All Chapters of Intricacies of the heart: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

I had flown before, a few times. But as Crest’s driver pulled up to the private first-class entrance at O’Hare, it struck me that I had absolutely no idea what world I’d stepped into. The glass doors slid open on their own, like the building itself had been waiting for Crest. The carpet was thick enough to swallow footsteps. Everything smelled faintly of citrus and polished wood. “This is… not the normal airport,” I murmured.Crest looked over his shoulder with a small, smug smile. “It is. Just… not the part most people see.” He placed a hand at the small of my back, guiding me gently but possessively. I tried to look unfazed, but the woman at the counter greeted him before he even opened his mouth. “Good morning, Mr. Harvey. Your suite is ready.” Suite? My eyes snapped to him.He leaned in, voice low. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re making me feel like I’ve done something wrong.”“You booked a suite at the airport.” “You packed twenty dresses and five bikinis,” he countered. “W

The sun had begun to sink, painting the Aegean in molten amber, the jet lag had finally loosened its grip on me. Crest and I had spent the afternoon unpacking, showering, settling in. It wasn’t until he opened the terrace doors and called my name that everything inside me stilled. I stepped outside and stopped cold, the sky looked imaginary.A wash of oranges, warm pinks, violets streaked like watercolor across the horizon. The sea caught every color and softened it, moving in slow, rhythmic breaths. The air was warm, with a hint of sea salt and jasmine drifting from somewhere below. Crest stood at the edge of the terrace shirtless, hands resting lightly on the railing, his skin touched golden by the dying sun. When he turned to look at me, the light illuminated his green eyes.“You okay?” He asked softly.I nodded, though something in my chest trembled. “It’s just… beautiful.”He studied me, not the view, me, with that quiet gaze that always felt like a hand sliding beneath my ribs.

Crest and I left the resort after breakfast, walking hand in hand through the winding streets of Athens like we’d been doing it our entire lives. The sun was warm but not harsh, filtered through old stone buildings with balconies dripping in bougainvillea, hot pink, purple, and red blooms spilling like paint. The air smelled like roasted nuts, sea breeze, and the faint sweetness of bakery pastries.People moved around us lazily. We stopped a couple of times so I could take pictures, of the scenery, of Crest. I’d ask a local to take some of Crest and I. Everything was breathtaking. Crest had sunglasses on and one hand in his pocket, the picture of calm confidence… except for the way his thumb kept brushing the back of my hand like he needed to keep checking I was real. I loved that.We wandered through Plaka first, the old part of the city, its streets narrow and lined with small shops selling handmade sandals, jewelry, and little ceramic statues of Greek gods. Crest bought me a delica

We got back to the villa in Mykonos just after sunset, skin warm from the ferry breeze earlier and cheeks flushed from laughter. I was still teasing Crest about how he nearly tripped when I came out dressed in a skimpy shirt and backless crop top. He adamantly insisted he did not trip, he “lost traction on a rock.” I didn’t believe him. Now, the villa was dark, quiet. I walked toward the bedroom, tugging my hair free from my scarf, when Crest called. “Wait.” I turned and found him holding a black velvet box. heart paused. “It’s midnight,” he said, stepping closer, voice low and reverent. “And that means… happy birthday, sweetheart.” I blinked, confused, until he opened the box. My breath vanished. A diamond parure set, necklace, bracelet, earrings, so brilliant it looked like starlight had been trapped in the velvet. The necklace alone was breathtaking, delicate yet dazzling, the kind of piece that belonged in museum glass. “Crest,” I whispered, barely able to form words. “This

I didn’t know how a person is supposed to feel after a day like the one I had. I woke up the next morning wearing Crest’s shirt, still smelling like roses and the sea, my entire body humming with the memory of his tenderness, his intensity, his gifts, all twenty-six of them, but mostly the way he held me like I was something he’d waited years to receive.At dinner, Every lantern seemed placed just so, casting warm pools of gold that danced across the terrace floor. Candles flickered inside glass hurricanes. The sky was fading from deep blue to velvet. I could hear the sea down below, brushing the rocks in slow, rhythmic breaths. The table wasn’t set extravagantly, it was simple. When Crest saw me step outside, he stood from the table and smiled, not his usual calm, controlled smile, but something quieter. Almost hesitant. “Come sit,” he said, pulling out my chair.His voice sounded different, heavy. Like this whole evening was him taking a deep breath before walking somewhere he didn’