Page 5 of The King's Fake Bride

Even if they did rifle through my things and steal my snacks first.

The sun is just starting to set as the woman lifts the bag to her mouth and tilts her head back, catching all the crumbs.

The man running the motor says something in a language I don’t recognize as he guides the little boat alongside a crooked dock. He hops off, worn sandals hitting the planks before he tows the boat in with a rope.

Other passengers get off first, talking to each other and starting the journey up the small slope of the cliffside.

I glance up, and along the top of the island, there’s a castle.

This isn’t Mykonos.

My heart drops to my feet as I look around, searching for some sort of sign that might tell me where I am.

While the houses that sprawl up the side of the cliff are gorgeous and white, standing out against the lush green foliage, it’s not the same as Mykonos. The roofs are all wildly bright colors, looking like I stepped into a rainbow village.

“Excuse me,” I say to one of the men getting off the boat. “Do you know where we are?”

The man looks at me like I’m crazy before shrugging. “Katastinia.”

His accent is heavy, and his skin looks like it’s close to leather from spending long days in the salt spray and the sun.

If anybody is going to know where we are, it would be this guy.

“Is Mykonos close to Katastinia?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No. No boats going there today either. Or tomorrow.”

The man nods to me before joining a woman with a baby on her hip. They head into one of the little houses right on the water, shutting the door behind them as I stand in the middle of the dock, not having a clue what I should do now.

With no boat today or tomorrow, I would be arriving in Mykonos on the last day of the bachelorette trip. I’d have a couple hours with my friends before we all get on planes.

They would be going back to their successful lives, and I would be going home to dream of the day I could open my own bakery, in the meantime spending long days at Newark’s fanciest hotel, making pastries for people with three times the amount of income I make.

Minimum.

I take a deep breath and send Gabby a message. She may as well know now that I’m never going to make it in time.

Several minutes later and the message sits unread, as Gaby posts pictures of her and our friends out at a bar and dancing.

Once again, I’m the friend who’s getting left behind while the others move on with their lives.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I search the map app on my phone for somewhere to stay. There’s a little inn a short distance away that shouldn’t charge too much for a couple nights.

It’s still more than I intended on spending in Greece, but I don’t have any other options.

My feet ache as I walk along the beach to the inn, dragging my suitcase behind me. It feels like a lead weight at this point.

The inn is a little stone building, the front doors opening right onto white stone that leads into the sand. I step inside, approaching the woman behind the counter with my phone at the ready.

“Hi,” I say, voice soft as I watch her, trying to gauge how much English she knows. “I was looking to get a room for two nights.”

The woman nods and turns around, grabbing an antique brass key from the glass case behind her. “Right this way. It will be one hundred euros a night.”

I swallow hard but nod. “That’s fine with me.”

She leads the way down the hall to a small room with a little kitchenette tucked in one corner and large doors against the far wall that lead to a patio.

“I’ll leave you to get settled.” She presses the key into my hand before spinning and leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

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