Page 143 of True Blue

This drawing is the one I’m most proud of. This is the one that’s made my hand cramp and ache in the most wonderful way. My eyes trail over her face, her long body covered up by her long, long hair, the look I captured on her beautiful face. It’s how she used to look at me when we lay in bed together.

The look of love.

And then me, as a big bear, always there for her with what she needs, but staying back until she reaches first.

I slide it into the envelope and make a quick call down to order room service for Indie. I’ll place it on the tray tomorrow for her, as I’ve done in every other city.

The hotel workers looked confused until I slipped them a hefty tip, and they looked the other way. I’ve got millions sitting in my bank account right now, and I’m willing to drain the entire fucking thing just to put a smile on Indie’s face.

But I think Indie and I need to talk.

The whys that have been shoved down and avoided in my head for the past nine months.

Why did I choose my mother every time?

Why did I say those cruel things?

Why did I not defend Indie against my mother, against Lily, against my family?

I don’t even know if she wants the answers to those questions. I don’t know if she even wants to speak to me again. And if it never comes, if she never wants those answers, that’s okay too.

Because I’d wait forever for Indie.

28

INDIE

SEPTEMBER

“Dark and cold… all around me, it was so dark and cold. I couldn’t see anything through the abyss…. I thought I was dead already, and I looked up as I drifted further and further away from the surface. Sinking down, down, down into the darkness… BAM!”

I startle at Demetri’s hands smacking together, sounding like a thunderclap. Petra’s arm tightens around my shoulders as she giggles from her seat next to me.

Her mother, on the other side of her, says something in rapid-fire Greek that sounds like she’s scolding Demetri for scaring me. She wags her finger and shakes her head, but leans into Petra’s father’s embrace at her side. He places a kiss on his wife’s head and pulls her closer.

My friend is a carbon copy of her mother, Dina, who pulled me in for a tight hug when I came to their house for dinner my first night here. She cupped my face and kissed my cheeks, telling me all the food she made for me—grilled meats, fresh salads, and vegetables—and said she made sure everything was safe for me.

Tears stung my nose at that, but I just smiled and thanked her sincerely. Petra’s father, Nikos, is a short but solid man and more of a quiet type, but he still murmured a kind greeting. His eyes track Petra’s mother wherever she moves, making sure she is alright, speaking in soft Greek to her.

The tenderness of the scene, of their embrace and palpable love, makes my chest hurt, so I force myself to look back at Demetri.

Petra’s husband is exactly like I expected from the way she spoke about him. Tall, dark, and handsome—definitely. Completely obsessed with his wife—without a doubt. But he’s also incredibly animated with the way he speaks, all flailing arms and hands and eyebrows wiggling. And he’s genuinely funny.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed man literally jumps to stand on his chair, his body crouched, his hands out, his eyes wild as he tells his “most treasured tale.”

“Tearing through the water like Poseidon himself, but with the face of mighty Aphrodite,” he says, looking at Petra and holding both hands out in front of him like he’s praying. “My sweet and beautiful Petra.”

Petra and I share a look, and she rolls her eyes like she’s annoyed. The smile on her face says the exact opposite.

“I told you he’s a charmer,” she whispers to me with an exaggerated lovey face, making me laugh.

Demetri just winks at his wife before continuing on with his tale about Petra pulling him from the water and breathing life into his lungs.

“I had no idea what I was doing,” Petra says, but Demetri just waves her off.

“It’s a metaphor, αγάπη μου,” Demetri says, blowing her a kiss, which makes her smirk. He pounds his chest. “She breathed life into my lungs and from that day forward⁠—”

“After I shoved sand into your face for being careless?”