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"We’ll catch her, Brooklyn," Athanasios says.
He’s finally starting to relax after the disastrous dinner at his parents’ house. God forgive me, but I hated his mother, Medeia Pappakouris, in ways I can’t even articulate. She’s unbearable. Prejudiced, snobbish, shallow. I could go on all night describing her—unfavorably.
It took every ounce of self-control to keep my composure, but it wasn’t easy. Never in my life have I been confronted by someone I instantly disliked so much.
Of course, she has stiff competition for the top spot on my list of despised individuals because Jordan and Shelley are firmly tied for first place—and likely always will be. Still, I can’t imagine myself ever liking Athanasios’s mother, even in the distant future.
Just thinking about her expression when I said I was a hairdresser brings back the irritation.
"It’s a good thing you’re not easily offended," William says, "because otherwise, you might’ve gone for your prospective mother-in-law’s throat tonight." There’s no subtlety in his words, and I see my boyfriend’s expression darken. "What the hell was wrong with your mother, Athanasios? I know she prefers?—"
I notice an exchanged look between the two of them, and L.J. falls silent.
"She prefers what?" I ask, making it clear I caught on.
"Nothing," Athanasios’s friend replies. "I just think all mothers have this crazy idea that they know who’s perfect for their sons."
After his words, he fidgets with his collar as if it’s suddenly too tight, and I wonder if it’s not just Athanasios and me dealing with a difficult mother.
"Don’t you think it might be a good idea to tap her phone?" William asks Athanasios, nodding in my direction.
I frown. "Do you think she might call me?"
"Yes. If she used to work for the FBI, she could easily track you down."
Athanasios looks at me, silently asking for permission. Knowing his need for control, I can tell he wants to do what William suggested but is trying not to overstep my boundaries.I appreciate that about him—unlike Jordan’s way of always making decisions for me.
Having someone to share decisions with is one thing. Having someone think they can make choices on your behalf is entirely different.
"I don’t like the idea of people listening to my conversations," I say, "but I think William’s right. Until that woman is behind bars, we need to cover every base. How would you even do that? Are you going to ask the police to monitor my calls?"
This whole situation is so far removed from my world that I have no idea how such things work.
"Don’t worry. I’ll handle it," Athanasios replies enigmatically, and I don’t press him for details.
Half an hour later, William says goodbye, and the three of us stand up. L.J. waits until we’re safely in our car before retrieving his from the valet.
"Why did he do that?" I ask, puzzled.
"Because he’s excessively cautious. He wants to make sure everyone he cares about is safe."
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask any more questions. Perhaps Lazarus’s behavior stems from some secret Athanasios doesn’t feel comfortable sharing.
"I liked both of them," I say as we settle into the car. "You three somehow manage to be completely different and yet complement each other perfectly."
"We hated each other for most of medical school. It wasn’t until the final year that we became friends."
"Why?"
He looks uncomfortable before finally answering, "There was . . .an event in the past that brought us together."
I feel awkward for prying, sensing he wants to drop the subject. "I didn’t mean to be intrusive. I was just curiousbecause you three act like brothers, even with such distinct personalities."
"We’re not that different. Our essence is the same."
"What do you mean?"
"We’re controlling, distrustful, and don’t like most people."