Wish You Weren't Here (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter Twenty

I've never been good at lying.

Obviously, that's a good thing . . . Most of the time! Not right now, though, when I've been completely blindsided by Milos' question.

"Wh - What do you mean?" I stammer. Milos chuckles softly.

"I would love to say my staff are discreet, but unfortunately, they are huge gossips. They talk. They find it . . . odd that Lewis keeps leaving you for hours at a time and wandering off by himself, and they suspect one of you isn't sleeping in the bed you are meant to be sharing."

I silently curse both Lewis and myself for not thinking to clear the spare bedding he was using away. The cleaners must have spotted it on one of their daily visits.

"He gets antsy sitting around, and I prefer to chill by the pool," I say lightly. The bed situation is harder to justify, though, I think desperately to myself. "And I . . . Snore?" I offer eventually. Milos shakes his head, clearly not buying it.

Oh god. Are we going to be sent home in disgrace for lying? I don't think we've committed a crime or anything like that, but I didn't really read the small print since Lauren and Drew claimed they already had. My heart is thudding frantically against my ribs, and I wonder if he can hear it.

"I can explain . . ." I start, although I have nothing further to say. Do I tell him the truth? Will he understand? Thankfully, he interrupts.

"Your relationship is . . . I think you call it 'on the rocks', yes?" he concludes, a concerned frown creasing his forehead. Relief courses through my blood, and I grasp onto his theory tightly and eagerly.

"You've got it," I nod. I school my expression into a suitably sombre one. "Lewis and I . . . Well, we've been struggling to get along for a while." Technically, not a lie. "We saw winning this contest as a sign - it would make us or break us."

"And you're still not sure?" Milos asks. He seems to catch himself at this point and shakes his head apologetically. "I'm sorry. This is really none of my business. I just . . . care."

Okay, this is becoming awkward: it feels like Milos is way too invested. The fact that he's even asking these (slightly inappropriate) questions means I've definitely given him the wrong idea.

"Yeah, I'd prefer not to go into too much detail," I nod, taking his apology as a way to escape this particular topic. "But you're right: I'm still not certain which way it's going to go. We've been getting on better, though, so there may still be hope for us." As I speak, I'm very aware that there's a large percentage of truth in this so-called falsehood too.

Another realisation is that I'm actively trying to push Milos away now. If he'd said all this a few days ago, maybe it would have been a different story. But I don't want to encourage him at all anymore, and I'm not entirely sure why.

I think Milos realises this, too, as there's the slightest hint of defeat in his next words. "Well, there's no better place than our hotel to recapture the magic!" He reaches across the table and briefly rests his hand on mine reassuringly. "I'm sure you will find your answers while you are still in Crete."

He changes the subject then, asking my thoughts on the boat trip the previous day, and Spinalonga, and I'm almost relieved to note the flirty vibe between us has completely vanished now. We chat companionably about Greece in general as we finish our drinks and wander back towards the car.

Lewis is already nearby; on a bench, staring out at the sea. Even in profile, his expression seems dark. When he glances around and spots us coming towards him, his eyes narrow. "Hey," he says, his voice flat, as he stands. His mood has definitely shifted from earlier, and I'm not entirely sure why . . . But I guess me being with Milos might have something to do with it!