We are all storytellers in a way. It’s a fundamental part of how we communicate as communities—big and small. That is what The Anthology is about: to lend Esquire Middle East’s historic platform to a new generation of short story writers, and champion the art of the written word in the GCC.
In partnership with Montblanc, each edition of The Anthology will feature a short story written by a regional writer, giving them the opportunity to take a further step in helping telling their stories, express themselves and fulfilling their potential. It’ll be Esquire’s privilege to share it.
A warm, salty breeze carried the distant hum of cicadas as Sebastian and Sophia sat across each other on a deliberately small table. The candlelight flickered, teasing shadows across the only restaurant at the quaint, five-star boutique hotel, overlooking the Aegean Sea. Surrounded in rustic, white-washed walls and the intoxicating scent of jasmine, this remote Greek island was the sort of place influencers only dreamt of — a masterpiece of understated elegance with views so picturesque they felt Photoshopped.
The soft glow of the candles reflected in Sophia’s eyes, which sparkled with a mix of love and anticipation. “You know,” Sebastian began, his voice low, “this is exactly what I imagined being engaged to you would be like. Perfect.”
Sophia smiled, her hand reaching across the table to intertwine her fingers with his. “It’s more than perfect, baby. It’s us.”
She was a vision in her flowing off-white dress, exuding an effortless elegance as her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her delicate features. Sure, she was undeniably beautiful, but what Sebastian was really drawn to was her confidence, her intelligence, and her dedication to getting what she wanted.
She swirled her glass lazily, smiling as her fiancé tugged absently at his bare wrist. “Relax, darling,” Sophia said breezily, tilting her head. “You look like someone just robbed you.”
Sebastian laughed nervously, but his hand drifted instinctively to his wrist. “It’s just that I never leave home without my watch. I feel naked without it.”
Sophia shrugged, her hand resting beneath the table. “Just relax, and try enjoy being engaged to me. Look around,” she gestured at the serene dining terrace, where a gentle breeze carried the scent of rosemary and lemon trees. “You’re right, this place is perfect.”
Sebastian leaned back, trying to let her calm wash over him. “I wish we could have our wedding here. But there’s no way we could afford it. Weddings are crazy expensive now, it’s daylight robbery.”
Sophia suppressed a half-smile. “Don’t worry about that,” she said softly, her voice as smooth as the wine in her glass. “I’m sure things will work out.”
Unbeknownst to them—or so it seemed—two shadowy figures were en route to their villa.
The night had been off to a terrible start for Dimitri and Spiros, though, in fairness, “terrible” was their baseline. The plan had seemed simple enough—row their boat to the shore, sneak up to one of the hotel’s more secluded private villas, and make off with whatever shiny objects the rich guests had left lying around. Easy money.
Except no one mentioned the mangroves.
“This is ridiculous,” Dimitri grumbled, swiping at a mosquito while his foot sank into a puddle of mud with a wet squelch. His once-black sneakers were now unrecognizable blobs of muck. Spiros, trudging ahead with the determination of a man who had never planned for contingencies, waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. We’re almost there. Just… watch where you’re stepping.”
“Oh, brilliant advice, Socrates,” Dimitri muttered as he slipped, catching himself on a gnarled root and splattering his dark trousers with more mud.
By the time they reached the hotel villa’s back terrace, they were both fresh with sweat, streaked with mud, and beginning to smell faintly of mangrove swamp. Spiros wiped his forehead dramatically and grinned. “See? Easy.”
Dimitri rolled his eyes and boosted him over the low terrace railing. The “easy” part lasted exactly three seconds before Spiros misjudged his landing. His left leg plunged straight into the infinity pool, sending a ripple across its glassy surface.
“Seriously?” Dimitri hissed, watching Spiros recoil like a wet cat.
“I’m fine!” Spiros snapped, shaking his leg, dripping water onto the tiles. “It’s just… slippery.”
“Slippery like your brain,” Dimitri muttered, pulling himself over the railing and surveying the terrace. “Now what?”
“We break in, genius,” Spiros replied, pulling a screwdriver from his pocket.
Ten seconds later, they were inside. Or, more specifically, they were leaving a trail of muddy footprints and wet hand prints across the pristine villa.
“Shut up and check under the mattress,” Spiros whispered, trying to regain some semblance of authority as he pried open a bedside drawer. “Why do people even hide things under mattresses?” Dimitri muttered, rifling through a closet filled with designer clothes he was sure they couldn’t sell.
“Rich people are predictable,” Spiros shot back, shaking his damp leg like a disgruntled flamingo. “They love safes but don’t trust themselves to use them.”
He leaned against the sliding glass door to inspect another drawer, leaving what can only be described as a perfect hand print on the glass. Dimitri snorted. “Are you trying to leave a trail for the local kindergartners to solve?”
Spiros ignored him, flipping open a velvet box. “Aha!” Inside was a ruby ring that sparkled even in the dim light. “This, my friend, is our retirement plan.”
“Retirement?” Dimitri scoffed. “You’ll be lucky if this covers bail money next time you fall in a pool.”
Five minutes later, they slipped into their boat under the cover of moonlight, their laughter muffled by the gentle lapping of waves—and the squelch of Spiros’ shoes.
The couple sauntered back to their villa arm in arm, only for their spirits to crash into the floor when they saw the chaos awaiting them.
“Sebastian!” Sophia shrieked, scanning the ransacked room. Drawers hung open, clothes spilled across the floor, and the lingering scent of damp panic suggested the perpetrators had been recent.
Sebastian’s jaw tightened as he grabbed the nearest blunt object he could find, to use as a weapon should the culprits still be there. After a fiendish search around the villa, Sebastian turned to his Sophia devastated. “They left the passports, but they took my watch, all of our cash…” His voice trailed off as his eyes darted to the bedside table. “Your ring?”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “They took my grandmother’s ring?”
Half an hour later, the scene was a blur of uniformed inefficiency. Two of the local police, who looked more at home behind the local taverna counter, scribbled notes while avoiding eye contact.
“So, you’re saying they entered through the glass doors?” Officer Nikos asked, his tone bored.
“Yes,” Sebastian snapped. “Look at the hand print! And the footprints!”
The officers glanced at the evidence with the enthusiasm of men staring at last week’s leftovers.
“Yes, well,” Nikos continued, “we will make a note. But our station is… how do you say, ‘under-resourced’.”
“Under-resourced?” Sophia said, her voice a whip crack. “You have a hand print and footprints. Surely this isn’t difficult!”
The second officer shrugged. “Perhaps not, madam, but we lack the technology to, uh…” He gestured vaguely. “Do… police things.”
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. “So what now? Do we get a crime number to frame and hang on our wall?”
Nikos smiled, missing the sarcasm entirely. “Exactly!”
The hotel’s General Manager was a vision of contrition. Hands clasped and forehead glistening, he apologized profusely.
“This is unacceptable,” he stammered. “Our guests’ safety is paramount.” He kept repeating to any one who would listen: “This has never happened before. I will personally ensure that this never happens again.”
“How noble of you,” Sophia said her voice laced with frustration. “While we appreciate your apology, material possessions can be replaced. But my grandmother’s ring, a family heirloom, is irreplaceable. It holds sentimental value far beyond its monetary worth.”
The manager’s shoulders sunk, painfully aware of the lack of tangible solutions he, and his apologies, could offer. “I understand the sentimental value of such items. We will do everything in our power to recover the stolen goods. In the meantime, please accept our sincere apologies.”
A lingering silence held for what felt like an eternity before Sebastian, ever the pragmatist, broke it with a solution. “Perhaps we could consider this a blessing in disguise,” he said, casting a look at his fiancé with a glint in his eye. “Seeing as we are newly engaged, and currently looking for a place to get married, how about you host our wedding here, at the hotel, next summer? On the house.”
The manager’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. A free wedding? It was an audacious request, but already on the back foot, his mind couldn’t think of an appropriate reason not to concede. “Your wedding? Free of charge?” he blanched.
Sophia’s ruby-red lips curled into a smile. “Think of it as a public relations opportunity.”
The next evening, the couple returned to the candle-lit terrace, exchanging whispered jokes as if nothing had happened. The sea breeze toyed with Sophia’s hair as she leaned back in her chair, her demeanor as composed as ever.
Sebastian swirled his wine, studying her across the table. “I’m so sorry for what happened last night. I should have put everything in the safe, I just never assumed that a place this nice would have such incompetent security. Although, I have to say, you seem remarkably calm about losing the ring.”
Sophia smirked, taking her time before answering. “Well, funny thing about that.” She brought her hand up from where it was resting on her lap and placed it languidly on the table. The ruby ring sparkling as she toyed with her glass.
Sebastian froze mid-sip, nearly choking. “Wait. What is that?”
Her grin widened. “You wanted the wedding paid for, didn’t you?”
Sebastian leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You mean to tell me… the ring they took—”
“Was fake too,” she said, matter-of-factly. “A good fake, but a fake nonetheless. The real one,” she tapped the ruby on her finger, “never left my hand.”
Sebastian blinked, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “And my watch?”
“Oh, that is safe too,” she said, swirling her wine lazily. “It’s in a lockbox at a bank in the town. I wasn’t about to trust you to play it cool.”
Sebastian leaned back, his expression caught between awe and exasperation. “You thought of everything.”
She chuckled softly. “Darling, you’re wonderful at many things, but scheming? Not so much.”
Sebastian shook his head, thinking every thing through. “The robbery… you staged that too?” he asked with a grin.
“Of course.” Sophia’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “Let’s just say our friends Dimitri and Spiros were bound to succeed. Sloppy, but effective.”
“And the police?” Sebastian asked, lowering his voice further.
“They were perfect,” Sophia said with mock admiration. “I couldn’t have scripted their incompetence better myself. Honestly, we should have given them a standing ovation.”
Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “So, let me get this straight. We’re now engaged, not robbed, and the hotel’s footing the bill for the wedding?”
Sophia raised her glass, her smirk now a full grin. “I told you things would work out.”
Sebastian clinked his glass against hers. “Remind me never to cross you.”
Sophia’s voice softened, though the playful edge remained. “Darling, if you ever tried, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
About the author
Matthew Priest is a journalist and editor with more than 15 years experience in the lifestyle sector. His work has appeared in Esquire, The Guardian, GQ, The Rake, CNN, BBC, Harper’s Bazaar, The National, Arabian Business and more. While he specialises in profile and lifestyle writing, The Wedding Planner is his first short story to be published.