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“But—”
“The proper response is ‘thank you.’”
“Thank you, Emma.”
Emma pulled her into a hug. “No, thank you. I’m going to look at that hot-pink bikini while you change.” She left Cara in the small curtained changing room.
Cara studied her reflection. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d examined herself closely in the mirror. Once upon a time, she had done practically everything but measure herself with calipers to see how fat she’d been. Which was to say, not fat at all.
And she still wasn’t fat, despite how her former self would have fainted with horror to know how much weight Cara had gained over the past couple years.
Cara shook her head, glad to be past that craziness. Instead, she looked healthy. She pivoted to see her back in the mirror. Her butt looked full but not jiggly under the thin stretch material, and she even had a couple dimples at the base of her spine. She turned to see the front view and cupped her breasts to make sure the two triangles of fabric would be sufficient. Not that that really mattered since no one batted an eye at topless sunbathing. As she adjusted her breasts, her nipples tightened and poked against the fabric. She impulsively brushed one with her thumb and shuddered in pleasure. The suit was too tight, she should have realized. It rubbed all sorts of sensitive areas, her breasts, nipples, especially the strip between her legs.
“Cara? Are you ready?” Emma called. Cara started; she’d been about to slip her hand inside her suit bottom.
“Just a minute.” She hurriedly changed back into her heavy black swimsuit and white terry cloth cover-up. They felt like a muumuu in comparison to the sexy blue bikini. She burst out of the curtained cubicle, suit in hand. “I’ll take it.”
“I’m paying, remember?” Emma plucked it away and set it on the counter in front of the young, dark-haired girl.
Cara turned to the salesclerk. “Do you have it in any other colors?”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “I told you it was a great suit.”
The clerk ambled over to the racks and selected three suits—one black, one yellow, and the last a melon-orange. Emma shook her head at the yellow. “You’ll look like your liver’s acting up with that color. How about the black?”
“I like the melon color.” Cara held it up in front of her.
“You look very nice in that color—most ladies not so much,” the clerk offered.
“She’s right, Cara. It’s great with your hair and the gold trim on the cups and beads on the ties really make it shine.”
Cara took the black one from the clerk, as well. “The blue, the black and the orange.” She reached over to another rack. “And both of these crocheted cover-ups. I think the white one will look nice with the turquoise and the black with the black bikini, of course. And those three pairs of matching thong sandals in American size nine.” The woman scurried around, gathering up Cara’s selections. “Emma, what are you getting?”
Emma’s eyes had widened. “Cara, are you sure you should get all this? We’ll be here for longer than we planned moneywise.”
Cara stopped for a second. “Really, Emma, don’t worry about it. I built some shopping into my budget. You know how frugally I live.”
Emma laughed and visibly relaxed. “Frugally is right. Some might even call it cheaply. But shopping spree or no, the blue suit’s still on my bill.”
“Agreed.” But Cara noticed how Emma returned the hot-pink bikini that she’d been admiring to the rack.
Emma paid for the blue suit with a wad of euros and took the parcel. Cara caught the clerk’s eye and gestured for her to pull that hot-pink suit back out. The woman nodded. “Emma, why don’t you walk down to that cafе we passed and grab a sidewalk table for us? We should have an afternoon snack since dinner doesn’t start until about nine or ten o’clock.”
“You have a good idea,” the clerk chimed in. “The outdoor tables are always busy and they have excellent pastries, as well.”
“Sure!” Emma scooted out of the shop. She’d been eager to try different Greek desserts. Once she was gone, Cara quickly selected a matching cover-up and sandals for the hot-pink bikini. The total came to over six hundred euros, which Cara put on her platinum credit card without a second thought.
As the clerk was wrapping her purchases, a jewelry display under the glass countertop caught Cara’s eye. Definitely beach jewelry—various ankle bracelets, toe rings and belly button rings. She stopped and touched her own navel. Her piercing was still open, although she almost never wore anything but a plain tiny silver ring.
“Would the lady like to see the jewelry? We have a gold-and-pink ankle bracelet that would look lovely with your friend’s suit,” the clerk offered.
Cara cursorily eyed the bracelet. “Fine, add the matching toe ring, as well.” But she couldn’t take her eyes off the belly button rings. “What about the light blue stone?” It was large and the same color as the afternoon Aegean sky.
“Very high quality. In Greek is akouamarina—water of the sea. In English, nearly the same.”
“Aquamarine.” A stone named after seawater was a perfect choice for an island summer. Almost…destiny? Cara dismissed the echo of Athena’s words. “I’ll take it, as well.”
The clerk did a little half leap of joy but managed to restrain herself enough to tally up the second bill. Cara figured it was fitting to return some of her dough to the Greek economy, back from whence it came.
“You come back again, okay? You ask for me. My name is Niki, and I take good care of you.”
“Thank you.” Cara was royally ushered to the exit, where Niki held the door for her. The late-afternoon sun blasted her in the face, so she popped her hat and sunglasses back on.
The cafе Emma was waiting at was only about two or three blocks down the main road from the shop. Cara strolled down the sidewalk and walked in front of a narrow alleyway.
A screech of brakes made her stop dead in her tracks as a Vespa-type motor scooter skidded to a halt a foot from her legs. The sunglasses-wearing driver gave an angry shout in Greek that questioned her brains and skills of observance.
Cara fought the urge to tell him where to get off, using several pungent Greek verbs, and instead pulled her sunglasses off, giving the young, curly-haired guy her best freezing glare. “Why don’t you look where you’re going, you bonehead? Pulling out of an alley where you can’t see who might be walking in front of you—where’d you learn how to drive—Apollonias?” She figured that might twist the knife a bit. Apollonias was the nearest island and Aphrodisias’s fiercest rival for soccer matches and tourist dollars. She didn’t know if he’d understand much of her English tirade, but it felt good to get it off her chest. When in Greece, do as the Greeks, and they hadn’t been the silent, stoic type for several thousand years.
The guy’s jaw dropped, and instead of continuing their insult-fest, he began to laugh. “Woo, watch out for those American girls—they’ll straighten you out anytime.” He repeated his comment in Greek for the interested passersby, who all laughed.
Cara fought a smile, but the corners of her mouth must have given her away, because Vespa-Boy turned his charm in her direction. “And they don’t hold grudges, either, do they? Come for coffee with me, beautiful blue-eyed girl. Everyone knows Americans are so friendly.” He spoke English well, the hint of a Greek accent lending a sexy touch.
“I’m not that friendly,” she retorted, ignoring the curl of awareness running down her spine. “Try running over an Italian girl—they go for that sort of thing.”
He laughed again and adjusted his stance to balance the scooter. She couldn’t help notice how his strong thighs straddled the narrow seat, the denim pulling across his zipper. “But will she be as clever as you?”
Cara gave him a pull-the-other-leg look. “A guy like you doesn’t do cleverness.”
He leaned close to her, close enough for her to see the black stubble along his hard jaw and smell the tang of sun and sweat. “You’d be surprised what I do. And who I do it with.”
Wow. Suddenly her staid one-piece suit was rubbing the same places as the racy turquoise bikini had. She licked her suddenly dry lips, her face reflected in the lenses of his sunglasses. Vespa-Boy’s nostrils flared, picking up on her unexpected response.
He started to say something, but another scooter came up the alley behind him and the driver shouted for him to get out of the way. “I’ll see you around, clever American.” He made it a promise and zoomed past her.
Cara exhaled noisily and walked toward the cafе, mentally scolding herself. She was here to help Athena and take a break after her first year of college, not boink the first guy who had floated her boat in years.
Emma caught sight of her and waved from the cafе. Cara made her way through the maze of tables and set down her packages. “Good, you went ahead and ordered.” An assortment of desserts crowded the small table.
“I just pointed at a bunch of items on the menu and told the waiter to bring coffee, too. You’ll have to tell me what these all are.”
Glad for the distraction, Cara fell into tourist guide mode. “That custard with phyllo dough is galaktobouriko, the almond nut cake is amygdalopita, various cookies and the ubiquitous baklava.” She leaned over the table. “Purists insist baklava has Turkish roots, but the last person who claimed that out loud was run out of Greece.”
Emma laughed, drawing the admiration of the young waiter who’d just arrived with their coffee. He bowed. “Enjoy your sweets. I am at your disposal.” He tossed a meaningful look at Emma, who just smiled.
“A possibility,” she said, once he’d departed.
“A possibility for what?” Cara made a face. “He’s probably seventeen years old.”
“True,” Emma agreed. “I don’t want to find out the hard way the Greek penalties for fooling around with minors.”
“Believe me, you won’t have any trouble finding men who are old enough to stay up past curfew.” Cara shoved the passing thought of reckless motorscooter drivers out of her mind and remembered her plan for finding an even-tempered Northern European type to test the waters with. No drama kings for her.
She spotted a possibility of her own and leaned over the table to Emma. “Emma, do you see that blond guy a few tables away?”
Emma casually turned as if she were watching people passing by and turned back. “That guy? The one wearing the hemp-looking Peruvian hoodie and sandals?”
“Emma, it is perfectly acceptable for European men to wear sandals.”
“With woolen hiking socks?” Emma didn’t wait for a response, mostly because there wasn’t one Cara could think of. She gestured broadly. “All these Greek guys dying to meet American women and you’re looking at some yahoo who probably has five pairs of lederhosen and yodels on the weekend?”
“Maybe Greek men aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
“And maybe we should conduct a scientific sampling of the population to prove or disprove your hypothesis.”
Cara lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine, sample away.”
“I intend to.” Emma broke off a chunk of nut cake and passed it to her. “Eat up. We’re going out tonight, and you need your strength.”
Cara accepted the cake and washed it down with her superstrong coffee. She flagged down the teenage waiter for another pot. She’d need the caffeine to keep up with Emma.
CARA HAD JUST FINISHED her shower and was toweling her hair dry in the bathroom when Emma knocked on the door. “Your cell phone’s ringing.”
“Oh, could you get it out of my purse and see who’s calling?” Only a handful of people had her number and they wouldn’t call just to chitchat. She hoped it wasn’t her brother, Rick, calling with bad news about their grandmother, who was elderly and a bit senile.
Cara grabbed her terry cloth robe and wrapped herself in it, following Emma into the living room.
Emma handed her the phone. “It’s a credit card company.”
She sat down on the sectional couch and answered, “Hello?” After answering a multitude of security questions, she assured them she was indeed on a Greek island and likely to make even more purchases with her card. “What’s my credit limit?”
She listened to the six-figure amount without blinking. “That should be fine.” She had more than enough in her money market accounts to cover her purchases, short of buying the entire island.
Emma was watching her closely throughout her phone conversation. Cara hung up and wasn’t surprised when Emma burst into questions. “Did you go over your card limit with all those suits? Do you need me to loan you some money?”
“No, no, I’m good, really—”
Emma paced back and forth over the marble floor. “Oh my gosh, Cara, I don’t want you to go broke on this trip. I know we’re both strapped for cash, and this trip out here must be costing you a fortune. Oh, I am so thoughtless. I have my teaching fellowship and living stipend, and you don’t have any scholarships at the university.”
“Emma, Emma, wait.” Cara held up her hands and her friend finally stopped. “Come sit with me, Emma. It’s okay.”
Emma plopped down on the couch next to her. Cara thought for a second, considering the best way to alleviate her friend’s worries. “Before I started college, I was married for a few years.”
Whatever her friend was expecting, it obviously wasn’t a confession of matrimony. “Cara, you were married? You never mentioned that before.”
“It turned out not to be a good fit.” That was the understatement of the century. “My husband was a bit older than I was and pretty set in his ways. I was young and naive and didn’t realize he and I were looking for different things from life.” Con had wanted a baby-maker, and she had wanted a faithful husband.
“Oh, wow.” Emma’s brown eyes widened. “Married. I just can’t imagine it. Where did you live?”
“We had a condo in Chicago.” Her brother had lived there for a brief time and then put it on the market for her when he moved out and got married. That alone had brought her a significant dollar amount. “When my marriage ended, I got a pretty good financial settlement, enough to send me back to school and allow for occasional trips.”
“Your ex, do you see him anymore?”
“No, never.” Cara heaved a sigh despite herself.
Emma must have picked up on her melancholy mood, because Cara found herself enveloped in a bear hug. “Thanks for telling me, Cara. I won’t worry about you moneywise anymore.”
Cara realized her lip was trembling. Aside from a couple people sworn to secrecy, she hadn’t told anyone that her supposedly fairy-tale marriage was straight out of the legends of the Greek Furies. “Believe me, money is not a problem.” She forced her expression into a determinedly cheerful one.
“Let’s list what you do need. Fabulous summer in Greece—check. Hot bikinis and great beach to wear them on—check. Sexy Greek boy toy to give the beach and bikinis a workout—nope, you need to add him to your list.”
“Back to the men again.” But Cara giggled, encouraging Emma to continue.
“Back to the men, front to the men, sideways to the men—any way you like to the men. Now go get dressed. Like that weaving of Artemis above the couch, we’re man-hunting tonight.”
3
“THIS ONE.” CARA STOPPED in front of a taverna around the corner from the main drag.
Emma looked at the unprepossessing building. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. You wanted authentic Greek island culture, this is it. No neon signs, no two-for-one drink specials or limbo contests.” She hooked her arm through Emma’s and drew her inside.
Once the cloud of cigarette smoke around her face disappeared, Cara saw several small tables and booths set around a dance floor. Piped-in Greek pop music came over the speakers. Cara pointed out a hand-lettered sign. “Looks like the live music starts in a half hour. Let’s get a drink and grab a table before they fill up.”
“Great.” Now that they had a plan, Emma made her way to the bar and ordered a white wine for herself and red for Cara. Cara waved to her from the corner booth she’d claimed.
“Now what?” Emma asked after a few sips.
Cara shrugged. “Toss your hair, cast a few meaningful looks around the room. I suppose you could lick your lips seductively, but that might be a bit obvious.” Just as she had licked her lips for Vespa-Boy.
“Not that. Besides, I think my outfit takes care of the obvious part.” Cara had to agree. Emma wore a low-cut white halter top with a matching miniskirt and backless white shoes with a kitten heel. “Not to belabor the point, Cara, but maybe you should go to another of these boutiques for a more fun dress.”
“You think this dress isn’t fun?” Cara put on a hurt look, but burst into laughter at Emma’s worried face. “Okay, okay, maybe this isn’t the fanciest dress ever.” That was an understatement. Her dress was a sleeveless black tunic with no discernible waistline, and she wore the same plain sandals she’d worn to the beach.
“There have to be some clothing boutiques around here. You need something that doesn’t come from the sackcloth-and-ashes store. It’s not like you’re one of these Greek widows.” Emma checked around the taverna and sipped her wine.
Cara blinked a couple times and looked down at her dress. Sew some sleeves on it, and she would look like an elderly widow. Many of them wore black for the rest of their lives after their husbands died. Athena did most of the time, and Athena’s mother had worn nothing but black, if Cara remembered correctly. But they were decades older than she was—Athena in her seventies and her mother had pushed one hundred.
Although Cara felt ancient sometimes, she was only twenty-eight. Too young to dress in widow’s clothing. “Emma?”
“Hmmm?” Her friend pulled her attention away from where the band was setting up.
“Do I wear a lot of black?”
“Aside from that dress and your one-piece swimsuit?”
Cara’d forgotten about her old-lady suit, but that was proving Emma’s point. “I mean in general. Like back home in Michigan.”
