Modern Romance July 2019 Books 5-8. Jane Porter

young woman answered in broken English that she didn’t speak good English. Kassiani switched to Greek, apologizing for not being terribly fluent in Greek. The maid laughed and Kassiani smiled, too.

      “Where are you from?” Kassiani asked, still speaking Greek.

      “Adras. It is a small island near Chios.”

      “Isn’t Mr. Alexopoulos from there?”

      The woman nodded. “I come from his village. Many of us on the ship come from the village. He is very good about helping us find jobs.”

      Kass was surprised. She’d gotten the impression that Damen had few ties to his childhood home. “Have you worked for Mr. Alexopoulos very long?”

      “Two years. Ever since I finished high school. That is Mr. Alexopoulos’s rule. He will help everyone on the island to find jobs, but they must first finish school. He says education is very important.”

      Kassiani was pleasantly surprised to hear this. She respected Damen even more for stressing the importance of education with the young people of his hometown. “Even the girls?”

      “Especially the girls. He said it is vital that women have options.” Her smile turned wistful. “But sometimes those options mean we must leave home. That is the difficult part.”

      “You’re homesick?”

      The woman adjusted a chair and then squared a large glossy book on the low coffee table. “It’s easier now. It was difficult in the beginning. I’ve learned from the others that being homesick is natural. Some find it worse than others. Some girls, they just want to go home as soon as they can.”

      “Does Mr. Alexopoulos allow people to return home?”

      “But of course. He is the best employer. Everyone wants to work for him, and he finds us jobs, good jobs with benefits and three weeks paid holiday every year. That is a lot for us in Greece. Some people use their holiday to go home, others like to travel. I went to Croatia for my last holiday. I enjoyed it very much.”

      “When do you go home next?”

      “In October, for olive picking. Everyone goes then. It’s our economy.”

      It was on the tip of Kass’s tongue to ask if Damen returned home then, too, when Damen suddenly appeared in the living room door, dressed in black trousers and a black shirt, open at the neck, revealing his strong, bronzed throat. He looked devastatingly attractive.

      The maid, spotting Damen, bobbed her head and murmured a shy greeting to her employer before swiftly exiting the room.

      Kassiani watched her go and then turned to face Damen. Her husband. It was still so strange to realize this man, this gorgeous man, this dazzling man, was her husband.

      Kassiani cleared her throat, trying to hide some of her butterflies. “That young woman in housekeeping said she was from Adras, and she was telling me you provide incentives for helping the young people stay in school. I find that most admirable.” She hesitated. “I wish you would tell me things like this. I wish you would tell me things about you. I learned more about you from talking to her for five minutes than I learned after spending five days with you.”

      “I don’t like to talk about myself.”

      Kass sat down on one of the couches, gently smoothing the delicate chiffon of her skirt. “But don’t you think it would help us if I knew you?”

      “Maybe.” He walked to the sleek bar in the corner, and moved bottles and decanters around. “Can I pour you a drink?”

      “Yes, that would be lovely. What do you recommend?”

      “What do you like?”

      Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t actually drink very much. And I know it’s Greek, but not ouzo tonight.”

      “Something a little fruity and fizzy, then?”

      “Please.”

      “Your Greek is a little rusty,” he said, uncorking a bottle of champagne and then adding a splash of a dark ruby liqueur. “But better than your father led me to believe.”

      “I grew up speaking Greek, and I understand it fairly well, but you’re right, it’s been years since I actually spoke it.”

      “Did you attend a Greek language school in California?”

      “No, Dad’s parents only spoke Greek to us.”

      “I think I remember Kristopher mentioning his parents lived with you for a number of years.”

      “Yia-yia did. She joined us when Pappous died. My dad wanted them to join us in San Francisco sooner, but Pappous preferred Greece. He said San Francisco was too cold and gray for him.”

      “Your grandfather was right. It’s miserable in summer.”

      “Not always. It can be nice.”

      He carried a crystal flute to her, the golden champagne now a pretty pink hue. “Not my memory,” he said, handing her the glass. “I was there once visiting friends. It was your Fourth of July. The fireworks in the marina had to be canceled due to fog.”

      “That does happen,” she agreed. “But it’s almost a joke to those of us who live there. Will we see the fireworks? Won’t we? And if the fireworks are canceled, you just watch them on TV.” She sipped from her flute. “Mmm, this is nice. What is it?”

      “Champagne with a generous splash of Chambord.”

      “I like it.”

      “The cocktail was inspired by your dress. You look beautiful tonight.”

      The quiet sincerity in his deep voice made her heart jump and her stomach flip. “Thank you,” she whispered, touched, flattered. “I feel pretty tonight. Not normal for me.”

      “I’d like to destroy the person that filled your head with lies. You are beautiful, Kassiani. You are beautiful inside and out.”

      She opened her mouth to argue and then thought better of it. She and Damen argued too much as it was. “Thank you,” she said instead, aware that she was blushing. For a moment she was too flustered to concentrate and then she remembered the young woman from housekeeping. “The maid—”

      “Neoma,” he supplied.

      “You know her name?”

      “I know the names of all my staff. I hire them myself.”

      She was silent a moment, processing. “Neoma says she goes home every October when it’s time to pick olives.”

      “The majority of my staff do. Olives are Adras’s chief economy. Olives and honey.”

      “Do you go home—”

      “Adras isn’t home.”

      She suppressed a sigh. “Do you go back for harvest season?”

      “I have.”

      “Do you have your own groves?”

      He hesitated. “I own all the groves on Adras.”

       “All?”

      “I essentially own Adras.”

      “What does essentially own mean?”

      “I bought the island.”

      “Can you do that?”

      He shrugged. “It was privately owned before, so it was a straightforward purchase, but over time, I’ve complicated things by encouraging the village to grow, and the people to assert themselves in terms of commerce. I thought it would be healthier for the people of Adras to have true economic independence. So while many on the island do work for me, they also have other options.”

      “But the main source of income