Where had my parents gone wrong? They never talked about sex, unless it was the topic of birth control or STDs. And they NEVER talked about love. I mean, never. Zero times. I suddenly wondered if perhaps I had been a test-tube baby. Probably.

“Christos told me you changed your major to art?” Spiridon asked.

I lowered my napkin to my lap. “Yeah. I did.”

“That must be exciting,” he said.

“It is. I dropped my accounting class and added Figurative Sculpting.”

“I bet that Marjorie Bittinger is your instructor, right?” Spiridon asked.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “Have you met her, Christos?”

Christos was chewing on salad, and wiped his mouth with his napkin when he was finished. Mr. Manners, as always. “Yeah, once. She’s a tough nut.”

I chuckled. “I think she has it in for me.”

“Really?” Christos asked before taking a swallow of milk.

“Yeah, she took an instant hating to me when I walked in late the first day. And, I think she has a crush on the model. Do you know a guy named Hunter Blakeley?”

“No,” Christos answered.

“Well, I think Major Marjorie has a thing for him big time. I think she sees me as competition.”

“Major Marjorie,” Spiridon chuckled and smiled, “that sounds like her.”

“What’s her issue?” Christos asked.

I suddenly felt like I’d let the genie out of the bottle. Or maybe the fart out of the jar. Was I going to be in trouble for answering this honestly? I sighed. After holding in so many secrets in high school, I was tired of it. I trusted Christos wouldn’t freak out. He wasn’t a Lamian Damian. “This Hunter guy was hitting on me during the breaks, and I think it made Professor Bittinger jealous,” I said nervously.

“No surprise there,” Christos said smiling. “I’d be jealous of you too, if I wasn’t me.” He winked at me.

I smiled at him while I chewed on some lamb. I waited a few moments to see if Christos said anything else on the topic of Hunter Blakeley. Nope. He didn’t seem to care. Wait, did that mean he didn’t care at all? I was suddenly confused. Wasn’t a guy supposed to bang his chest and hoot and holler and fight for you?

Christos was watching me closely. “Don’t worry, agápi mou. If this Hunter guy doesn’t leave you alone…”

I expected Christos to say something violent like he’d beat Hunter up or challenge him to a duel.

“…I’ll set him up with Bittinger. She’s a good looking woman, and I hear she’s a wild cat in the sack.”

Spiridon chuckled. “Send her my way first,” he grinned. “I’ll set her straight.”

I gawked at Spiridon. My grandparents never talked like that!

“I’ll bust that Hunter character’s head myself,” Spiridon finished. He leveled a gaze at me. “You tell him Spiridon Manos is still young and spry, and he better not lay a finger on you,” he chuckled.

Christos grinned. “He’s not joking. He can still throw a wicked uppercut. I know from experience.”

“And don’t you forget it, paidí.” Spiridon said to Christos shrewdly.

When we finished eating, I cleared the table and did the dishes while Spiridon and Christos chatted and joked with me from the table. I so loved being in their house.

When everything was rinsed and in the dishwasher or put away in the fridge, I leaned against the countertop, watching the two of them.

“So, Pappoús, did I tell you that Brandon’s phone is ringing off the hook?” Christos asked. “Seems like everybody wants my paintings after my show.”

“The Charboneaus do good work,” Spiridon said. “I knew choosing them for your first solo show was a wise decision. And that Franco Viviano acted like there was no art market in San Diego.”

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, koritsáki 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, agápi 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.”