18. Nikos

18

NIKOS

We arrive in Thessaloniki airport after a short, but clearly enjoyable, three-hour flight. It takes a further hour to taxi the jet, wait for a car to pull up, and get our luggage gathered.

But my sense of peace is shattered as we're greeted by the early signs of press. It's well into the evening already, the sky painted black and speckled with stars. It makes it easier to see the flashing lights of cameras as Greece's media await my arrival.

‘There really is no rest for the wicked, is there?' Oli says from behind me. I keep him away from the jet's window, not wanting him to be caught in the crossfire.

‘It would seem that way.'

I lean against the wall of the jet, mind whirling with how this was possible. No one knows I've booked a flight to come except Selina. She told Megan so Oli could get time off work. But clearly, news is out. The private jet company wouldn't risk exposing my schedule for fear of being sued, and I trust that none of the air stewardesses were posting on social media about me - they'd be fired on the spot.

For the second time, discomfort swirls in my gut. Selina. Had she told someone else besides Megan? Paranoia sings in my ear like a devil on my shoulder.

‘Mr. Ridge?' The pilot calls as he walks back up into the jet. ‘It's taken a moment to arrange the necessary protocols with the local Greek police, but they've allowed for your driver to collect you straight from the runway. The car is on its way round now and should be ready for you in a few minutes. Would you both like to follow me?'

‘Efcharisto, Michael,' I reply, allowing the Greek to roll off my tongue. My accent, although weaker than it once had been, still comes naturally. I don't get to practice my mother tongue much more than speaking it at the family-owned Greek bodega on the corner of my block back in New York.

Oli makes a choked noise behind me, and the sound goes straight to my groin.

‘Parakalo.' The pilot nods, tipping his hat off in a sign of respect.

As he promises, we hear the rumble of an engine and I look out the window to see a car driving towards us. The cameras are still flashing in the distance, and the thought of stepping out of the plane makes me sick.

‘It's going to be ok, Nikos.' Oli places a comforting hand on my shoulder. He must have noticed how tense I'd gotten.

Is it going to be ok? My father likely knows where I am already. My attempt to run away from my problems, just like I did when I was eighteen, is proving to be a waste of time. But there's another problem, and he's standing behind me. As much as we toy with the risk of being together, it's one thing convincing professionals that my and Oli's relationship is purely platonic. He's a publicist for the book my new movie is based on - it's not a stretch that we'd be seen in London together.

But the second the gossip sites catch wind that I've flown home with another man? It would be a disaster of epic proportions.

‘Honey, I hate to ask this of you.' I reach for the blanket from the chair at my side, imprinted with the private jet's logo on the baby-blue material. ‘Do you mind?'

He studies the blanket, his face screwing into a brief grimace. But it lasts but a second before he takes the blanket from me. Oli doesn't need telling in words as to what I want him to do.

Pretending this is ok, when it's far from it, Oli lifts the blanket and drapes it over his beautiful face. It hangs down, perfectly large that you can only see his white trainers. He could be anyone - he's short enough compared to me that no one would think twice assuming it's a woman I've brought to stay with me on some lust-addled getaway.

‘You'll have to lead the way,' Oli says, voice muffled by the weight of the blanket.

Alone for a moment on the jet, I lean in and kiss him with the blanket between our mouths. I slip my hand beneath, find his and entwine our fingers. ‘I've got you, Honey.'

I'm glad for his touch. It grounds me. As we step out of the jet, cameras flashing and people screaming from inside the closest terminal, we quickly clamber into the blacked-out car waiting for us.

Greek music is playing. An icon of Mary holding baby Jesus swings from the driver's mirror. The air is thicker in the car than outside of it. Even with the air conditioning blasting at full speed, all I want to do is crack a window open, but I can't.

‘Kalos irthate,' the driver says, his accent thick, reminding me of home. ‘Are you ready to go?'

‘Just a moment,' I reply, head reeling. Leaning into Oli, I pat his knee. ‘I hate to ask this of you, but can you keep that blanket on a little while longer?'

‘Yes,' he replies, but with a lack of confidence. ‘Although you'll have to deal with me being a sweaty mess. It's suffocating under here.'

‘I'll make it up to you soon.'

I can hardly think straight. I've booked me and Oli a private villa in the centre of Halkidhiki. It's on private land, surrounded by miles of olive groves and vineyards. It's perfect, the best place for us to hide away from the world. With its own pool, a fully-stocked kitchen, and a secret path to a private beach, there's nothing more we could need once we arrive.

But. Big but. If the media knew I was arriving here, there is a chance they know where I'm staying. I can't risk going, knowing cameras and fans would be waiting behind olive trees to get pictures of me and Oli.

So, I have to think fast.

There's only one place I can go where the press won't find me. Oli wouldn't know any different. He was entirely modest and hadn't even asked where we were staying. Proving his intentions were pure, even though I couldn't wait to see his reaction when we walked into pure luxury.

I lean into the mirror, reaching into my pocket and withdrawing a handful of euros. Oli can't see me do it, but I hand the money to the driver and give him a new location, telling him in Greek that we're changing direction. One where we will be alone - except for all the ghosts of my past which I've run from.

The ghosts I thought I'd left behind.

Facing them won't be as torturous with Oli by my side. At least, that was what I tell myself as the driver starts the engine and drives off.

‘This is…' Oli drawls from my side, yawning as he steps out of the car to get his first look at our destination.

‘Plain?' I answer for him, getting me first glance at the view before me.

‘Perfect,' he says. ‘Completely and utterly perfect.'

Oh, to have Oli's rose-tinted vision. Life would be a lot simpler - and more enjoyable.

We thank the driver, retrieve our suitcases from the trunk of the car, and stare ahead at the walk before us. The dirt track is set on an incline, just outside of a small Greek village. Cars can't make it up to the house at the end of the path, because it was never designed for modern day cars. And in the years since I'd obtained the property, I'd not spent a penny changing it or modernising it.

Because it was my family home, with its familiar once-white-painted walls now faded and dirt-smudged. Unlike the rich memories that assault me as I get a glimpse of it at a distance, which are as vivid as ever. It wasn't luxurious like I'd planned, but it does have access to a private cove at the back of the property.

Crickets play a symphony around us, blending perfectly in with the meows of the stray cats who live in the hillside around us. I look behind me, seeing the glint of the village in the distance. The last time I saw this view, I was walking away from my home, thinking I was leaving the demons behind.

Turns out they followed me wherever I went.

‘Shall we?' Oli says, one hand on his suitcase, the other extended for me.

I take his hand, glad for the touch, even though I'd not taken my hand off him the entire two-hour drive here. ‘I'm sorry it's nothing special.'

‘You're joking right?' Oli says with a smile. ‘This is everything I could need.'

‘What, a run-down house in the middle of nowhere?'

‘Not quite. I mean the privacy, and the fact I get to spend it with you. Plus, I've got all those books to read.'

All the books I'd had an attendant from the private jet company buy him from the airport bookstore in London as I made him hide out before our flight - basically the entire romance section. It was the least I could do. Hell, I'd buy him the entire store if it meant making up for treating him the way I am.

It takes us five minutes to walk up to the house. I check my phone for signal and see it is completely without. I smile for the first time since landing in Greece.

No calls, no messages, no father, no threats.

I don't need to worry if the key to the house was where I asked the estate agent to leave it. Even though it had been six years since I bought the property, there's an element of community and trust in Greece. And, to prove me right, the key - although slightly rusted from time - is right where I'd expected it to be, in the chipped pot beside the front door.

It takes a few tries to get inside, the door sticking from the humidity. Oli waits for me to enter first, giving me a moment. He doesn't know the importance of the house yet, but he can clearly read my silence for what it is. Oli knows me better than I know myself, it would seem.

I'm hit by the smell. Oregano and sea salt. I stand in the foyer, eyes closed and inhaling deeply. If I listen carefully, I can hear the gentle lull of waves in the distance. But if I pretend, really put myself back in time, I can almost hear my mother tinkering in the kitchen. Her soft humming as she cooked kleftiko or hung our laundry up on the exposed balcony on the second floor.

I almost break down, right then and there.

Until a presence steps into my side, a soft hand resting on my lower back. ‘Are you ok?'

I open my eyes, facing the dark and empty house I once called a home. ‘I will be.'

‘This place… it's special to you. Isn't it?'

I nod, doing everything in my power not to look in the direction of the staircase. The memories I have of that location are far from kind. Even though I know the floor had been cleaned of blood, and the bottom step scrubbed of my mother's brain matter, I can still picture the scene as plain as day.

‘This is my…was my home. Where I grew up.'

Arms wrap around my back. Oli leans his face into my spine and exhales. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.'

I can't reply. The air is too warm, the memories far too overbearing. Why I even thought this was a good idea is beyond me. In a moment of panic for my career, I'd somehow decided I'd rather face my own living hell than possibly be seen with Oli.

As if that would be such a bad thing.

I tug at my collar, trying to get some air beneath my stuffy clothes. ‘Do you want to go for a swim?'

Oli's caught off guard. ‘It's like, one in the morning. At least London time.'

‘Perfect time for it, then.'

I turn until I face him. I take his cheeks in my hands and bring his face to mine. Our mouths touch for the briefest of moments, enough that the horrible memories are forced to the back of my mind.

‘But my trunks are at the bottom of my suitcase.'

I pat his arse. ‘Where we're going, you don't need to wear anything.'

He grins crookedly. ‘This was your plan all along, wasn't it, Adonis?'

I gift him another kiss, this one breathy and full of need and desperation. ‘It was.'

We leave our suitcases in the foyer. With Oli's hand in mine, I guide him out the corridor, towards the back of the house where the small garden - once pruned and well-manicured - is now overgrown. A rickety gate leads to a stone path that takes us down the side of a cliff face. It's so dark I can't see where I'm going, so we take it slow, and I give into my muscle memory to guide me from step to step.

The ocean glows like a blanket of pure obsidian. The moon hangs in a cloudless sky, reflecting off the calm waters below us. Oli's giggles soon become hearty laughs as we reach the sandy bed of the shoreline and begin stripping off. With each piece of clothing, I feel like I'm taking off a part of myself - the illusion of Nikos Ridge that I'd worked all my life to build up.

Completely naked, the waves lapping over my toes, Oli by my side, I feel free. Weightless. The water is warm, but I still shiver from anticipation.

‘Ready?' I ask, looking at Oli. His features are hard to see in the dark, but I adore how the moonlight graces the planes of his face. Even clearly tired from the traveling, there's energy in his stare that lights a pyre inside of me.

‘If a giant octopus comes and drags me into the depths, I expect you to come and save me.'

‘Just as Perseus slayed the kraken,' I reply, ready to completely submerge myself in the waters, allowing it to wash away my worries. ‘I'll never let anything happen to you.'

His smile falters, and I fear I ruined the moment. But Oli faces the ocean before I can ask what is wrong.

‘Race you,' he says, pulling his hand from mine and throwing himself into the ocean.

The splash covers me. I gasp, watching his lithe pale body slip beneath the waters like a mermaid returning home. It takes but a millisecond for me to follow him in.

Home was once a place I loved, but soon became a physical manifestation of my horrors. Maybe - just maybe - Oli will fix that. Just as he is slowly fixing me.