Inheritance Redefined

Chapter Thirty-One

The Greek restaurant glowed warmly against the afternoon sun, tall, arched windows spilling golden light across linen-draped tables. The scent of grilled lamb, lemon, and oregano drifted through the air, richer and more comforting than Elara had expected. It felt cozy and intimate, the kind of place where conversations lingered long after the plates were cleared.

Elara sat between her mother and Orion, her palms pressed flat on her napkin. Across from her, Leonidas spoke softly with the waiter, his Greek accent rolling smooth and steady, while Theron and Adonis leaned together, arguing over the menu. Isabella sat close to Elara, occasionally brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, her eyes shining with a mix of relief and awe at seeing her daughter finally surrounded by family.

Elara picked up the menu, scanning the elegant Greek script with a rising sort of panic. A few words leapt out–feta, olive, pita–but most of it blurred into mystery.

"Not so easy to read, is it?" a low voice asked.

Elara looked up. Theron had noticed her hesitation. His dark eyes, calmer than his younger brother's, were fixed on her with quiet patience.

"Not really," she admitted, blood rushing to her cheeks.

Theron slid his menu toward Elara. "Here–I'll help. Spanakopita means spinach pie. It's crisp and light, I think you'd like it. Souvlaki is grilled skewers. A safe choice. And this–" he tapped a word Elara couldn't even sound out, "–is moussaka. Layers of lamb, eggplant, béchamel. It tastes like home."

Elara blinked up at him. "You sound very sure of yourself."

"Older brothers usually are," Theron replied evenly, with a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Want me to order for you?"

Before she could answer, Adonis leaned across the table with a grin.
"Don't let him, Elara! He'll order the boring stuff. You have to try loukoumades. Fried dough balls with honey. Best part of any meal."

"Adonis," Theron muttered, exasperated.

"What?" Adonis shrugged innocently. "She's our sister. She deserves to know the good stuff."

Elara's laugh bubbled out before she could stop herself. The brothers exchanged a quick glance–both clearly startled by the sound–then hid their reactions behind their menus.

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The food arrived in waves–platters of dips with warm pita, dolmades stuffed with herbs, and small plates of spanakopita cut into golden triangles. Theron quietly served Elara first, sliding a plate toward her before taking his own. Adonis, much less subtle, stole an olive straight off her plate and grinned when she narrowed her eyes at him.

"See?" he said, popping it into his mouth. "That's how siblings eat."

"More like thieves," Theron corrected, rolling his eyes.

Orion sat quiet beside her, but every time Elara reached for something, he was there–nudging the dish closer, sliding a napkin across, even lightly brushing her hair behind her ear when a loose strand fell. His gaze never wavered, it lingered on her hands, her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she tasted something new. He memorized each little movement as though storing it in his mind, protective, attentive, and impossibly gentle.

Elara caught him watching her and felt a fierce warmth in her chest. She knew he had been through a lifetime without her and now that they were together, he wanted to make up for lost time in every quiet gesture.

Isabella watched them both, reaching over to rest her hand lightly on Elara's. "You're surrounded by family now, my darling girl. Look at us," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly with emotion.