“Subject in early forties. Needs a second chance.”
“Yes. Me.” A slow, satisfied smile spread across Salvatore’s face. The man wasn’t even apologetic about his deceit.
“How did you even get Dr. Franklin into it?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t hard, but to his defense, he had no idea it was a faux.”
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath.
“Don’t mind him,” Lykos chimed in. “Salvatore likes to stir trouble.”
“That’s why you love me,” his friend retorted unperturbed. “Besides, I’m your best friend. It’s on me to help you.”
My brows furrowed. “Help him?” I inquired. “I don’t get it.”
Salvatore waved me off with his hand. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”
Was the man playing matchmaker? No, it couldn’t be. Right? After all, he was aware of Lykos’s wife still roaming this earth and nobody decent would support cheating.
My eyes locked on Salvatore. I studied the man. I was too shocked at seeing Lykos when I first came to really take this guy in, but now I could see how good-looking he was. His dark hair and peekaboo tattoo below his collar gave off a strongdon’t fuck with mevibe. Yet, my body remained indifferent to him.
“Seriously though, why would we need a babysitter?” Dimitros inquired, his eyes narrowed on his father’s friend. “And what does Uncle Salvatore mean when he says he’s helping?”
“You don’t need a babysitter. Salvatore is trying and failing to rile us all up,” Lykos answered through gritted teeth.
My gaze flicked to him, only to find him watching me. Unfortunately, just his glance was enough to spread heat through me like lava. I almost wished I could remain indifferent to him, like I was to his friend. How much easierthatwould be.
“Uncle Salvatore is a jester.” Aria smiled sweetly, oblivious to the tension. “He says it’s part of being a family. Is your family like that too, Dr. Freud?”
“Violet,” I murmured. “Just call me Violet, please.”
Aria smiled like I’d given her the biggest prize, and I was back to thinking how differently this would go if—when, should I be brave enough—she learned the truth about me, her father, and the whole cursed triangle.
The door opened and dishes piled high with lamb, moussaka, souvlaki, roasted potatoes, peas, and spanakopita were distributed across the table. The air mingled with aromas of warm pastry, herbs, and something citrusy I couldn’t quite place.
There was enough food to feed a small battalion, never mind five of us.
“Thank you,” Lykos acknowledged, and the staff disappeared.
Our conversation was replaced with the clatter of dishes being passed around and contented sighs as we took our first few bites while I watched the table and ease with which dinner chatter resumed.
It was painfully obvious they’d made a habit of sharing meals, and the knot in my chest pulled tight, thinking back to all the lonely dinners I’d had no matter where I was in the world. Occasional dinners with friends and blind dates I’d had over the years were the only times I wouldn’t eat alone, but those were so few and far in between. Most of my dinners were lonely affairs while seated at the work desk or on the couch, watching TV.
A ceramic platter reached me, and I shoved the thoughts away, forcing a small, polite smile as I slid a single piece of spanakopita onto my plate, its flaky layers cracking beneath the serving spoon.
I kept my eyes on the pastry, as if staring long enough might ground me. But the unease lingered, coiled and stubborn, making the idea of a full meal feel impossibly heavy.
“So, is it, Violet?” Aria asked, shoveling a forkful of peas into her mouth.
“Is it what?” I asked, taking a sip of my water, not quite ready to dig into the meal.
“Is your family like ours?” she asked. “Or are American families different?”
“Every family is different.” I forced a fake smile. “Especially in the States.”
“Are you close with your papa?”
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could reel it in. All eyes and attention were zeroed in on me.
