119
Later that afternoon, the villa had quieted again. A soft breeze rolled in from the hills, fluttering the sheer curtains, bringing with it the scent of lavender and something warmer, earth, stone, and sun.
Yalda sat in one of the cozy armchairs by the tall living room window, her legs curled beneath her as she sipped a chilled glass of lemonade. The light hit her olive skin just right, making it glow like honey.
She hadn’t expected to feel so relaxed so quickly. But there was something about the villa, about Ioannis, that made it easy to breathe.
He entered the room a moment later, rolling his sleeves up as he crossed toward her, then flopped casually into the seat opposite hers. He looked less like the intimidating man in tailored suits and more like someone born to live barefoot in vineyards, his collar open, a faint smile on his lips.
“My parents are in France,” he said suddenly, stretching his long legs out. “They’ll be there for a few weeks. They’ve started doing this thing where they ‘rediscover life’ every summer. Last year it was Tuscany. This year, Provence.”
Yalda’s brows lifted. “Are they artists or something?”
He laughed, a soft and honest sound. “Not even close. My father used to run most of the family business until he handed the reins to me. My mother... well, she paints, yes. But mostly she flirts with French waiters and brings back linen she’ll never wear.”
Yalda smiled at the image, warmth blooming in her chest.
“They sound fun.”
“They are,” he nodded. “They’ll love you.”
Yalda blinked. “You think?”
“I know. My mother will adore your hair and your eyes. And my father, he’ll tell you terrible jokes and keep trying to pour you wine even if you say no.”
The image stirred something fragile inside her. A longing she’d spent years burying.
“I like them already,” she murmured.
Ioannis leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re quiet now. What are you thinking about?”
Yalda hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. She didn’t want to bring the mood down, but she also couldn’t pretend his easy confidence, his warmth, hadn’t stirred something else; a small, cold ache lodged deep in her bones.
“I was just thinking,” she said, her voice gentle, “how different we are.”
He tilted his head. “How so?”
“You talk about your family like they’re a blessing. A part of you.” She glanced at him. “For me, that’s not really the case.”
He said nothing, but the change in his posture told her she had his full attention.
“My parents died when I was in high school,” she continued quietly, her voice carefully neutral. “Car accident. It was sudden. After that, I had to go live with my aunt. She had two kids of her own, a tight budget, and no love left for someone else’s child.”
Ioannis’s brows drew slightly together, his expression softening, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I severely mistreated.” Yalda clarified quickly, though the words felt hollow. “Just... unwanted. I learned how to stay out of the way. How to disappear in my own home. I loved on the attic. Holidays were lonely. I stopped expecting kindness after a while.”
She forced a on a smile as she recalled her shabby attic room, and tear prickled her eyes but she blinked them back.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was respectful. Heavy. The kind of silence meant to let wounds breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. And he meant it.
She gave a faint smile. “It was a long time ago.”
“Still.” He reached for her hand across the small space between them. “No one should grow up learning to disappear.”
His touch was warm, grounding.
“I guess family was never my thing,” she admitted with a small shrug.
Ioannis leaned back, his hand still lightly holding hers. “Then maybe we could make a new one.”
She looked up at him, surprised.
“Something better,” he added, his smile returning. “You, me... Loki. Maybe some rescued goats if you’re up for it.”
That made her laugh. “Goats?”
“They keep the grass short,” he said seriously. “Very practical animals.”
Yalda shook her head, the last threads of heaviness slipping away. “You’re strange.”
He gave her a mock-wounded look. “That’s not how you compliment a man.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Their gazes held for a moment longer, something deep and wordless passing between them. A promise. A shared breath.
Then Ioannis stood abruptly, tugging her gently up with him. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“You’ve only seen a fraction of the villa. Let me give you the full tour. No ghost stories, I promise.”
She followed him through a series of arched hallways, each lined with art; some oil paintings, others black-and-white photographs of islands and ancient ruins.
He showed her the sun-drenched dining room with a long walnut table that could seat twenty, though he admitted he’d never hosted a dinner party there. Then the conservatory, filled with potted herbs and delicate plants that climbed toward the glass roof. The scent of basil and thyme filled the air.
They passed the library, high shelves and a rolling ladder, a reading nook tucked in the corner that made Yalda’s eyes widen with delight.
“This room,” she whispered, fingers brushing along the spines of old books, “is a dream.”
He grinned. “Take any book you like. Or all of them.”
The tour continued, upstairs to the bedrooms, each one named after a Greek island; a marble-tiled bathroom with a skylight and a clawfoot tub; and a small music room tucked behind a double door, housing a grand piano and an old record player with a stack of vinyls.
“Do you play?” she asked.
Ioannis shook his head. “My mother does. I only pretend to.”
Eventually, they circled back to the courtyard. The sun had dipped slightly, casting long shadows, the fountain glistening as golden light danced across the surface of the water.
Yalda sat on the edge of the basin, letting her fingers trail through the cool water.
“This place is... alive,” she said. “But not in a loud way. It just... breathes.”
Ioannis sat beside her. “It’s been waiting for someone.”
She looked at him, something swelling in her chest. “For you?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Maybe. But now, I think it’s waiting for us.”
The wind picked up slightly, rustling the leaves. Somewhere in the distance, a bird sang.
And Yalda, who had spent so many years learning how to remain unseen, felt......visible.
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