The prime minister's smile lingered, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
"I must admit, I wasn't expecting this," he said, switching seamlessly to English. "You speak beautifully."
"Thank you," I replied, my tone modest but warm, "I hope I'm not too rusty."
He laughed, clearly charmed. "Not at all. You speak better than most of my aides."
Christian and I exchanged a look, he winked, smiling, a subtle encouragement.
Mentally, I patted myself on the back.
Christian's hand subtly grazed the small of my back as he led us inside. I could feel the faint pride in the way his eyes refused to look anywhere else but at me.
We entered the dinning room.
Elizabeth had outdone herself.
The table was set beautifully, white linen, flickering candles, polished silverware, and an array of traditional Greek dishes laid out with precision.
The room smelled of oregano, olive oil, and slow-roasted meat.
"Please," Christian gestured, "make yourself comfortable."
