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.

Sure, she could write a review of this ritzy hotel’s hoity-toity rooftop restaurant. But it wouldn’t be included in the travel guide; the target audience fell on the low end of the scale from rich to broke.

Shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be here. Every voice in Cloe’s head chanted against her presence in this place, as she started toward the elevators, head lowered to slip past all the rich guests by the reception desk with their designer luggage. What the fuck was she doing here.

“Hey…!”

She raised her gaze up from the glossy floor and stared into a bay of blue.

Oh holy everything. What the fuck was he doing here?

Cloe didn’t even care. She didn’t even… couldn’t even… He was here. That made everything else disappear.

“…hey,” she managed to murmur despite her lost mind.

This couldn’t be healthy, losing her mind like this so often lately. Ever since Commencement Day, when she’d first met this man of marble. Nothing in her life had seemed real ever since, really. She was living as if in a myth. A story she’d written or dreamt long ago…

Yet if so, somehow it seemed the truest story ever told.

He was smiling. That same slight smile, upon those roseate lips. “The campion girl,” he greeted her.

She mirrored the soft smile, cool and collected. To hide the effect his voice had on her heartbeat. “Cloe,” she introduced herself, not expecting the next words out of her own mouth. “So you’ve followed me across the world?”

Flirtatious, much? Where had that come from, she inwardly wondered. She’d almost sounded confident. As if she weren’t aflutter and afire here in front of him. It felt as though the fire, however torridly it burned, was tempered by the bay-blue streaming straight into her soul—bringing her into perfect balance in his presence.

There was something so unspeakably… natural between them, like she’d known him all her life. Or even longer.

The man of marble grinned. “You caught me,” he playfully ceded, extending his right hand in greeting. “Ryder.”

She extended her own. It wasn’t the first time their two hands had touched. But it may as well have been. The first, the last, the only time that mattered. Every time.

Cloe cleared her throat, knowing she couldn’t clear her mind. “Checking in?” she queried, noting his bulky black rollaway.

He nodded. “Are you staying here, too?”

“No, I’m just…” her voice trailed, “…meeting someone for dinner.”

The words brought Eldor instantly to mind, of course. As soon as she’d set eyes on Ryder, the epic hero had completely vanished from her thoughts. And her heart broke, the moment she mentioned the date. As though she somehow owed it to this man of marble, this virtual stranger, not to be dining with another guy tonight.

Was she legitimately going loony? How could she feel such things, feelings that made no iota of sense? What was she on?? She had to be on something strong, on something very…

Oh. Her hammering heart suddenly stilled, at what she only just now noticed—a metallic glint upon his left ring finger.

She could have sworn that it hadn’t been there, when she had met him by the gates. Could have sworn that his hand had been bare, when it’d brushed hers to pass the campion. She was nearly sure of it. Or had she been so blind, so numb to everything that moment in the garden, so caught up in the myth, the waking dream…?

A tall blonde was approaching. Laid a porcelain hand on Ryder’s shoulder. He startled at her touch, as if awoken from a dream himself.

“Matthew, I…” her soft voice faded at the sight of Cloe. Her face fell, wan and pale, the look of having walked in on her husband breaking every vow that they had made just yesterday. Just by looking at this girl, the way he was, no matter whether he had meant a thing. The way his heated beating heart betrayed him.

Cloe would’ve blinked, were she not frozen in the heat.

A voice from the front desk cut in to save them. “Checking in, Sir?”

The marble statue nodded, head heavier than stone.

“Under what name?” the receptionist inquired.

“Campion,” the statue answered. “Matthew Ryder Campion.”

Cloe did blink now, processing the man’s name on multiple levels. So he went by his middle name? With her, at least. With anyone else? Apparently not with his wife.

And so he really was Mr. Campion, Cloe mused… the title she and Silvia had thrown around for fun, when speaking of the marble statue who had given her a flower by that name. This day drifted farther and farther from believable reality with every passing second.

For Lacey’s part, this day—the morrow of her sweet ascent to heaven—was from hell. “I hardly think they need your middle name, honey,” she purred, leaning into him, wrapping both her slender arms around his bicep. Unable to stop glaring at the brown-eyed girl.

He smiled weakly, even woefully. “This is Cloe,” he introduced. “We met at Veriton, while I was there for Noelle’s graduation.”

His wife’s smile was even hollower. “Oh, how… lovely. Pleasure to meet you,” she lied. “Lacey Campion.”

She’d pronounced her last name with palpable pride, possessive passion. Politely extended her hand. Her left hand—more to display her diamond ring and wedding band, it seemed to Cloe, than as a gesture of acquaintance.

Cloe swallowed hard and shook it. “Pleasure,” she parroted.

Had she seen this face before? She was pretty sure that she had. Perhaps pouting in lingerie on the pages of a magazine, flashing a perfect smile from a billboard in Times Square… Cloe wasn’t sure just where. The face, flawless as it was, somehow did not stand out at all—could just as easily be spotted in a crowd as on a runway.

If Lacey had read Cloe’s mind in this moment, she would have seen the very impression that had led to the collapse of her career. The echoes of her former agents and employers, overheard rumors of a contract on the eve of expiration, with no hope for renewal, ringing in her ears: Too cookie-cutter. Nothing edgy. The girl-next-door appeal gets old, fast; Barbie-doll beauty is outdated anyway. Still can’t pull off the catwalk strut, lacks that confidence, always looks awkward—maybe she just don’t got it. Boring, bland features, empty eyes, the very opposite of sexy…

Well. No matter. She was Mr. Campion’s wife. And that was all that mattered, in this moment. In her life. Right up until their wedding day, a part of her had doubted that Matthew would go through with marrying her. Tall blondes had never been his type, and that had never been a secret. And there’d been infinitely more, and infinitely deeper, reasons for her to doubt that he would actually say ‘I do’…

But so he had. So all those doubts were lifted now. And Lacey couldn’t let this short brunette, this total stranger, stir them up again.

Cloe had never felt less comfortable. “I’d… better go.”

Ryder bowed his head slowly in a deep nod. “Your date awaits.”

His voice was heavy, almost hard, hiding a hopeless heart. Lacey’s grip on his arm tightened. Cloe did not respond—only a slight and hollow smile, as she turned to leave. Lacey turned and smiled at the receptionist to complete the Campions’ check-in. Pretended not to notice how her husband’s mind was elsewhere, how his bay-blue eyes were set on someone else. Even long after that someone disappeared, his gaze was distant.

So she held him close, as if that changed a thing.

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.......... So there it is. The mysterious Mr. Campion = the mysterious Matthew: the man whom Lacey loves with all her heart, always doubting whether he loves her back, even now that they're wed. The same man of marble with whom Cloe shares an ineffable heartfelt connection - at first sight, and second sight here, in this lifetime.

Of course, the Campion marriage will be explored further in scenes to come... as will Ryder's reasons for going by his middle name... now that his real identity has been revealed...

Anyway - any thoughts? Feels?  O__O

Next scene we'll see Cloe and Rider again, thousands of years ago, back in B.C. at the start of their star-crossed love story...  And if you liked this one, please don't forget to vote!! :)