The Servitóros

With a scrutinizing gaze, Soti examined himself in the mirror. His eyebrows drawn together skeptically, he adjusted his tie once more, straightened his name tag, and smoothed out his white shirt. Everything was already perfect, yet he couldn’t help but keep searching for the tiniest flaws in his appearance - and fixing them immediately the moment he found one. With practiced movements, he ran a hand through his dark hair and tucked a stray strand behind his ear.

Damn.

Despite a not insignificant amount of hair gel, he could practically watch his curls break free at his temples, thanks to the ever-present humid heat. Hastily, he smoothed the rebellious strands back, squared his narrow shoulders with determination, and smiled at his reflection.

His face smiled back uncertainly from behind the slightly reflective glasses. Damn it. This uniform made him look even younger than he already was. And at the same time, as though he’d been invited to his own funeral. Black tie, black vest, black trousers. His stiffly smiling reflection fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt one last time before finally relenting. There was nothing wrong with his uniform. But his work smile definitely needed improvement.

Smile! Always smile!

He let out a deep sigh, looked away, closed the shutters, and hurried out of the small apartment. A wall of scorching heat hit him the moment he stepped into the glaring sunlight, and after only a few steps he felt as though his tie was already tightening around his throat.

He made his way quickly toward the restaurant building and slipped through the side entrance into the large dining hall. At least here, it was bearable - pleasantly cooled by the softly humming air vents above his head.

The large double doors leading to the lobby were still closed, but soon they would open for the horde of hungry guests.

Soti hurriedly joined the line of waiting staff, all dressed exactly like him.

A small army of penguins. On Rhodes.

The thought made him smirk. He bit it back instantly when the disapproving look of the service manager met his. In front of the penguin army stood a stocky man, his fleshy arms firmly crossed over his chest, stretching the sleeves of his navy suit at the elbows.

“Are we done, then?” he asked with a sideways glance at Soti, making his heart sink.

Done? What did he mean, done?

Hadn’t they said the staff meeting would take place at quarter to seven? Or hadn’t they? His eyes drifted inconspicuously to his wristwatch. Apparently, service manager Ioannis was one of those excessively punctual types. None of his colleagues showed the slightest hint of surprise. Clearly, he had missed something.

Wonderful.

The sharp clatter of heels on tile made him look up. A young woman with a dark bun had joined Ioannis - Soti immediately recognized her as the head of service. Her perfectly manicured fingers gripped a clipboard as if it were an ancient shield.

“The seating plan for this evening,” she snapped in a military tone, flipping the page.

“Dimitra and Phillipos, tables 1 through 10. Elena and Jannis, tables 11 through 21.”

Without meaning to, Soti’s thoughts drifted as his gaze wandered through the magnificent dining hall. The luxury resort Gianna Rhodes had only been completed this summer. Not a hotel for mass tourism like Lindos or Faliraki, where rowdy idiots roamed. This was an oasis of comfort for the well-heeled. The light marble floor gleamed under the elegantly embedded ceiling lights. Everything was pristine white, yet inviting. The architects had done an outstanding job.

Yes, he would definitely feel comfortable here as a guest, Soti concluded, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he looked out toward the terrace.

An unobstructed view of the sea.

The hotel owners charged dearly for it - and the guests were more than willing to dig deep into their well-filled pockets.

He would never sit there.

Not just because he couldn’t afford even a broom closet in this resort, no.

It was simply far too hot.

He had never understood why tourists preferred sweating and baking outside in scorching temperatures when they could enjoy the pleasant coolness of the air conditioning inside.

It had to be the sea.

It held a strange pull over people.

“Sotirios and Anastasia. Tables 55 through 65.”

Soti flinched involuntarily at the sound of his full name and immediately cursed his wandering thoughts.

He nodded quickly toward the head of service and scanned the room until his eyes met Anastasia’s. He gave her a strained smile.

They had hit the jackpot.

Serving guests outdoors in long-sleeved shirts in sweltering heat.

Oh, what fun.

With a bit of imagination - and perhaps a different color scheme -the large doors to the lobby could just as well have been the gates of hell. No sooner had the clock crept from quarter to the hour than an endless stream of guests poured into the restaurant. Within seconds, the room filled with chatter and cackling in at least a dozen languages. Whether here or in one of Faliraki’s cheap taverns, on one thing all tourists agreed at this hour: the people were hungry.

The ladies - almost all dressed in elegant yet airy dresses - had clearly chosen their most overpowering perfumes. Within moments, the mix of all imaginable - and unimaginable - scents had formed a heavy cloud above their heads. For a brief moment, the chemical fumes even managed to overpower the smell of roast dishes and risotto drifting from the show kitchen.

The gentlemen, at least in terms of clothing, displayed far more diversity. From suits to casual khaki trousers, anything seemed acceptable. Nervously, Soti watched the bustling, ever-growing crowd and wiped his palms against his apron yet again.

He thanked God on his knees that on his first evening in the restaurant he was working alongside Anastasia. She had been present at his interview and had hinted that she’d already worked in a hotel of this caliber before. Her round face with slightly flushed cheeks radiated a calm and composure Soti could only dream of. So far, he had only been assigned to room service or smaller cafés - not the largest restaurant in the hotel. The longer he watched Anastasia, the more he felt like a clumsy block of wood.

While she guided guests to their tables with elegant movements, it was Soti’s job to handle the greetings.

“Don’t forget the welcome bites,” Anastasia murmured as she passed him. Not for a second did her charming smile falter, reminding Soti to pull his own lips into position. He spun around.

Welcome bites, welcome bites…

Quickly, he grabbed the baskets filled with slices of bread and Greek honey and began greeting the seated guests.

“Kaliméra!” a guest in a polo shirt that no longer quite fit his figure boomed at him before he had even fully reached the table.

Soti resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

No, it was definitely not morning anymore. But he wasn’t about to correct a paying customer.

If seven in the evening was “good morning” to this man, then so be it. Soti knew all too well that most guests’ knowledge of Greek extended only to the few phrases printed on the typical blue-and-white napkins in Greek taverns.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Would you like the wine list? And a small welcome from the kitchen,” Soti said in flawless English, smoothly ignoring the Kaliméra as he carefully placed the basket in the center of the table. The man nodded in satisfaction; his wife, drenched in at least five layers of perfume, paid Soti no attention.

With a brief bow, Soti stepped away, repeated the procedure three more times on his way to the wine lists, and then grabbed several of the thick, green leather-bound menus.

“The wine list, sir,” Soti smiled, handing the folder to the sweating man in record time. If this continued, that impressively high forehead would be sporting a glorious sunburn by morning. As expected, it was still unbearably hot. The white-painted pergola above their heads did absolutely nothing to block the sun and was clearly more decorative than functional.

Unobtrusively, Soti wiped the sweat from his forehead, adjusted his glasses which were once again sliding down his nose and cast a longing glance toward the air-conditioned interior. How badly he wished he were working there.

“Soti, welcome bites for table 65.”

Anastasia’s gentle but firm voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The sun hung low over the terrace, blinding him as he placed the basket before the last guest. He had to blink repeatedly just to make out the man’s face in the backlight. He seemed quite young - definitely not the typical target demographic. Soti tried to focus, but his eyes began to water.

Still, he forced his most charming smile.

“A small welcome from the kitchen, sir. Would you like the wine list?”

The man, seated alone at the large table, ran a hand through his blond, slightly wavy hair. With his other hand, he slid his polarized sunglasses partway down his narrow nose.

“Kalispéra. Perhaps we should start with that,” he replied slowly, crossing his legs. He spoke English with a distinctly British accent.

“Or don’t you greet your guests here?”

He pulled the sunglasses off decisively and placed them on the polished table. Soti blinked rapidly. The tinted lenses revealed a pair of dark green eyes that studied him from head to toe, sending a chill down his spine.

Instinctively, he bit his lower lip.

Damn it.

Mistake number one of the evening had just happened. It felt as though his tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth, and for a moment he couldn’t respond. He found himself blinking faster and faster. The stranger’s green eyes seemed to cling to his every movement. Silently, the man waited.

Soti took a deep breath.

“Yes, of course, sir. You’re right. Kalispéra,” he heard himself say, his voice sounding strange and distant to his own ears. He gave a short bow and was already turning to leave -

“And I’d very much like the wine list. Thank you,” the guest called after him, freezing Soti mid-step and causing Anastasia to snap her head in his direction.

Soti gave a stiff, jerky nod that almost hurt his neck and hurried toward the service cart with the green menus.

His pulse pounded in his head.

Don’t let something so small throw you off, he scolded himself as his fingers fumbled over the thick leather covers.

“Is everything alright?”

Anastasia had appeared beside him without him noticing, stacking several wine lists onto her arm.

Soti nodded wordlessly.

“Yes, everything’s fine. The guest at table 65 is just a bit… peculiar,” he whispered, adjusting his glasses and forcing a smile as he looked at her.

She glanced discreetly toward table 65, where the blonde guest had just interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them expectantly.

She nodded.

“Bring him the wine list and tell him the first glass is on the house.”

Without another glance at Soti, she returned to her guests. Soti followed suit.

He could feel sweat running down his back in fine lines, the thin fabric of his shirt beginning to cling to his skin. With firm steps, he returned to the heat and placed the menu on the table.

“My apologies for the wait. The first glass is on the house.”

The corners of his mouth ached. That damn smile.

The guest flipped through the green menu lazily.

“Is that so?” he asked, still absorbed in the wine list. Soti was growing increasingly impatient. He needed to get back to the other tables, some of the bread baskets were already empty but he couldn’t just walk away in silence.

A slender hand ran through fair hair again, and with a sigh, the guest set the menu down.

“What would you recommend?”

There they were again - those green eyes, fixed on him, making him feel as though he were under suspicion. Soti thought for a moment. Okay, what had they drilled into him about wine at hospitality school…?

“In this weather, I’d recommend a light white wine. We have a very good Retsina from a local winery.”

The sweat ran further down his back. Slowly but surely, he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

The guest nodded thoughtfully.

“Very well, I’ll have that. And the menu, please.”

“Of course,” Soti replied curtly, snatching up the wine list and turning on his heel.

This guy was starting to get on his nerves.

And the worst part was, he still had the distinct feeling that the guest’s piercing gaze followed his every step like arrows in his back.

The sun sank steadily toward the horizon. Soti let out a breath of relief as a cool sea breeze brushed against his burning cheeks.

Gradually, things quieted down. The guests had all received their drinks and meals, and a ravenous silence had settled in. The first rush of the evening was finally over - thank God. And honestly, he already needed a shower. In passing, he had caught his reflection in the glass pane leading to the interior and seen that his curls had completely broken free from any restraint the hair gel had attempted, frizzing wildly in every direction.

For a brief moment, Soti closed his eyes as he leaned back against the service cart with the menus.

“Table 65 demands attention,” Anastasia’s voice hissed almost immediately and his stomach tightened at once at the mention of that number.

Gripping the tray firmly with both hands, Soti approached table 65.

At last, the sun no longer shone directly into his face, allowing him to take a closer look at his difficult guest.

He was clearly tall - judging by the way he lounged in his seat. His lean frame was dressed in a light linen suit that, upon closer inspection, was outrageously expensive. Owing to the heat, he wore no tie, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. And he was young. Late twenties, maybe.

“What can I get you?” Soti asked as he reached the table - and couldn’t help raising one eyebrow in question. Damn, he absolutely could not let that become a habit.

“A different wine,” his guest replied in a smooth, resonant voice, idly swirling the half-finished glass in his hand. “This Retsina is dreadful with beef.”

“Of course, I’ll bring you the-”

The guest raised his hand in a commanding gesture, and it hit Soti like a slap, stopping him mid-motion.

“No need. Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll have a Merlot.”

“Of course, I-”

Soti heard a soft laugh and flinched.

“Good heavens, are you on the run?” the guest asked, propping his sharply defined chin on his fist as he looked up at Soti with a hint of mockery.

Just to do something, anything, Soti pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“There are other guests waiting to be served,” he replied tightly, but the stranger didn’t seem impressed in the slightest. He glanced around theatrically.

“So far, I don’t see anyone waving at you.”

Those dark eyes turned back to Soti, traveling up his vest and lingering with noticeable interest on his name tag.

Those damn tags.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and closed his eyes.

Couldn’t this just be over quickly?

“Aren’t you warm in that uniform?” The guest’s baritone had softened slightly.

Soti’s eyes fluttered open, his grip tightening around the tray.

“No, it’s… fine.”

“Impressive. Every time I come here, I have to readjust to the heat on Rhodes.”

For a fraction of a second, something like a faint smile flickered across his sharply cut features but Soti wasn’t sure if he had imagined it.

“Is there anything else you’d like?” He just wanted out of this strange situation. The guest slowly shook his head.

“Not at the moment, thank you.” His gaze drifted past Soti, out toward the sea. “It’s a beautiful evening, don’t you think?”

Completely thrown off by a guest asking for his personal opinion, Soti followed his gaze. Given the constant rush, he hadn’t had a single moment to appreciate the beauty of the evening. With stiff movements, he lowered the tray and looked at the sun now hovering low above the water.

“Yes… it really is beautiful.”

“Servitóros! Hey, servitóros!”

“Excuse me.”

As if struck, Soti spun on his heel and hurried over to table 58, where a group of ladies were already waving their hands.

He bit the inside of his cheeks and could have slapped himself for letting that guest occupy him for so long.

“My, your special guest has stamina,” Anastasia remarked dryly as he joined her after settling the impatient ladies’ bill.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced toward table 65 and quietly set down a tray of empty glasses beside him.

“Tell me about it,” Soti replied with an apologetic shrug as he uncorked the freshly ordered bottle of wine.

The restaurant slowly began to empty. Inside, only a small group of hardened gentlemen lingered over a final drink. The terrace, meanwhile, had become almost deserted as the wind from the sea had picked up considerably over the past half hour.

Except for the blonde guest at table 65.

Still seated with his legs casually crossed, he let the cool breeze wash over him, gazing dreamily out at the sea.

“Don’t you want to suggest he moves to the bar?” Anastasia raised an eyebrow.

Once again, Soti only shrugged uncertainly, set the wine on his tray, and tightened the bottle napkin around the dark glass.

“I don’t know. He is my guest and I-”

“Oh come on, Soti. You have to be up early again for the breakfast buffet tomorrow.” Anastasia smiled at him encouragingly.

Good grief. Right now, she reminded him more than ever of his mother.

He nodded silently and made his way back to his guest, balancing the tray carefully on his palm.

“The Merlot.”

With a short bow, he placed the fresh glass on the table and poured.

The guest rewarded him with a pleased smile.

Come on, just say it, damn it…

“Would you perhaps like to continue at our bar after your wine? You’ll have a much wider selection of drinks there.”

Soti had gathered all his courage, and still the words stumbled out far too quietly. Again, he bit the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t think so,” the guest replied lazily, leaning further back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “I don’t have such a lovely view of the sea there. I’d like to stay a little longer.”

As if only now noticing his surroundings again, he glanced around the noticeably empty terrace. “Unless that’s a problem for you?”

Startled, Soti raised his hands in a quick, almost frantic gesture.

“No, no, that’s perfectly fine. Stay as long as you like.”

He hadn’t even finished speaking before he could have slapped himself for it. Hastily, he brushed his wind-tossed curls out of his face. So hastily that he knocked his glasses off his nose, one temple catching in the wine glass with a faint clink.

The frame hit the table with a clatter. A sharp crack rang out and the glass shattered across the pale tiles into a thousand pieces. To Soti, it sounded unbearably loud. Dark red wine trickled quietly down the once pristine white leg of that damned suit.

Soti’s eyelids fluttered.

In that moment, he wished for nothing more than for the ground beneath him to open up and swallow him whole. Thankfully, his nearsightedness spared him from seeing the guest’s expression. At least fate granted him that mercy. Everything before his eyes blurred into a forgiving haze.

“Oh God, I am so incredibly sorry!”

For a moment, Soti didn’t know what to do - then he grabbed his apron and, in a gesture of sheer desperation, pressed it against the spreading stain.

“Careful, I think you still need these,” the guest laughed, retrieving Soti’s glasses from beneath the fabric and holding them out to him by one temple.

Soti didn’t respond. Wordlessly, he snatched the glasses from his hand and awkwardly pushed them back onto his nose.

The world snapped back into focus.

All too clearly, he saw the large red stain on the suit trousers.

The scraping of a chair made him flinch.

As he had suspected, his guest was tall. Very tall.

Soti had never considered himself particularly short but he barely reached the man’s chest.

“I’m afraid my plans for the evening have just changed,” the man said with a smile, inspecting the ruined trousers.

“I’ll inform housekeeping immediately… and I’ll bring you the bill,” Soti stammered, pulling off his apron and hurrying back to the service cart as fast as he could. Anastasia raised an eyebrow, apparently having missed his mishap.

“Table 65 would like to pay,” Soti managed, his words coming in bursts as he steadied himself against the cart. He felt dizzy.

“See? Good thing you suggested the bar,” Anastasia grinned, printing the receipt and patting his shoulder with satisfaction before handing him the bill folder.

“Go on, off with you. Otherwise, you’ll never get to bed.”

Soti nodded stiffly once more and, almost on autopilot, made his way back to table 65, clutching the folder with both hands.

Silently, he held it out.

“Charge it to the room, please,” came the brief reply as the guest took the bill and glanced over the expensive items without interest.

“Alexander Lloyd, room 551.”

At the room number, Soti swallowed hard.

The infamous 550s.

The absolute premium suites on the south side of the hotel. Larger than some apartments on Rhodes - and, of course, outrageously luxurious. Sea view and private pool included.

“And this is for you.”

Lloyd rested one hand casually on his hip and held the small leather folder out to Soti with the other. Soti raised his hands defensively.

“Oh no, please, you don’t have to give me a tip-”

Alexander Lloyd pressed the folder firmly against Soti’s chest and gave him a crooked smile. A sandy-blonde strand fell into his face, suddenly making him look like a mischievous boy.

Soti felt something tighten inside him.

“For taking such wonderful care of me this evening,” Lloyd said, his dark baritone warm again.

“And for - apparently - ruining your end of shift rather thoroughly.”

Still smiling, Alexander Lloyd turned to leave, giving Soti a brief wave over his shoulder. He didn’t look back as he added:

“Oh, and by the way—your eye color is quite interesting. Like the water of the sea. You hardly notice it behind your glasses.”

Soti stared after the retreating white silhouette, stunned. He felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut by a merciless puppeteer. Only a cool gust of wind against his heated face reminded him of the folder in his hands.

Carefully, he peeked inside . then snapped it shut immediately, pressing it closed as if its contents had suddenly come alive.

Christ. He definitely couldn’t accept that.

No, no, no.

Even if he had always wished for generous tippers … this was too much.

Hesitating, Soti clutched the folder before turning.

There was … yes, there it was.

The large tip jar by the restaurant entrance, still completely empty. Soti had no idea whether his colleagues used it - but for now, he would feed it.

Determined, he dropped the hundred-euro bill through the lid.

The memory of dark green eyes sent a shiver down his spine.