Consequence Of The Greek's Revenge. Trish Morey

that they were outside a palace, a remnant of the Venetian occupation of Santorini in centuries long past. ‘I thought we were going to a restaurant. But this...’

      ‘Is a very private restaurant.’

      She turned to him, her blue eyes confused. ‘But this is a home. A palace.’

      ‘With the best views in Thera. I’m staying here.’

      ‘Staying here? Like a guest?’

      He answered with a welcoming sweep of his arm. ‘Come inside, I’ll show you the view from the terrace.’

      She stayed exactly where she was, half inside the gate and half outside, her head tilted to the side. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘I told you. My name is Alexios. Alexios Kyriakos.’ He looked at the still-open gate behind her. ‘The gate isn’t locked from the inside, but I can always leave the gate open, if you prefer, if you think you might need to escape.’ He paused for one heavily weighted second. ‘If you don’t trust me, that is.’

      He swore she almost blushed at his mention of trust. Of course, she trusted him now. She shook her head, looking contrite, pushing the loose tendrils of her hair back behind her ears. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge today, especially after what happened at the café. There’s no need to leave it open, of course.’ And she moved out of the way so he could shut the gate.

      He didn’t show her inside. Instead he ushered her along a path that wove around the side of the building that opened onto an expansive terrace with a breathtaking view of the islands that made up the broken circle of the caldera, formed in the massive eruption of the volcano beneath thousands of years before. Below them, the almost sheer wall of layered volcanic residue fell away so it felt as if they were suspended over the very edge of the crater. And there, in the gap between the islands, hovered the setting sun, dipping inexorably on its journey towards the sea.

      She leaned her hands down on the balustrade, turning her face into the breeze that rushed up the sides of the cliffs, and breathing in the fresh salt air. ‘It’s magnificent.’

      ‘Isn’t it?’ He hung back, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t crowd her. He didn’t hover by her side. He wanted her to feel secure. Safe. It was his pleasure now to watch her. And wait for the right moment.

      She turned towards him, the setting sun picking up the golden flecks in her blue eyes, turning them to jewels. Oh, he could wait for the right moment, just so long as he didn’t have to wait too long.

      ‘Now,’ he said, ‘while we wait for the sun to perform its magic, perhaps you would like to eat.’ He waved his arm behind, where the doors of the palace had been flung open, to reveal a table set for two dressed in white.

      Her brows drew together as she took in the scene. ‘How is this possible when we only met this afternoon?’

      He smiled, loving her suspicious mind. If only she knew. ‘The staff were expecting me for dinner,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I simply called from the café after you agreed to dine with me to ensure there would be enough for two.’

      She wandered closer to the table, set with crystal glasses and silverware and tiny vases filled with fresh thyme and rosemary, the scent wafting on the warm breeze like the sheer curtains billowing behind the doorways.

      ‘You understand now why I had no desire to keep this all to myself?’

      She nodded. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’

      ‘Then please sit, and eat, and afterwards we shall enjoy the sunset together.’

      As if on cue, the serving staff appeared, delivering warm breads and freshly made dips to the table, followed by pan-fried saganaki cheese topped with balsamic figs along with the freshest baby squid, an array of grilled meats and all washed down with the finest Santorini Vinsanto wine.

      ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, at one point, leaning back in her chair, her glass of wine in her hand.

      He raised his own glass to her. ‘It is my pleasure.’

      ‘Tell me,’ she asked, leaning forward after taking a sip of wine, ‘why is it that you are here, all alone on Santorini?’

      ‘I am here primarily for business.’

      She arched an eyebrow at that, an obvious question. ‘Not,’ he added, ‘that I have a wife or girlfriend I could have brought to accompany me.’

      ‘And why is that?’ she asked, gesturing glass in hand to the palace behind and the spectacular caldera view before them. ‘When clearly you are a man of means—and, as you are no doubt aware, not entirely unpleasant looks.’

      He cocked an eyebrow. ‘“Not entirely unpleasant”? That is good news, indeed. But as to your question, I’m afraid I’ve been too much of a workaholic. Driven, some might say.’

       Especially when it came to the pursuit of justice.

      ‘Although not too driven to chat me up.’

      He shrugged. ‘Lately I have become aware of how isolated I have become. Meeting you cemented an appreciation of the error of my ways.’

      ‘Wow,’ she said, her blue eyes bright. ‘That’s a heady responsibility you’re piling upon my shoulders. I hope you’re not going to be disappointed.’

      He smiled. ‘Now you’re laughing at me.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I’m just not used to flirting.’

      ‘Neither am I,’ he said with a smile. ‘Although I am finding it an entirely pleasurable pastime. If I might be so bold as to ask, why are you here alone?’

      ‘Like I said, Santorini is my favourite Greek island. I like to come here to think.’

      ‘Do you have so much to think about?’

      ‘Who doesn’t?’ she said with a shrug, not giving anything away. ‘What kind of business are you in?’

      He smiled at her quick volley, but didn’t push it. He’d learned in his dealings with people that the way to make them open up was to pretend indifference, to let them set the agenda. He knew that sooner or later she’d wander back into the topic of her own accord. ‘Shipping mainly. Cargo and containers, timetables and paperwork. It’s boring.’

      ‘I’m sure it’s not,’ she said. ‘Is it a family business?’

      ‘No. I have no family.’

      ‘What, none at all?’

      He gave the briefest shake of his head, feeling a familiar rising tide of bitterness, thinking how different things might have been—should have been—if not for the greed and the actions of this woman’s father. He swallowed back on the surge. He didn’t need a tidal wave. All he needed now were ripples—a reminder—of why he was here, and why doing this was so right. ‘There’s nobody,’ he said. ‘Not now.’

      ‘Oh,’ she said, her teeth finding her lip while she blinked too fast. ‘It seems we have more than one thing in common. My mother died when I was sixteen. I—I lost my own father a month ago.’

      He schooled his features to compassion, even as he smiled inwardly. She might have a sad story, but it was no match for a story of betrayal. ‘Is that what you’re here on Santorini to think about?’

      ‘Perhaps,’ she said, her misty eyes clouding over as she looked away, out towards the sun, now sending a golden-red ribbon of colour across the water. ‘Look,’ she said, standing. ‘The sun is setting.’

      He followed her to the balustrade, to where they could see the white buildings that adorned the caldera rim now washed in red, the sun a fat golden orb bending the painted layers of the sky beneath.

      ‘So beautiful,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the spectacular display.

      She