Page 6 of Loving the Greek Billionaire

“No, nor the children. Have you met them?”

“I had the joy of giving them a tour a year ago, quite by accident. Nefeli spilled her ice on my leg, and that’s how we were introduced.”

“What are the children like?” She hoped they were still too young to be spoiled brats, but their age wasn’t a guarantee.

“Charming, as is their father.”

The way Kyrene spoke, Rose wondered if there was or had been something more between Mr. P and Kyrene but refrained from asking.

Kyrene’s watch chimed. “That’s our cue. Onward to the other sights of the Acropolis.”

For the rest of the day, every time Kyrene’s watch chimed, they moved to the next sight: the Acropolis museum, the Temple of Athena Nike, and Erechtheion.

By the time they headed to a late lunch, which bordered on dinner, in Plaka, the residential neighborhood under the Acropolis, Rose was beat, hot, and sweaty. She wanted refreshment, a shower, and a nap. But the itinerary called for only the first one.

At the café table, she rubbed her right heel. A blister was in danger of forming.

“Blister?” Kyrene asked.

“Not yet.”

Kyrene dug through her rucksack. “Here. Moleskin. Stick it to the spot, and with luck, no blister or, at the very least, a smaller one.”

“Thank you.”

“Any food allergies?” Kyrene asked.

“No, though I don’t care for octopus.” Rose looked around. “Where’s the menu?”

“We go to the kitchen, look at the options, and pick what we would like.”

“Oh.” Rose had never heard of such a thing, and the thought of getting up daunted her.

“I can pick something out for you,” Kyrene offered.

“Yes, thank you.”

While Kyrene was gone, Rose checked out her surroundings.

The restaurant was situated under the Acropolis but still on the hill, offering a snippet of a view of Athens. She’d originally thought the two-or-three-story buildings were a cream color, but upon further observation, she noticed several buildings were a deep yellow or coral. The streets and walks they’d traversed ranged from cobblestones to large, flat, gray pavers. As no street traffic was allowed in this part of the city, it lacked the sound of cars, car horns, and motorcycles. Vibrantly colored flowers spilled out of window boxes or bloomed around arbors. She ran her fingers over the wrought iron table before setting her napkin in her lap.

Kyrene returned, and after a short chitchat about the neighborhood, they received their food.

Rose looked at her plate, relieved that the food looked familiar. “Salad.”

“Horiatiki salada,” Kyrene clarified. “Too hot for soup.” She gestured to a nearby table with her fork. “Though that isn’t stopping them.”

“What’s that?”

“Lamb fricassee. Wait for a slightly cooler evening. Perhaps in Meteora. Try it then.”

“Meteora is where I go after Athens. Are you coming to teach us history?”

“No. You’ll be on your own with the children then. You’ll have to be the tour guide.”

Rose made a mental note to study up on the area later. She wanted to be a good nanny to the children and teach them, not just be a pair of eyes. She wanted to be their friend and teacher.

She ate a forkful of salad, letting the subtle flavor of the greens mix with the saltiness of the feta and the sharp tang of the olives while the cucumbers and tomatoes provided satisfying crunch. “I may not eat anything else on this trip,” Rose said.

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