But she’s maternal and kind, for certain. There isn’t a better woman to be the mother of my children.
Chapter 29
Harper
Thank heaven Jayson’s gone from the bedroom when I emerge from the nursery late the next morning. Another restless night of tossing and turning, and the little sleep I finally managed has left me flat. Grimacing at the tender redness around my eyes, several minutes later I stand in front of the mirror after a hot shower. His sharp eyes won’t miss the proof of my distress, and I have no desire to show him any more of my innermost feelings. Setting my lips in a grim line, I reach for my rarely-used cosmetics bag to conceal the signs of last night’s insomnia.
A little concealer, some highlighter, and no more redness. It’s not difficult, but I have lots of experience masking sadness from three years ago. To be back in the same spot years later almost makes me want to dissolve into tears again. But that would ruin my makeup so I try to concentrate on other things.
I pad from the bathroom, wrapped from head to toe in a thick bathrobe. He’s nowhere in sight, so I risk dressing in the dressing room, pulling on shorts and a shirt.
If Irina brought breakfast this morning, I must have slept right through her knocking. My stomach growls as I descend the stairs and go in the direction of the kitchen.
Irina clicks her tongue when I come in and go straight to the fridge. “I will cook for you, Kyria Harper. Tell me what you’d like. Eggs? Oatmeal? Brioche?”
With a smile, I hold up a bottle of water after closing the refrigerator door. “I’m fine.” I scoop up a juicy orange, likely grown in the Satyros’s orchard, from a bowl on the counter. Ignoring Irina’s admonishments about needing a substantial breakfast, I leave the villa through the servants’ entrance.
Heading for the gardens and orchard, I’m eager to reacquaint myself with the foliage of the island. Soon enough, I find a stone bench in the center of a small arrangement of various plants. It’s one of the six garden areas set up on the Satyros land. Six years ago, I knew them all well by the end of my stay having retreated into them many times for their solace.
As I peel the orange, I scuff my foot along the cobblestone bricks. The small heart I found long ago is still there, with the initials K.A. + J.A.—the initials of Jayson’s parents.
I remember Kostas vaguely—he was a remote, serious man, so it’s nice to see proof that he had a softer side. At some point on one of our vacations, he took time to make this little monument to the love he had for Jacinth. I can see Jayson doing the same someday, though my heart misses a beat when my mind’s eye sees M.P. with the N.A.—Maia Papadas. It had almost been a reality once, and it could be again, once he’s free from our marriage. And me.
The orange is perfectly ripe and delicious, but I’ve lost my appetite. With a sigh, I throw it into the discreet garbage can under the bench and rinse my hands with the bottle of water. Truth be told, I’m stalling. I’m trying to avoid returning
to the villa just yet. It’s the last place I want to be, since I don’t know when Jayson might turn up. If he keeps trying to seduce me, I’m honestly not sure I can continue to resist.
And then where will I be when it all ends?
I realize I’m staring into space, but when I focus, I’m enchanted all over again by the bushes, flowers, and trees that grow together in such beautiful harmony under the hot Grecian sun. By midafternoon, I’ve gone through four of the six gardens. Following the hedge border around the fifth patch, I amble into the garden.
Stopping suddenly, I try not to gape. A young man stands there, tending to a tree. His shirt is stripped off, and the sun-bronzed skin is perfect. He could have been a god in another time. He catches sight of me and grins. Too young for me, even if I weren’t still married. He’s probably closer to Sophie’s age than my own.
With no way out without being rude, I go deeper into the garden, toward him. He greets me in Greek, and I shake my head. “I apologize, but I don’t really speak your language. Do you speak English?”
“A little, Kyria Satyros.”
“What are you working on?”
He waved to a row of lotus trees. “I am to prune so they will blooming in the fall. The fruit is delicious.”
I cock my head, examining the slender green leaves. “I think I know this as a date plum tree.”
He nods and continues with his work. I watch him for a couple of minutes, feeling awkward. “What is your name?” I ask finally, more to break the silence than anything else.
“Angelo, Kyria Satyros.”
Wandering around his work area, I examine the plants’ blooms. Tenacious violets and narcissus flowers still flower in the wilting heat. “What else do you do here, Angelo?”
“I am the gardener. Irina is a distant cousin.”
I take a sip of water before saying, “You’re rather young for such a job. Did you design all this?” There are new additions and changes to the gardens from the last time I explored the grounds six years ago.
Angelo shakes his head. “No, Kyria. Kyrios Satyros hired a company from Athens to design the layouts. I maintain what they have done.” He grins, displaying even white teeth against his deeply tanned skin. “It is big, big work, but I keep doing it busy.”
“It keeps you busy?” At his nod, I ask, “Do you have staff?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “When needed, I will give my little brothers help to me.”