33. Brielle

We all follow Conrad through the grand entrance. His voice, usually calm and collected, pitches with a fervor I've never heard before. He's in his element here, and it shows.

"Look around," he says, gesturing to the sprawling hall filled with statues and relics. "These are the tales that shaped civilizations. Gods who loved, fought, created, and destroyed."

I can't help but be drawn in. Grayson, with his ever-cool demeanor, nods in appreciation, his eyes tracing the intricate carvings on a nearby frieze.

Conrad leads us to the centerpiece of the exhibit—a towering statue of Zeus, thunderbolt poised in hand, an expression of divine wrath etched into stone. "Here stands the king of the gods," Conrad announces, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "A ruler whose decisions could bring about prosperity or doom."

He walks us through the pantheon, recounting myths with such passion that the ancient gods seem to come alive right before our eyes. His hands animate each story, depicting battles and loves lost, heroes' quests, and the whims of fate.

By the time we reach the end of the tour, the air feels heavy with legends and lore. Conrad pauses, his gaze sweeping over us. "Now, go. Explore these halls. Find your own connections to these timeless stories." He checks his watch, then adds, "Just remember to head back to the hotel by dinner time."

I watch him for a moment longer, taking in the spark in his eyes, before I turn away to lose myself among the whispers of the past.

I drift from one exhibit to the next, lost in a reverie of marble and myth, until Grayson's voice pulls me back.

"Conrad, man," he says, clapping a hand on Conrad's shoulder, "this is…it's more than I expected. Thanks for bringing me along."

I glance over. Conrad's eyebrows lift, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. "Didn't peg you for the type to enjoy a history lesson," he replies, amusement lining his voice.

Grayson's laugh is a low rumble, sincere. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

I watch them, noting the way Grayson's eyes shift, scanning the room until they settle. Not on an ancient artifact or a detailed sculpture, but on me. Heat crawls up my neck, but I pretend not to notice.

"Seems like you're not the only one with hidden layers," I hear Conrad say, his tone lighter than usual.

"Guess so," Grayson responds, his gaze lingering before he offers me a small, knowing smile.

I turn away, feigning interest in a nearby vase, painted figures dancing around the circumference. But the clay feels cool under my fingers, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through my chest, and I can't help stealing another glance at Grayson.

Conrad follows my gaze, a shadow crossing his face. And in that brief moment, I see it—the realization dawning on him. He sees what I see, what Grayson's eyes are saying.

Feelings. They're messy, tangled. And now, there's something new weaving into our already complicated tapestry.

I stop short in front of her—the portrait of Aphrodite. She commands the canvas, a vision of divine femininity that's both ethereal and provocative.

"Stunning, isn't she?" Conrad's voice pulls me back to earth. I turn, finding him closer than I expect, his presence grounding.

"Absolutely," I breathe out, my eyes lingering on the goddess's form. "She's…otherworldly."

He steps up beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. His gaze is fixed on the portrait, but there's a playful tilt to his lips as he says, "My own goddess of beauty seems ensnared by another."

A laugh escapes me, part nerves, part delight. "Hard not to be. She's perfection captured in oils and canvas."

Conrad leans in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Want to know her secret?"

"Tell me."

"Chaos," he begins, his finger tracing an invisible line from the painting toward the ground, "and beauty born from it. Cronus overthrows Uranus, casts his severed parts into the sea." His hand motions mimic the waves. "And from the foam, Aphrodite emerges, naked, full-grown, and utterly captivating."

I shiver despite myself. The story's violence contrasts sharply with the serene beauty before us. Yet, there's something enthralling about the raw mythology in Conrad's retelling—something primal.

"Life from destruction," I murmur, my thoughts echoing the paradox.

"Exactly." He looks at me again, and our eyes lock. There's a depth to his gaze, as if he's sharing more than just a myth—a piece of himself, perhaps. "The Greeks didn't shy away from the dark to find the light."

"Neither do you," I reply, recognizing the reflection of his own complexity in the tale he's so fond of. I tilt my head, studying Conrad's animated face. "Why Greek gods?" I ask. There's a spark in his eye that ignites whenever he talks about them.

He shifts, leaning back against the cool marble pillar. His shirt stretches over his chest as he crosses his arms—a casual pose that doesn't hide the intensity of his passion. "They're timeless," he explains. "Each god, each myth, it's a piece of human nature, immortalized. Love, wrath, jealousy—you find the raw essence of life in those stories."

"Sounds like you've dived deep into these waters," I observe, noting the way his gaze drifts back to the painting, lost in thought.

"Deeper than most." He smiles, but it's a smile with edges. "And it still feels like skimming the surface."

I nod, finding the layers of his interest as complex and compelling as the myths themselves.

"Your turn," he says suddenly, bringing me back to our game. His eyes lock onto mine, challenging, expectant.

"Okay," I start, bracing myself for something trivial, light.

"How do you feel about me? About Grayson, Levi?" The question hits hard, unexpected. It's not playful—it's potent, charged with an undercurrent I hadn't anticipated from our flirtatious game.

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. I'm caught off guard, emotions tangled. I search for words, for any anchor in the storm his question has stirred within me. My heart hammers a frantic rhythm, betraying my calm exterior.

"Conrad…" I begin, then swallow. "That's not an easy answer."

"Sometimes," he says, stepping closer, "the best questions are the ones without easy answers."

I glance over my shoulder, scanning the room. Marble statues gaze back at me, unseeing, as whispers of other museum-goers become distant murmurs. I lean in closer to Conrad, my voice a hushed confession.

"It's fun, you know? This…us," I murmur, eyes darting to his before flitting away. "It's not about feelings. That would be unrealistic."

A flicker of something crosses his face, too quick to read. He steps back slightly, the space between us growing. He smiles, easy and controlled, hiding any trace of what might lie beneath.

"Fun," he echoes, nodding. "That's what it's all about, right?"

His agreement stings, a tiny prick to my heart. But I nod, forcing my lips into a mirror of his smile.

"Exactly. Just fun." I bite my lip, curiosity burning. "Okay, my turn again. How did you guys even start…sharing?"

Conrad leans against a marble column, his gaze drifting to the frescoed ceiling before meeting mine. There's a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"College," he says with a chuckle. "It was accidental, really. Levi…he needed someone else there. And Grayson? He just liked it."

"Needed?" I probe, but Conrad holds up a hand.

"Wait. My turn." He steps forward, closing the gap between us. His voice drops to a whisper. "I want to kiss you."

My breath catches. Rules be damned, he's serious.

His eyes lock on mine, dark and intent. The air between us thickens with unspoken promises. He leans in, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. My heart hammers in my chest, anticipation coiling tight in my belly.

"Professor York?" The voice slices through our bubble—a student, notebook in hand, oblivious to the moment they're shattering. "Can you explain this sculpture again?"

I blink, the spell broken. Without a word, I slip away, weaving through the clusters of people admiring the ancient artifacts. My cheeks flame hot, and I can't tell if it's from the interruption or the almost kiss.

Behind me, I hear Conrad's patient explanation, the educator back in control. But I don't look back. I can't. Because despite what I've said, my pulse still races for more than just fun.

And that terrifies me.