Page 57 of The Actor and His Secret

‘Honey,’ he whispers, pulling me into a hug. I blink against the linen of his shirt, trying to compose myself. ‘I know. I know.’

And I believe he does, because I see the same pain, the same struggle, in his expression too.

‘Come on,’ I say, drawing in a shuddering breath. ‘Let’s go get that coffee.’

It doesn’t take much longer to walk into the small town. We find a café that has seats overlooking the ocean. There are fishing boats tied up at a nearby dock, and the shining sun and lapping waves help to melt away some of my melancholy. When a server drops off menus, Nikos translates for me since it’s entirely in Greek, and I order eggs with feta and tomato, sprinkled with fresh oregano and a black coffee - or café. He orders fruit, making a joke about needing to maintain his godlike physique, and a fancy iced frape.

‘I didn’t think that hearing you speak Greek would be a turn on.’ I trace the veins of his inner forearm with a finger. There’s nothing more alluring in my book than a man wearing a shirt with rolled-up sleeves.

He laughs. ‘If I knew, I’d speak Greek all the time. Maybe when we get home?’

‘Yeah,’ I say with a wink. ‘When we get home.’ I ignore the way that the word home feels like a knife slipped between my ribs.

Nikos says a bunch of stuff in Greek as the older female waiter comes back to drop off our food, and she looks scandalised, telling him off good-naturedly as she takes food and drinks off her tray and places them on our table. I flush, wondering what he said, but the wicked humour in his eyes tells me I’d sink into the ground if I knew.

She leaves us to eat, and the intensity of earlier is gone I’m grateful. I can’t afford to catch feelings and the light and breezy conversation as Nikos tells me all about the town we’re in, how it’s changed since he last came here, is the perfect distraction. The food is divine, and the setting is postcard perfect. There are cats sunning themselves on the sea wall, and families making their way to the beach to enjoy the gorgeous morning.

The café fills up, and a man wearing a priest’s collar sits next to us and stares at our intertwined hands. For a moment I wonder if this town is small or religious enough that two men showing affection is a problem. But then he meets my eyes and gives me a small smile. ‘Are you here on a honeymoon?’ he asks in British-accented English. Not someone local, then.

I immediately flush at his question, tongue-tied with how much I want to answer yes. But Nikos gets there first, his hand tightening in mine. ‘No. Just vacationing.’

‘My mistake,’ he says softly. ‘It’s just that you look so very much in love.’

There’s a wistfulness in his voice that’s unmissable, something deeper than simple loneliness. It makes me ache for the priest, the way that he smiles sadly at us. Like he wishes he was in our place.

Nikos’ face goes tight, and my stomach drops. It has to be that the mention of love has made him uncomfortable. It’s the reminder I need to get out of my head and back into reality. No matter what my feelings for Nikos may be, they’re not what I’m meant to have.

‘You’re here for Mount Athos?’ Nikos redirects the conversation, but at least he doesn’t draw away from me. I take some comfort in that. I recognise the name of the holy mountain that Nikos told me about earlier, where religious men would go to make pilgrimages.

‘Yes,’ the priest says. ‘My boat leaves tomorrow. I’m here to atone for something I’ve done. Or, well, in truth - I’m here to ask a question of God. And probably also myself. Whether keeping secrets like I have is worth it simply to maintain the path I thought I was always meant to take, or whether I’m denying myself the chance to live as God is giving me the opportunity to.’

He nods at our intertwined hands. ‘Love is the only thing that makes life worth it. I can tell you have something special. Keep it.’

The priest stands up and puts a bill on the table, then smiles at us one more time. ‘Adio.’

‘Harika pu se ida,’ Nikos replies.

We’re left alone, except for a crowd of monks passing by. Nikos doesn’t say anything for a few long minutes, and then he shakes his head, like he’s clearing a daydream. ‘Can I show you around? We can go see the church where I was baptised - it’s gorgeous. Really… gold.’

‘Sure.’ I stand up as Nikos pulls money from his pocket to leave on the table. ‘Show me your town. I want to see all your favourite spots. I bet this is where you snuck your first kiss.’

I elbow him in the ribs, and he laughs again, grabbing me around the waist and tucking me under his arm as we walk down a narrow side street. ‘And my first beer. And my first cigarette. And my first joint. But none of them are as good as my favourite first.’

Looking up at him, I see that adoration again. That contentment. That emotion that I’m too afraid to name, written all over his face. My heart skips a beat. ‘What’s that?’

‘My first time here with you,’ he says as he holds me tight, like he’s never going to let me go.

22

NIKOS

I'd exchange all the money in the world just for the chance to immortalise this day. Our last day in paradise. Our last day before we leave and return to our normal lives - not the little pocket of peace we’ve carved out with one another. The chaotic, awful life I’d been living before.

Oli hasn’t realised it, but he’s become the best distraction for me. Since the episode the other day when I walked in and saw him on the stairs, I’d not thought about my father and his threats. It was an issue I’d solve when I returned to London. But here, surrounded by old memories whilst making new ones, I exist only in the moment. The lack of phone signal has been cathartic, and we’ve chosen to leave our phones in the house for the majority of the time.

Last night me and Oli - bellies full of fried squid, chicken gyros, and enough ice cream to sink a ship - decided to sleep on the beach. We laid out on sheets I’d brought down with us, staring up at the star-speckled sky. In the moment, drunk on wine and sugar, it sounded like a great idea. But waking up to a seagull on my chest, starring daggers into my eyes, wasn’t the wake up call I imagined.

‘Be gone, demon!’ Oli shouts, flapping his arms like a mad man. ‘Do thou not knowith of whomith you… something something… sittith uponith?’

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