The Mediterranean was a color of aqua I didn’t realize water could be in real life. Colette’s yacht was in a marina near Athens, where dozens of white boats bobbed on the sparkling water, backed by whitewashed cliffs.
Colette greeted us from under a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, her hair as wild as ever, but her smile noticeably dimmed. She ushered us up the gangplank and onto the boat, where she’d arranged a spread of cheese and fruit and bread and olives that covered every surface in the yacht’s small, well-appointed kitchen. She must have had every grocery store in Greece on speed dial.
Luc sat down at the booth table, digging in like he hadn’t eaten for weeks. I blinked, letting my eyes adjust, and Colette grabbed my hand.
“Come in, cherie,” she said, wrapping me in a hug. I was surprised again, even though I’d met her before, to realize she wasn’t any taller than me. And just like I’d thought when we’d met in Istanbul, despite being one of the world’s biggest movie stars and on the top of every men’s magazine’s Hottest List year after year, she was soft and warm and welcoming and almost momlike in a way that nearly brought tears to my eyes, not least because she was the one we should be comforting. It was only then I realized I was expecting to see blame in her eyes, or at least that horrible hope. But she just pulled away and looked me up and down. “Eat. You look thin. What have these ruffians been feeding you?”
She thrust a plate in my hands—she must have also bought out the Anthropologie kitchen department—and perched on a bar stool, watching us all anxiously. Last time I’d seen her, she’d been so relaxed, joking around with her boyfriend Liam even though the Order was attacking Circle members all over the globe.
Later that night, they’d gotten to Liam, too. And Colette hadn’t escaped unscathed. When their car’s brakes had gone out and the gas tank exploded, she’d gotten out alive, but the lace tunic she wore exposed the angry red scar on her neck and shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said, filling the plate with fruit. Jack, Stellan, and Elodie gradually wandered over, too, picking at the spread.
“Lucien told me a little, but what exactly are you all doing in Greece?” Colette said in her soft accent.
Elodie glanced at Jack and me, and I shrugged. Just by coming here, we’d obviously decided to trust her.
Jack told our story, and Stellan added details until we got to the part about Delphi.
Colette had taken it all in surprisingly easily. “What’s the plan?” she asked. “What can I do?”
“Get us to Delphi,” Jack said.
“The captain of the boat is just up in the village. I’ll make a call.” Colette disappeared and was back a few minutes later. “Done. We’ll be outside Delphi by morning. Now what?”
Elodie unzipped her bag and pulled out a bathing suit. “Now come sit out on the deck and let’s enjoy Greece.”
? ? ?
A few hours later, I set my knife on a lounge chair on the upper deck and angrily flicked back the strands of hair that had come loose from my ponytail. Jack and I had decided to take the free afternoon to train. I had a scrape on my arm that was smarting from sweat, and I’d narrowly missed giving Jack a black eye with my elbow.
As usual, the knife training was not going well. It was like my hands weren’t meant to hold it. The second I tried a move, I’d drop it, or fumble, or forget everything I’d learned about blocking and leave myself open to attack.
I leaned on the railing, watching the wake behind the boat as we chugged toward Delphi. Elodie, Colette, and Luc were sunbathing on the next deck down. Elodie looked even taller and thinner than usual in her sleek black one-piece, and Colette was her opposite, a modern-day Marilyn Monroe, curvy and soft in a white crochet bikini, her hair pulled back in a boho headband and topped with sunglasses big enough to cover her entire face. She looked more relaxed already, and I was glad we were at least able to do that for her. But it wasn’t them that made me laugh out loud. Luc lounged on a chair between the girls, gesturing animatedly with a cigarette. I had forgotten how many European men wore Speedos instead of swim trunks, and Luc was wearing a tiny one, turquoise with white flowers. If I was seeing correctly, the earpieces of his mirrored sunglasses matched.
“Oh wow,” I said.
Colette heard me, and waved. “Come down! We only have a few more minutes of good sun.”
“I don’t have a bathing suit,” I called, and then turned to Jack. “Do you?”
He shook his head and gestured to Luc. “And I would not be able to compete with that if I did.”