Reckless

Franco was the guy Christos had introduced me to in Los Angeles, the owner of Spada Gallery, which sold Nikolos Manos’ paintings. I felt like I was listening to some private, upper echelon art talk or big back-room deal making bull session.

“Yeah,” Christos continued, “Brandon’s got buyers lining up. He keeps raising the prices every time someone new calls begging for my work.”

“Congratulations, Christos. You’ve worked hard to get this far. You deserve it.”

“I totally forgot!” I blurted. “I need to look for a job!”

Christos and Spiridon turned to face me.

“I’m sorry, I totally interrupted you guys,” I said. All their deal-making money talk reminded me that I wasn’t in nearly such an enviable financial position. It was such a dramatic contrast between Christos’ situation and mine. I had rent to worry about, and groceries, and everything else.

“No worries,” Christos said, slightly confused. “I thought you said you found a job at the museum?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “but it’s only like ten hours a week. I’m still looking for a second job to pay all my bills.”

“Do you want to use the internet here?” Christos suggested. “See what you can find?”

“Uhhh,” the idea of looking for a minimum wage part-time job while surrounded by the Manos Mansion and the Manos family’s love was somehow depressing, like the good vibes were only fleeting for me, and my reality was back in my lonely one-bedroom apartment.

“I’ll grab my laptop and you can work right here on the kitchen table with us,” Christos said.

“Stay, koritsaki mou,” Spiridon said warmly.

I wanted to cry again. Compared to the way my parents had thrown me to the wolves, I felt like this was a hero’s homecoming.

“I should go home and do it there,” I said, holding back my tears. “I have Sociology and History homework anyway.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Christos asked.

“No, I, I bah-better go,” I hitched, heading out the kitchen and toward the front door, hoping to reach my car before tears fell.

SAMANTHA

I was almost to my VW when Christos ran outside behind me. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home,” I said, grabbing the door handle of my VW.

“Why don’t you move in with me?”

“What?! I couldn’t do that!” I yanked my car door open, my tears threatening to spill.

“Sure you could.”

“No, Christos.” I dropped into the driver’s seat.

He squatted down beside the open door and smiled at me with his comforting blue eyes.

Why was I panicking? The man I was desperately in love with was asking me to live with him. Wasn’t I supposed to be excited and thrilled instead of scared? Maybe if he’d asked five months from now.

“Why not?” he asked, his brows tight.

Despite all the things Christos and I had been through together, it just seemed too soon.

To say that my life had become a whirlwind of change, both good and bad, was the understatement of my short life. I don’t think I’d experienced so much dramatic change so quickly ever before.

Why was Christos’ offer making me so nervous?

For one thing, I imagined there’d need to be some kind of Manos family conference where everyone sat around in a meeting hall voting on whether or not the family could withstand the terrible impact of me moving into their house.

At least, that’s what I imagined would happen if I asked my parents to let Christos move into their house. Not that I’d ever subject Christos to such a horrid punishment.

Maybe the other thing that bothered me was that if I’d ever entertained thoughts about living with Christos, it was picturing him in my little one bedroom apartment. A romantic little place for a romantic little couple making their way in the world together.

But that wasn’t reality.

Reality was the Manos Mansion and Christos’ family having buckets of money to throw around, and they were already pouring some onto my head. Sure, taking a cash bath under a shower of Benjamin Franklins had a certain appeal. But, I don’t know, I somehow felt indebted just thinking about it. And look where that had gotten me with my parents.

They’d hung me out to dry while the family greenbacks evaporated under the heat of their ultimatums. I think my long face betrayed my sadness and sense of parental abandonment to Christos.

“Look, Samantha,” Christos soothed, “my grandfather has plenty of room. He’s always talking about how the house is too big for just me and him.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose.” It sounded like a weak excuse.

“You saw him in there. He loves you, Samantha. He’s basically calling you his daughter. How much more of an invitation do you need?”

I couldn’t deny his logic. But it felt wrong. It felt scary. The question for me was whether I was scared for a good reason, or scared simply because this was all so new and overwhelming. Was it possible that unconditional love could make a person nervous? Probably. It was doing it to me. I’d never felt it so strongly since meeting Christos, and now I was getting it from his grandfather. I mean, both of them had set up that studio space for me.

For me.

I was freaking out.

My heart jackrabbited into my throat.

I needed to get out of there before I had a heart attack.

“I’m sorry, Christos,” my voice quivered. “I really need to go. I need some time to think about all this.”

“Take all the time you need, agapi mou,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You still have the key to the house, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me see it.”

Did he want it back? I panicked, despite my confusion and reluctance. Giving it to him would either be a relief or the biggest disappointment of my life. I fished it from the pocket of my jeans and handed it to him with a shaky hand.

He took it and also took my key ring from my hand. Then he worked the Manos house key around my key ring. “For safe keeping,” he said. “I love you, Samantha. Whatever you decide, whenever you decide it, will be perfect. I will wait as long as you need me to.” He cracked a dimpled grin. “Besides, you live so close, we’re practically next door neighbors.”

He handed my keys back to me.

“Okay,” I said randomly. I twisted my car key in the ignition and started my VW. The engine purred to life. “I should go.”

He leaned into the car and kissed me softly on the forehead.

“You sure you don’t want me to come over and help you look for a job at your apartment?”

“I—”

“Or, we could go to a coffee shop someplace close, for a change of scenery. They’ll have wi-fi.”

I winced. “I don’t know, I just, I—”

He stroked my cheek lovingly. “Samantha, remember. You have options. You don’t need to stress about getting a second job. One is plenty. You have a ton of work ahead of you with all your classes. You shouldn’t spend half your waking hours working in a convenience store or an office supply store, or whatever, when you shouldn’t have to. You should be focusing on your studies more than anything else.”

“I know, but—”

He held a finger to my lips. “It’s okay,” he nodded reassuringly, then stroked my chin with his thumb. “I totally get it. Go home, relax, do what you need to do.” He smiled at me confidently and stood up. “Drive