Page 66 of Not My Greek Wedding

‘And joking apart, of course, I would love to see your sculptures. If the figure in the shop is anything to go by, then I am sure they will be amazing,’ I say, still smiling.

‘Then I hope I will not disappoint you,’ he says as we drive.

Just outside Fira, we take a left turn and drive through a village, before approaching a long road, dotted with several villas. When we eventually arrive at a stunning white three-storey house, with floor-length glass windows, my mouth falls open.

He pulls the car into a huge gravel driveway that has room for several vehicles.

‘This is your family home?’ I ask. The house in front of me is truly stunning.

‘It is. Maybe now you can see why I have not left home yet.’ He smiles as, like a gentleman, he opens the car door for me to climb out.

A pristine lawn has a stone water feature at the centre, and two small lemon trees stand in pots on either side of the dark-grey front door.

Inside, the stylish rooms look like something straight out of a glossy magazine, with cool, clean lines and shades of taupe and dark blues on the walls. A table in the hallway is set with a large pot of white flowers, their sweet fragrance filling my nostrils as I walk past.

I think of the celebrity house programme with Abbey Clancy that I am certain this place could feature on.

As we head into the vast kitchen with cream glossy units, Andreas offers me a drink. We take our glasses of fresh orange juice upstairs, where he leads me to his bedroom. It has a balcony leading from it that gives a glorious view of the sea.

‘Oh wow,’ is all I can manage to mutter as I take in the view from his room. ‘I can only imagine waking up to that view every morning.’ I sigh.

He slides the patio door open and invites me to take a seat on one of the comfortable padded chairs outside.

‘I think I could sit and stare at this all day.’ I sigh as I sip my drink. ‘You really are so lucky to live in a house as beautiful as this.’

‘I believe I am,’ he says. ‘But money isn’t everything.’ He shrugs.

‘Would you mind if I take a photo?’ I ask him.

‘Sure, go ahead.’

I snap a photo from the balcony of the vista below, the white buildings tumbling down towards the water.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take any inside as it is your family home,’ I reassure him. ‘But that view is too good not to capture,’ I explain.

‘For your social media?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know,’ I tell him truthfully. It almost feels too personal sharing the view from his home.

It occurs to me then that I barely took any photos of my day out today, as I was too busy enjoying myself. I truly was in the moment, savouring my surroundings and, of course, enjoying the engaging company.

‘Anyway, let me have a look at the things I came to see,’ I say, draining the last of my orange juice.

‘Of course.’ Andreas stands. ‘Come.’

At the far end of the bedroom, a long shelf displays several wooden figures, and a huge mirror above it has a beautiful driftwood frame.

‘Some examples of my work,’ he says proudly, showing me the objects on the shelf.

I study his work in admiration: a smooth trinket bowl, a tree and one or two more face sculptures.

‘May I hold it?’ I ask, pointing to the perfectly carved tree.

‘Of course,’ he says, taking it from the shelf and handing it to me.

‘It’s really beautiful,’ I tell him. ‘And it looks quite intricate. Did you hand make this?’ I ask as I turn it over in my hands.

‘I did. It takes many hours, but I enjoy it. I find it very relaxing,’ he says.

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