something. I can call and ask for you.”

  “No need, Amara, I will just take lígo Olivia to my Angelina. She can stay with us, yes?” Mr. Stravos interrupted her.

  “What? No! Mr. Stravos, thank you, but no.”

  I was up and shaking my head. I could find some place to stay. Worst-case scenario, I would sleep under the stars on a bench. It sounded romantic. Right? Yes, that’s me trying to look on the bright side of the situation again.

  “If my daughter or granddaughter were in your place, I would like someone to do the same. Ela!, we can go now and have a nice dinner with my Angelina. Amara, please call her and tell her I’m bringing lígo Olivia?”

  And that's how I ended up in Mr. Stravo’s taxi again, heading for his home in the Koukaki neighbourhood, to have dinner with his wife and stay for the next couple of days in his house. He parked the car in front of an old, but pretty house, with yellow windows and his wife was waiting by the door, an apron wrapped around her waist and a glass of what looked like wine in her hand. She was a beautiful older woman, with pronounced laughing lines on her face, a big bosom and a small build. When we got out of the car, she opened her arms to me and hugged me, like I was family.

  “Agapitós, come here. Welcome to our house.”

  She let me go and raised her face to be kissed by her husband, patting his face and smiling at him, greeting in Greek.

  “Let's go in, I made the room ready, and I have moussaka in the oven.”

  Mr. Stravos stole the glass of wine from her hand, took a sip, and winked at me.

  “My Angelina is an angel.”

  She blushed and slapped his arm.

  “Silly old man. Bring her bags, yes?"

  Laughing, Mr. Stravos gave her the glass back and went back for my suitcase.

  “I can get that, Mr. Stravos! Don’t worry!” I was after him in a second.

  “No, korítsi. I got the bag, you go with Angelina.” He pushed me towards his wife, who took my hand and dragged me inside.

  It was a simple and comfortable house, the kind that you could see was well-lived in and held the story of a lifetime. We went down the corridor and across a doorway, to a pretty room with green walls, a single bed, some scattered furniture and a wardrobe.

  “I made the bed, and here is a towel. The bathroom is next door. You can take a shower while the moussaka gets ready. And then we talk. Yes?"

  I could only nod my head and smile at Mrs. Angelina, while Mr. Stravos arrived with my suitcase.

  “There you go, korítsi.”

  They left me alone in the room, and I could hear them talking in Greek not far away. I sat on the bed and it finally hit me: I was in a stranger's house, nobody knew where I was and I was going to remain here for the next couple of days. I was trying really hard not to think of all the serial killers documentaries that I had watched in my life, because then I would freak out completely, and I mean, they were a couple of senior citizens, so what could they do with me? Right?

  I decided to take a shower, because a good cold shower always helped to clear my mind. So I opened my bag, took a change of clothes, my toiletries, the borrowed towel and went to find the bathroom. It was easy, as Mrs. Angelina said. It was next door, and apparently it was stuck in time, with faded tiles, an old bathtub and a shower with curtains hanging down inside it.

  Quickly I washed my hair and got the airplane smell off of me. Changed and ready, I looked at the mirror above the sink into my red, sad eyes. I looked younger than I was, but I felt so much older. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, left my things in the room and followed the amazing smell coming from the kitchen. Sitting at the small table, Mr. Stravos was munching some olives while his wife took a hot dish out of the oven.

  “There you are, child. Sit. Stravos, pour some wine for the girl.” Mrs. Angelina said when she spotted me in the doorway.

  She sat the hot dish in the middle of the table, already cutting pieces and serving the plates. When she sat, we started eating, and I could not stop humming with pleasure. The food was hot, tangy and amazing, a completely different flavour from what I was used to back home. After we had seconds, Mrs. Angelina looked at me and smiled.

  “Now, tell this old woman what happened.”

  Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the food, or maybe it was just how comfortable I was feeling, but I started sharing the whole story, my whole story. My parents were not the best parents around, but they did what they could, and I couldn’t complain because I had my big sister, Ophelia, and we had each other’s back our whole lives. I grew up in London, and when I finally went to college, I followed in my sister's footsteps and graduated from Oxford. Later on I was accepted in the post grad program at the University of Edinburgh, and that’s where I was for the last two-and-a-half years. I met James Shawn, my ex-boyfriend, in the library, and I really thought he was a good fit for me, mostly because he was in the Literature post-grad class, and we saw each other every day. Although lately things had felt different, because we spent a couple of days without crossing paths, sometimes without even speaking, and we were okay with being apart.

  I was the one to suggest a trip to Greece to celebrate our last semester on the program and because this place was the perfect mixture of history, sightseeing, relaxation on white sand beaches and the bluest sea you could imagine. My dream holiday.

  On the way to the airport, James cleared his throat and announced that he was not going and that our relationship was over. I was too baffled to argue, so all I could do was listen to him enumerate why we were better off apart and then listen to him point out why he was happier with Chloe, his new girlfriend. I’d burst into tears and came here anyway, alone, sad and so, so, so mad.

  When everything had tumbled out of my mouth, I gave a deep sigh and looked at the older couple at the table. They shared an odd look. Mr. Stravos held Mrs. Angelina's hand, and they finally looked me in the eye.

  “Have no fear, dear, Athens and the islands will help you with your feelings.” She told me.

  “Why don’t you go to bed early? Those airplanes leave us tired, yes? Tomorrow you can see Athens.” Mr. Stravos spoke softly, giving me the opportunity to flee this conversation and all the scrambling thoughts in my brain.

  “Thank you very much for dinner. And the room. And everything.”

  I got up, took my plate and glass to the sink, and, on a whim, kissed them both on the cheek and left the kitchen. Once I was in the bedroom, I laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Everything in the last 12 hours had surprised the hell out of me. I wrote a quick text to my sister, telling her I was safe in Athens, sleeping in a Greek couple's extra room and that, as of today, I was a single lady. My sister would freak out and plot to murder James, which nearly gave me a laughing fit. And with that last thought, I fell asleep in a foreign land, in a strangers' bed.

  2

  I woke up the next day feeling much better about everything. Going to Greece had always been a dream of mine, one that I had to convince James to be part of, and in the end here I was, living the dream, and he was far away, maybe as it was supposed to be. Dressed and happy, I left the room in search of my hosts and once again found them in the kitchen. The table was laid with a full spread; Greek coffee, bread, cheese, fruits, yogurt, which they were enjoying themselves, speaking quietly in Greek.

  “Good morning.” I smiled.

  “Kaliméra!” They both retu
rned my smile.

  I sat in the same place as the previous night, and Mrs. Angelina was already loading my plate with a bit of everything. “You’re too skinny, you need to eat. Here.”

  “How did you sleep?” Mr. Stravos asked, folding the newspaper he was reading.

  “Like a baby. I can’t wait to explore Athens!”

  They chuckled at my enthusiasm.

  “That's good. I can take you near the city of Parthenon, where you can walk around and see everything.”

  “Oh no, Mr. Stravos, I don’t want to bother, I can walk around. Take the tube or a bus.”

  “Why do that if I can drop you off? I’m on my way to the airport to pick up some tourists.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, yes, korítsi, finish your breakfast and get ready, and I’ll take you.”

  Conversation closed, he took his newspaper and began to read again. Mrs. Angelina was shaking her head and smiling at her husband.

  “Stravos could never keep quiet, and if he stays at home, he drives me crazy. It’s good for him to drive around. Now, agapitós, enjoy your day and come back in time for dinner. I’ll make something special for you.”

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Angelina.” I was saying with a full mouth of food, while she laughed.

  For the next two days, that was our routine: Mr. Stravos would drop me off at some place in Athens, I would walk around and sightsee, stop to have lunch in a nice place (because I deserved it, am I right?), walk some more, buy some trinkets and some food for my hosts, and come back to have dinner with them. It was by far my favourite time of the day, to sit with them and listen while they told stories about how they met, how Greece was a long time ago, how was their family and so on. I learned they had four children, were married for over 50 years, had ten grandchildren, and that this house was the same house they first moved into, as husband and wife.

  I ignored my sister’s texts, calls and voice messages, sending her beautiful pictures I took on my outings and of my hosts amazing food instead. I was not ready to talk about what had happened with her, and I knew she would want details and to plot revenge. Yeah, that’s the kind of sister I have.