Page 15 of Faking Ever After

Finn’s soft and warm gaze was no longer on me. He stared out the window at the impossibly blue sea extending all the way to the horizon. Vague shapes in the very furthest visible distance represented Paros. From the higher peaks of Naxos, on a clear and windy day, you could see Mykonos, but today, there wasn’t much wind and we were at the level of the sea.

When we slipped into the Naxos town, the sea was gone from our view, replaced by the fortress on a hill and white-painted houses with blue window frames and shutters, street-side taverns, and so many shops selling trinkets to tourists that the explosion of colors made me dizzy.

With the windows down as opposed to firing up the AC, Dimitrios let the wind cool us down. “How was your flight, Percy?”

I gritted my teeth. “It’s over. That’s all the praise I can give it.”

Dimitrios let out a deep, booming laugh. “Flying is for birds, not people.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. Finn still gazed at the buildings we passed, none particularly tall or elaborate, but all radiating with charm and reflecting the sunlight off their white facades. If he was listening to the conversation, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he was leaning out the window and his dark curls were flying in all directions.

We drove south of the town and parallel to St. George’s beach until we reached its tip. On a gentle rise that melted into the beach sand from our terrace, my parents’ summer home dominated the view.

We approached it from the street rather than from the beach which it faced. The villa was an elegant structure with a sprawling ground floor shaped like an angular letter U, with two long wings extending from the ends of the center toward the beach. Between the wings was a sea-view terrace, a lower pool terrace, a slender pool that was fifty feet long and thirteen feet wide, a firepit on one end of the pool and a sun shelf on the other. The upper floor was built only above the center wing of the house, containing four suites and two studies, a gallery, and en suites for each room. Downstairs were another four suites, a grilling terrace, and spacious lounging areas. There was also a basement split into a home cinema and a small gym, as well as garage spaces. Dimitrios didn’t take the car down to the garage, however, but parked it on the stone paved drive.

“Are you alright?” Finn whispered.

“Of course,” I lied. “I think I’ll go ahead and prepare them. Could you help Dimitrios with the luggage?”

Finn winked. “Absolutely.”

I got out of the car and walked up to the main door. Before I entered the house, I heard Finn questioning Dimitrios about living on the island and if the man was originally from here or the mainland. Dimitrios was happy to chat with this stranger as if they had known each other for years.

On this side, the house appeared unimpressive since all its best features faced the sea, not the hills of the island. As I opened the door and stepped into the great room, I heard laughter from the far side of the house. Decorated in true Greek style, the spacious interior was welcoming and comfortable, nothing like the minimal design of my New York City apartment, which served its purposes but hardly left an impression that anyone lived there.

Laughter grew louder as I walked toward the open doors leading to the sea-view terrace. Then, just before I stepped out, my mother appeared in the doorway. Her auburn hair was curly, her makeup minimal, and she held a glass of red wine in one hand. Her white blouse billowed in the breeze, and her long, cream pants seemed soft and silky, sleeves wider at the bottom. “Darling,” she greeted me as if she hadn’t expected to run into me. “What are you doing sneaking around the house like that?”

“Sneaking? I was looking for you,” I said.

“Come, give your mother a hug,” she said, arms stretching out toward me. She was a slender woman and tall, although not quite as tall as me. Her dominantly citrus perfume always had soft sweet notes that made me think of home. She didn’t look a day over fifty, though she was preparing to celebrate her diamond birthday early next year.

“Alicia, my love,” Dad’s voice came from the terrace while I still hugged my mother. “Is that Percy?”

“Yes, darling,” Mom replied in a quiet tone, but Dad’s ears were pitched to hear her voice even when she whispered. They were, as I had always known, the ultimate happy ending nobody could truly hope to have. As a boy, I had simply assumed married couples acted the same way my parents did, but then I grew up. Nobody was as deeply in love as Alicia and Lawrence Davenport.

Dad appeared in the doorway a moment later, a martini glass in his hand. He wore brown linen pants and a pale green shirt. He also wore a beaming smile under his thin pencil mustache, his black hair with white streaks running through the sides of his head was combed back perfectly. “My boy,” he cried happily. “Are you alone?”

I held back an eye roll as Mom released me and looked around in confusion. “Well? Where is he, Percy?”

“Is he here, Percy?” Dad rephrased the question pointedly.

“Oh, darling, don’t tell me he had a last-minute obligation and simply couldn’t show up. How convenient.” Dad stepped toward me and pulled me into a brief, warm embrace before throwing his arm around Mom’s waist. He seemed on the verge of forgetting about me and my boyfriend so he could kiss my mother’s neck.

A shudder passed through me. Why the hell had I brought that poor, young stranger here? “He’s here,” I said in a tone that wasn’t loud at all, but it was firm.

Mom glanced at Dad with a mock concerned expression. Her gaze touched my eyes with all her forced innocence. “Is he here with us right now?”

“He happens to be a little shy,” I said, chatter from the terrace attracting my attention momentarily. Mom and Dad drew back a few paces, leading our way to the open terrace with the endless view of the sea and sky beyond our pool. Emilyhopped up on her feet from one of the outdoor sofas. “Shy?” she asked. “Are we talking about your mystery man?”

“A mystery man?” Aunt Judith asked from where she remained sitting.

I lifted my hands in a calm request for a moment of silence. They peppered me with questions like I was a teenage boy. How was school? Did I have a crush? What was my favorite subject? Did I play basketball since I was so tall? “Everyone,” I said, blinking at Emily and then smiling at Aunt Judith. “Everyone, please. He’s shy, so let’s not overwhelm him with questions. Nobody wants the Spanish Inquisition.”

“I’m almost certain that’s not how the quote goes,” Dad said, swirling his martini.

I glared at him. “If you’d all just act like adults for a few minutes, everything would be so much easier.”

“I hope you’re not including me in that assessment, my dear boy,” Aunt Judith said, her lips stark red with rouge and matching her blush. Her curly hair was light brown and behatted with a broad beach hat that did not go well with the pearls around her neck. “I’ve been an adult my entire life.”

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