Tamara
The wind coming from the sea had grown stronger by the time Brandon and I left the bar. It carried the scent of salt and night-blooming flowers through the narrow Santorini streets. The white buildings glowed faintly under scattered lantern light, and the island that had once felt romantic now felt like the perfect stage for something far more interesting.
Brandon walked beside me with his hands in his pockets, looking far too pleased with himself.
“You know,” he said casually, “watching you tonight reminded me of something.”
I glanced at him.
“And what exactly is that?”
“That you always loved a good game.”
A small smile tugged at my lips.
“Games are only fun when the other players don’t realize they’re losing.”
Brandon chuckled.
“And Aria definitely doesn’t.”
“No,” I rep
