Elektra snorted, not a particularly ladylike sound. "You were friends with a monk who couldn't commit? Explains a lot." It explained nothing, actually, but it spared her having to talk about Greece.
The beauty of her adoptive country wasn't something she thought about often. If she had, it wouldn't be statues and white sand she'd think about, she figured. It would be the bright pink bedspread in her room. Or the perfume her mother wore. The family dog, whose name she had excised from her memory along with so much else.
"Drink your milkshake," she told Tom. "I'm making cappuccinos." He hadn't asked for either; at best, he'd said he wanted to make himself a milkshake, but of course Elektra couldn't let him have that. Cappuccinos would keep her hands busy, though, even as her mind raced. "Rude of your friend not to take you on a tour. Was he a hunter, too?"