Read Bound to You for Free Online Page B

public show! Or was it private?’
    ‘Poor guy. Bet it’s the closest he’s come to a shag in years!’
    ‘But Christos, everyone knows Greeks get
loads
of sex.’
    ‘Not when they have stomachs and beards like that! You know that’s what I’m going to become one day, don’t you?’
    ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I can’t
wait
. Then you’ll stop going on about it!’
    Christos got up, and looked out at the sea.
    ‘
Ela
, Nichi
mou
, let’s wash ourselves off and make our way to Giagia’s. She’s going to be waiting there with her infamous feast.’
    I skipped after him into the water. ‘It’s so choppy!’ I shouted again. I’d never seen waves like this in the usually tranquil Mediterranean.
    Christos dived into the waves. ‘Come on little
fokia mou
, come on, seal!’ he called to me.
    I tumbled up into the foam, exhilarated to feel the surf on my skin where just moments before Christos had caressed me. I floated on my back for few seconds, revelling in the sensation of air and water gliding over me, and succumbed to a sensation of post-coital bliss.
    Suddenly, a violent wave engulfed me and as I swallowed two lungfuls of seawater, the wave swallowed me, dragging me twenty feet away from the shore. I didn’t struggle against it, I couldn’t. All I remember thinking was, ‘Oh, this is it; I came and now I’m going.’
La petite mort
was what the poets I had studied called orgasm. Surely it was only poetic justice to drown in the sea we’d just made love next to.
    To be honest, I’d probably have surfaced in another five seconds or so, but Christos was already there, heaving me out of the current and swimming back to the shore with me clutching and spluttering about his neck, vaguely laughing with relief.
    ‘Egg, please do not drown at the beginning of the holiday! At least not before Giagia has got to feed you, OK?’
    ‘OK!’ I agreed. Now safe, I felt suddenly panicked. Christos stroked my head and took me by the hand. ‘Come on. Clothes then food.’
    We made our way back up the sandbank. I stood there, naked, for a moment, fastening the straps of my cork-soled sandals. The frappé seller tipped his sunhat at Christos.
    About an hour or so later, we pulled up under Giagia’s vine-draped porch. As we got out of the car, Giagia appeared at the door to greet us.
    Christos’s grandmother had very light darting eyes, cropped white hair and had only worn black or occasionally navy blue since his grandfather died a few years before. She looked for the most part, nervous, but I had learnt that her skittish gestures were a sign of her eagerness to care.
    ‘Nichi
mou
,
kopiase
!’ I knew that meant for me to come in. Giagia placed her hands gingerly on my shoulders and kissed me primly on either cheek. There was a glimmer of a smile about her lips.
    Christos draped one arm about her small, stooped frame and kissed her warmly, knocking her ever so slightly off balance.
    The conversation now switched to full-on Greek. ‘Christos
mou
, now what will you have to eat? It’s late, you must be famished, you shouldn’t leave it so long to have lunch, you know. Poor Nichi must be starving! How was her flight?’ Giagia directed such questions at Christos, in part because she was never sure how much Greek I could now speak, in part because it was a show of politeness.
    The table was heaving with homemade food. A dozen kinds of salad, fresh bread, hummus, cheese, rice, potatoes, olives, almonds and apples from the family orchard and grapes from Giagia’s own vines. Out of the oven came a whole chicken for Christos and vegetarian dolmades for me. Periodically Giagia would disappear into her huge fridge and fetch something else.
    The anxious eater in me always balked the first time I was reacquainted with a real Greek meal. But I had learned over time to eat slowly and state politely but firmly, ‘No, I have plenty, thank you.’ Saying it five times meant I might only be given two more helpings, if I was