Into to Addicted to Love
His smile brightens those mysterious mahogany eyes and his face hovers over mine.
‘Agupi mou. You are the one I have waited for!’
I feel his hands gently cup my cheeks and gaze, spellbound, as his full lips descend. We’re lying on our bed, oblivious to the abrasive synthetic green bedspread beneath us. My heart flutters and I feel a familiar rush of excitement as I take in Adonis’ cascading dark locks, smooth olive skin and perfect features. He is exotic, like a Minoan hailing from another time. He pulls delicately at my top, exposing my belly.
‘Wait!’ he chirps, and with a small happy shriek, he springs from the bed.
Our humble abode in the rough-and-tumble inner-city suburb of Gyzi, central Athens, is sparsely furnished, but we couldn’t care less. Sure we collide with a clotheshorse while carrying out the daily ritual of shooing away windowsill rats (or pigeons as they are more commonly known), but our space is filled with the thrill of new love.
I watch Adonis return, brandishing a black marker. He waves it over me like a wand before carefully drawing a line from my navel downwards.
‘Do you know whut I do?’ he queries, raising a dark brow.
‘No, but it’s obviously weird!’
‘Is not weird, my fairy,’ he declares. ‘I am drawing the line of the pregnant. This is whut it looks like if you have a baby inside your kalitsa. When women carry a child, a line appears on their bellies. Do you know this? This is whut will happen to you. I wunt us to have a baby right now!’
I laugh and enfold him in my arms, breathing in his sweet musky scent. His toned, bronzed body is gloriously powerful, his chest lithe, his biceps muscular; yet somehow his touch is the softest I’ve known. As my biological clock ticks away during this, my thirty-eighth year, I know that I’m finally being granted the opportunity to conceive, a precious gift that I thought would forever elude me.
But everything is moving so quickly, as delicious as it is exhilarating. I playfully smack my lover’s taught buttocks and catch sight of the rose tattoo spiralling around his thigh.
‘We can’t rush these things, Adoni. We’ve only known each other for three months!’
I laugh and his dark eyes again stare into mine, holding me captive.
‘Whut does time matter? I already see her, Moro mou. Our daughter. She is like you: a small beauty. We will do everything together. We will be a family. We can live on a Greek island in the summer and in Australia in the winter. The sun will always shine! You can write and play with our little one while I run a beach bar. Is perfect! Is paradise! If only you could see whut I see … a small thing as wonderful as you. You are going to be a mother!’
Hope tumbles through me. A spiritual man who has re-introduced me to things like meditation and Reiki, Adonis boasts a rare intuitive gift that I’ve witnessed in him many times before. It was he who foresaw a publishing deal for my first book, To Hellas and Back, just weeks before an offer pinged into my inbox from Penguin. It was he who had prophesied that this would reunite us, returning me to Greece. It was he who had predicted our bright future together. So far his every hunch has been right. We kiss hungrily, absorbing one another’s dreams.
Later, I contemplate the fabricated linea nigra on my belly and the implications of bearing this man’s child. For years, I’d obsessed over falling in love and having a baby. I am certainly falling in love. And with all things going well, my second wish might also come true. But is it too soon? Do we need a little more time – to get to know one another a little better?
Yes. Yes, we do.
I instinctively know that after the tumultuous events of the last six years, I need more time to learn the mysteries behind my man’s dark eyes. And as time marches forward, it turns out that Adonis does indeed have a secret. A big one. But for now, I know nothing of its magnitude.