When an unexpected phone call derails a young woman’s wedding plans, it sparks an epic adventure around the modern-day Mediterranean. Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from K.C. Dyer’s An Accidental Odyssey, which releases on December 14th!
Gianna Kostas is on the cusp of a fairy-tale life. Sure, she’s just lost her job, but she’s about to marry one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. On her way to taste wedding cakes, though, things go sideways. Shocking news sends Gia off on a wild journey halfway around the world in pursuit of her ailing–and nearly estranged–father.
In Athens, she learns Dr. Kostas, a classics professor, is determined to retrace Odysseus’s famous voyage. This is a journey her father is in no condition to take alone, so Gia faces a tough decision. When an unexpected job offer helps seal the deal and quash the guilt Gia feels from her disapproving groom-to-be, the journey is on. But as Gia adventures–and eats–her way around the Mediterranean, she discovers that confronting epic storms and ripped surfer dudes might be the easy part.
Along the way, as she uncovers family secrets, finds heartbreak, and learns more about a certain archaeologist with a mysterious past of his own, Gia discovers that fairy-tale endings might be messy and complicated, but they can happen anywhere.
In less than two minutes, I’m out of my own clothes and wearing a little black strapless number that’s about a half size too tight.
Sikka points to my left hand. “Take that off,” she orders. “He no spoil your fun tonight.”
“Should I give it back?” I ask her, suddenly.
She looks scandalized. “Never! He dump you—you keep ring! But wear on your chain now, for be safe.”
I slide the ring onto my necklace, where it nestles into my slightly-more-voluminous-than-usual cleavage. And then I try—and fail—to not touch the indentation on the bare third finger of my left hand.
Sikka takes my mind off the ring by handing me a pair of shoes with at least five inch heels.
“Are you crazy?” I stare down at the shoes. “I can’t walk in those.”
“I don’t know . . .” I begin, but she rolls her eyes at me and plunges her own feet into a pair of thigh-high leather boots.
“Is only for dance.” She takes me by the hand, which is a good thing since I can’t walk in these crazy shoes without support, and we totter back out onto the street.
Luckily, the nightclub is only a block away. It’s totally jammed with mostly inebriated, writhing bodies.
An extremely sweaty man dances over to us as we walk in the door. He’s wearing a pink dress shirt, unbuttoned almost to the waist, and stands about two inches shorter than Sikka in her high-heeled boots. He does a little shimmy in front of her, and she laughs uproariously and throws herself into his arms, latching her lips onto his.
“Gia, this is my Ivo,” she says as they break apart. “Ivo, Gia’s heart is broke. We need drinks, okay?”
Ivo gives me a broad, gap-toothed smile and shimmies off into the crowd.
“Only one drink.” I shout at Sikka, who is already pulling me onto the dance floor.
“Sure, sure.”
The music shifts, and it’s Daft Punk, and suddenly? I’m dancing. I mean, only a monster doesn’t dance to Daft Punk.
When Ivo brings me a pink drink, I down it in two swallows and immediately feel better. After all, between the jet lag and the crying I’m probably a little dehydrated, so this lemonadey concoction is likely just what I need. Ivo grabs Sikka by the hips, and since she’s still holding my hands, the three of us dance together, which seems to make him extremely happy. Then Sikka straddles her legs around one of his knees and starts grinding on him, which is my cue to back away. In under a second, they are swallowed by the crowd.
I find myself standing beside the bar with one of Sikka’s ridiculous, not-quite-stolen shoes in my hand, which has come off in all the dancing. And as it turns out, I am just fuzzy enough to not be able to sort out the buckle.
Defeated, I drop the shoe on the floor, balance on the other one, and order a drink for the road. Sikka was right. I do feel better.
I also feel someone slide in beside me at the bar.
“I think you’ve possibly lost your shoe,” he says and holds it up.
This is no Greek boy.
He’s got a British accent for one. Tall, with dark eyes and darker hair, a little curly. Persian origin, maybe, or possibly South Asian. In any case, he has soft, olive skin, which is also tanned—in fact, I can see where his nose is peeling, just a little.
“Yours?” he repeats. He’s got a half-finished glass of beer in his other hand.
“Sort of.” I take the shoe back from him. “I mean, it’s—ah—mostly borrowed, to tell you the truth. I was just having a little trouble getting it back on.”
The bartender slides my drink over at this moment. It is, I now realize, pink lemonade mixed with something akin to jet fuel. I knock it back in one.
My tall, hot, shoe-returning friend raises his eyebrows and smiles. “Thirsty?”
Um. Yes. Very, very thirsty.
But of course, I don’t say this. Instead, I lift one shoulder casually. “Just a bit dehydrated actually. Jet lag.”
“Ah. That explains the shoe.” He smiles and is about to turn away when I grab his arm.
I hear myself say, “Can I buy you a drink?” and then—worse—I actually do.
Things might get just a little—ah—crazy after that.
From AN ACCIDENTAL ODYSSEY published by arrangement with Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2021 by kc dyer.
