Tamara
“You’re late.”
Brandon’s voice carried easily across the dimly lit terrace of the small seaside bar.
I slid into the chair across from him and removed my sunglasses, even though the night had already settled over Santorini. The place was quiet, tucked away along a narrow street that tourists rarely noticed. Soft music drifted through the warm air, and the sea shimmered darkly beyond the railing.
“I had to wait until they were asleep,” I said calmly.
Brandon studied me for a moment.
His eyes moved to the white bandage wrapped around my wrist.
A slow smile spread across his face.
“Well,” he said, lifting his glass, “I see you committed to the role.”
I glanced down at the bandage and let out a quiet laugh.
“It worked, didn’t it?”
He leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased.
