The Fates (Book I) - 2014 Watty Award Winner!

4.3 - The Waking Dream

Dear Readers: To preface this scene, all I'm going to say is... Please brace yourselves ;)  o_o

Oh, also - the soundtrack posted here ("The Awkward Goodbye" by Athlete) will make sense once you've read the scene, I promise!  Consider it one of the anthems of a certain couple in the series...

And without further ado... *deep breath*... let's read...!

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Scene 3: The Waking Dream

A.D. 2015

He had to have been a hallucination.

Either there was something super trippy in the water, or the feta or the olive oil or whatever, or else—perhaps more plausibly—Miss Primor was an eerily powerful woman who’d somehow orchestrated Cloe’s recent encounter with a real-life rendering of her fantasy hero.

Cloe wouldn’t put it past that woman, really. Charliese had probably known exactly what was going to be written on that napkin, as soon as she’d whispered those whimsical words. Then called up one of her contacts in Athens—no doubt she had a bevy of beautiful men at her beck and call, spanning the globe—who conveniently lived up to Cloe’s portrayal of her protagonist. Assigned the hottie to collide with Cloe moments afterward, claiming the fictional character’s name.

This was the likeliest story Cloe could come up with, to explain how she had just met ‘Eldor’ today. She wasn’t sure just why Charliese would make that happen. Was it all part of some grand scheme, to win the world’s favor by granting impossible wishes to people? Like some modern-day genie? Or maybe it was just for fun. Maybe the pristine platinum princess dabbled in high-level magic tricks to pass the time.

What the hell was she doing with Prof, though? Yes, he was sweet, and brilliant, and adorable, even good-looking when his hazel eyes weren’t squinting over a scrunched nose beneath his spectacles—his go-to face for contemplation of the classics. Trevor was a catch, for any woman who could put up with his nerdy quirks. Cloe didn’t doubt that Miss Primor could; in fact, the woman seemed to find them cute.

Yet she could not shake off the feeling that Prof’s fiancée harbored a slew of secrets up her sleeve. Not necessarily shady secrets, though that couldn’t be ruled out. But secrets of some sort. For sure.

Charliese’s hand behind this seeming serendipity in some way, however contrived, made more sense than the alternative: that the spitting image of Cloe’s idealized brainchild actually existed in reality.

Well, Cloe mused, in a few minutes she would at least be able to determine whether she had been hallucinating. Unless her hallucination of the hero just resurfaced at the dinner table. That was possible, too.

She crossed Syntagma Square toward the hotel. Passed through an archway of the grand colonnade, swept through revolving doors into the lobby. Suffused with golden glow from backlit panels in the high ceiling, the polished floor colored in elaborate patterns evocative of exotic carpet, white columns with Ionic capitals standing tall throughout the space. A far cry from the Scholar & Journeyer’s Inn.

Way beyond her budget. She did not belong here, really. Even if so-called Eldor paid for her dinner—assuming he wasn’t a figment in the first place—she still didn’t belong in the Mega Bretania, especially not in this chintzy sundress. She hadn’t packed anything remotely elegant for her summer travels; she had not expected to need eveningwear. She was supposed to be roughing it in hostels, foregoing dinner dates and any personal dalliance to prioritize her research.