When we eventually left the hotel, we spent three hours wandering around Voukourestiou Street, ducking in and out of luxury shops. I protested when things were just too extreme—no, I wasn’t going to let him spend twelve hundred dollars on a bikini. But basically I indulged him indulging me. He bought me my own pair of aviator sunglasses that matched his, a handful of cotton blouses to wear with my jeans, a few gauzy dresses, a couple of bikinis, some sandals and heels, light jackets for the cool evenings, and some loungewear for lounging around his new Greek hideaway.
We were on our way back to the hotel, holding hands, meandering past the last of the shops, when Dylan stopped in front of Alexander McQueen. In the window, a mannequin donned a black cashmere trench coat—warm, elegant enough for swank parties, but cool enough to wear to work. It belted at the waist but had the tiniest hint of flare in the skirt. It was stunning.
“No,” I said instinctively, but even I was staring at the coat. It was beautiful.
I could feel Dylan looking at me, smiling, victorious. “Yes,” he said and pulled me into the store.
And just like that, Dylan bought me a coat. An astoundingly beautiful, totally sophisticated, ludicrously expensive coat. Apparently I was letting go outside the bedroom too, and instead of it feeling wrong, it felt somehow like I’d let him in.
* * *
It was just after three p.m. when I found myself staring at our mode of transportation to the island of Ikaria.
“A helicopter!?” I squeaked.
“The airport on Ikaria is only open during the summer, and it’s an eleven-hour ferry ride,” Dylan explained. “So this is it.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the window the entire trip. I was mesmerized by the blue Mediterranean below, islands marked with blue roofs, sprawling vineyards, farms, and fishing towns. It was truly glorious. It was unseasonably warm, over eighty degrees when the average high was ten degrees less than that, and the sun was dancing off the water below. Dylan kept my hand in his, resting on my lap. Occasionally he’d stroke my thigh or lean over to kiss me. Once I caught him simply staring. I smiled at him, and he smirked at having been caught, but then just squeezed my hand.
Normally my father’s absence loomed large during moments like this—when I was seeing something I knew he would have loved, experiencing something so beautiful for the first time—but at that moment I was also so acutely aware that my life was fuller than it had been in a long time. There was presence here too, not just absence. Something gained, not just something lost.
As we started our descent I was sure we’d land in the water—the small patch of cleared flat earth we were headed for was situated right against cliffs that dropped into the turquoise water below and a sloping hill that disappeared into trees and brush. Not ten minutes later, we’d walked up a short winding road and come to a shoulder-height stone wall—earthy brown stones and white sandy mortar holding it together, and at its opening a black iron fence that looked recently repainted. The warm air was so fragrant, smelling of olives and herbs, and I could still hear the ocean crashing against the cliffs in the background. Dylan gestured to the road behind the gate.
“This is us,” he said, smiling an eager smile.
I held the bars and looked down the path: sunny and warm down the middle but lined with trees and wild yard on either side. He waved his phone in front of the old gate, and I heard a click. “I’ve had the security updated and things retrofitted with the newest technology.”
“I’m sure we’ll be safe here,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I mean, the only way in is by helicopter—it would be hard for some nefarious paparazzi to catch up with you here.”
“With us.”
With us, I thought, and I could feel the smile spreading across my face.
As we walked down the dirt drive, I caught glimpses of yellow above me and realized there were lemon trees lining the way to the little house at the end. All of a sudden the idea of fresh lemonade and salads with lemon dressings made my cheeks tingle, anticipating the tartness. When we reached the front doors, which were beautiful in their own right—a deep faded blue that Dylan clearly hadn’t touched—he pulled me around to the side of the house facing the water and to a set of steps. It was then that I realized we were entering from the top of the house. This place was not tiny.
I followed him down the outside of the house, trying to take everything in—the crystal-blue water in the distance, the breeze on my skin. I was so distracted that it wasn’t until we landed at the lowest level, a few flights down, that I saw the pool. It glistened a brilliant blue in the sun, and its edge was the edge of the cliff, as though it disappeared into the horizon beyond it. The place was minimalist, but somehow everything felt perfect, natural, as though the earth itself had decided on that pool, the sun had painted the shutters that brilliant blue and then faded them accordingly. This place was a Mediterranean dream—a quiet, private Mediterranean dream—and I could only imagine how much time and thought he’d put into it.
“You like hiding away, don’t you?” I asked, smiling at Dylan, gripping his hand in my own. He pulled me against him, so I had to look up to see his eyes.
“I like getting away.”
“I love this place. You can really breathe here.”
He leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips, and it felt so new. The sun beating down on us, the sound of the ocean, and the feel of the stones under our shoes—they all made a kiss we’d had a hundred times before feel new. And that was just a kiss. This place was gonna be good.
He gave me the full tour, and we finally landed in the master bedroom on the top of floor. I almost lost my breath. The room was floor-to-ceiling glass doors on three sides. The panels were on rails, so they could slide to the side, almost making the room an outdoor space. The vast low bed spread across the back wall. Low bookshelves were on either side. Perhaps most surprising was a large oval bathtub on a pedestal, sitting diagonally in the corner between two of the enormous open windows. My eyes bulged as I imagined sitting in that bathtub with him later.
He opened our luggage, grabbed our swimsuits, and said “Let’s go for a swim” with a twinkle in his eye. I hastily put on the tiny teal bikini, and I could feel Dylan’s eyes on me as I slipped a white eyelet cover-up on over my head.
My face was still concealed by the sheer white fabric when I said, “Doing okay over there, Hale?” I finished pulling the garment over my head to reveal a cheeky smile.
He slapped my nearly bare butt, and I screeched. I went to tackle him, but he was already darting out of the room. When I caught up to him at the top of the stairs, he grabbed my hand, turned around, and kissed me. “I love you, baby.”
Whoa. Where had that come from? It seemed that Greece Dylan was full of surprises.
We walked to the edge of the pool, but Dylan kept going, pulling me along. “Where are we—”
“Trust me. Come on,” he said as he grabbed two towels from a chest by the pool.
I sighed in resignation and followed him to a wooden set of stairs built into the side of the cliff. They seemed to go on forever, the sound of the ocean getting louder as we descended. When we landed at the bottom, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Emerging from the trees, there were high cliffs in an arc surrounding what could only be described as paradise. The water was richer than Caribbean blue: bluer, deeper, but still crystal clear. The sand was white and soft, and the beach was tiny, tucked into these cliffs, protected from the wind that pushed the sailboats I could see in the distance.
“Shall we?” Dylan asked, smiling at me.
I nodded as he lifted the cover-up over my head. He let the garment fall to the sand, then pulled me close against him. My arms wrapped around him, and I ran my fingers up and down his warm back. Then I felt the strings of my bikini top falling away from my back.
“Dylan,” I said, slightly panicked, hugging my chest closer to him for coverage and looking around for photographers or people with cell phones. But he took my chin in one of his hands and brought me back to him.
“No one’s here but us, damsel.” He untied the strings around my neck and let the top fall into the space between us. “I want to look at you out here.” And he brought my arms to my sides. His hand was at my shoulder, and he slowly dragged it down my body, between my breasts, his fingers lingering there for a moment. “Christ, you have gorgeous tits.”
I laughed. Loudly. Looking down at my chest, I replied, “Not bad, right? Hmm, let’s see what you’ve got,” I said, suddenly forgetting I was topless and diving for his trunks, just as he turned and ran. I jumped on his back, and he wrapped my legs around his waist, holding them tightly against him, and ran towards the water.
We spent the next hour swimming. Playing. Touching. Talking. We took each other in in a way we never had before.
“You’re different here,” he said at one point, as we stood in the water.
“I know. So are you. Do you think it’s just because we’re away from everything?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But don’t stop.”
The sun was setting when we finally made our way back up to the house. We luxuriated in the open shower in the master bathroom, lazed around in the lounge that looked out over the water, and eventually meandered into the kitchen. Dylan opened a bottle of wine, and I rummaged through the cupboards.
“We can go out,” he said.
“Nah. I wanna stay here. I can drum something up. Trust me?” I asked, throwing his own words back at him. Dylan chuckled and sat back down at the kitchen island.
“Implicitly.”
“Good.” I lazily worked my way through the kitchen. I made pasta with lemons and herbs from the garden, which we ate sitting on lounge chairs by the pool, soaking up the last of the sunset.
At one point after a long moment of silence, Dylan nudged my toe with his, and I looked over at him. “Yes?” I said, my eyes gazing at the sky full of stars above us.
“Move in with me,” he said. Only instead of jokey and pleading, this time he sounded serious, sincere, hopeful.
“I want to,” I said, smiling, feeling how easy it was to say that. I did want to.
“Good. I want you to too,” he replied.
I turned to look at him and was about to launch into all my reservations, but Dylan read my mind.
“I know,” he started. “I know you don’t feel ready. But baby. I want this with you. You know that, right?” He looked at me and then out at the ocean, as though he was saying he wanted the world with me.
A warm calm was settling over me, and I smiled. I moved over in my lounger, making space for him, and he crawled over, wrapping me in his arms so my head rested on his shoulder.
“I want that with you too,” I said. “I just want to know what ‘this’ is for you.”
“You mean, is it forever?” I didn’t say anything, not quite sure that I even wanted it to be, or maybe just not quite ready to say it. “I haven’t thought about forever with anything, anyone—not architecture and certainly not another person. I’ve trained myself very carefully to stick to today—the future isn’t something that’s held much interest for me,” he said, and I could imagine the thoughts of his future as a duke running through his head. “But, Lydia, I never want to be without you. Whether here, in London, anywhere. I just want you with me. Is that the same thing?”
“I think so,” I said. “I feel the same way. I love you,” I whispered into his neck.
“I love you too. So even if not tomorrow, you’ll move in with me?”
“Yes. Not tomorrow. But yes.” Because that was true. It felt inevitable. And I wanted it. I wanted it more than anything. And so did he.