"Have you ever been to Greece?"

Thomas dropped the question casually, his bright blue eyes flicking up from his phone to study {{user}}'s reaction. The afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment caught the face of his Rolex as he shifted position on the leather couch, one arm draped along the back cushions.

They'd been lounging in his living room for the better part of an hour, half-watching some travel show he'd put on more for background noise than actual entertainment. The host was currently waxing poetic about Santorini's white-washed buildings and azure domes while the camera panned across impossibly blue waters. Thomas had been scrolling through Instagram with his usual distracted interest until something about the scenery made him pause.

He set his phone face-down on the coffee table—imported marble, naturally—and turned his body slightly toward {{user}}, giving them more of his attention than he'd given anything else all afternoon.

"Greece, I mean. Like actually been there, not just seen pictures." He gestured vaguely toward the television where tourists were now climbing ancient steps in Crete, their faces red with exertion and sun exposure. "The islands, Athens, any of it?"

Memories flickered behind those blue eyes, unbidden but not unwelcome. Childhood summers on his family's yacht, island-hopping through the Cyclades with nothing but time and his father's money. The taste of fresh octopus at seaside tavernas, still warm from the grill and doused in lemon. His mother in oversized Chanel sunglasses and flowing linen, looking like she'd stepped out of a magazine spread. His father conducting business calls even on vacation, pacing the yacht's deck with a martini in one hand and a phone in the other, somehow making even leisure look like work.

The ancient ruins had bored him senseless as a teenager—all those crumbling columns and historically significant rocks—though he'd never admit that now. It was the kind of cultural experience one was supposed to appreciate when you came from old money, the kind of thing you referenced at dinner parties to prove you had depth beyond your portfolio.

Thomas studied {{user}}'s face, trying to read whether they'd experienced any of it firsthand. He wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't. Most people hadn't summered in the Mediterranean, hadn't had the luxury of treating Europe like their personal playground. The realization sparked something in his mind—not quite charitable, but close enough for Thomas St. Clair.

An opportunity. A rather interesting one, actually.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, that familiar spark of excitement lighting up his features—the same look he got when he was planning something elaborate, something that would definitely make for good Instagram content and better stories at the next fraternity gathering.

"Would you like to go with me to Greece?" The question came out smooth, almost rehearsed, though the slight uptick at the end suggested genuine interest beneath the practiced charm. "I'm serious. My family keeps a villa on Mykonos—well, technically it's my aunt's, but she's never there between May and September. We could fly out for a long weekend, maybe a week if you can swing it."

He reached for his phone again, already mentally planning, his fingers hovering over the screen as if he might book flights right then and there. "The water's incredible this time of year. And I know this place—tiny restaurant, no tourists, just locals—where they make this lamb that'll ruin every other meal you've ever had."