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Well, there was only one way to fix things

She had to tell Damian the truth To hell with pride, and the pain that would co that he loved her, too She’d go to him, tell him that Kirk had never meant a damn to her, that no one had or ever would, except him

Her heart was racing, as much with apprehension as with anticipation After Kirk, she’d proain But Damian wasn’t any man He was her husband, her lover—he was the man she would always love

Laurel squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hall

He wasn’t in his bedrooht o’clock, late by his standards, and there’d been nothing toin the curve of his arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder; he hadn’t whispered a soft, sexy “good iven him a slow, equally sexy smile in return

He wasn’t in the kitchen, either, nor on the terrace, sipping a second cup of coffee while he and Spiro conferred on whattoday

Eleni was there, though, out on the terrace, busily watering the urns filled with pansies and fuchsias and impatiens

“Kaliméra sas”

Laurel smiled as she stepped outside “Kalimdra sas, Eleni Where is Mr Skouras, do you know?”

Eleni’s brows lifted “Madam?”

“My husband,” Laurel said “Have you any idea where” She sighed, smiled and shook her head “Never mind I’ll find him, I’m sure”

But she didn’t He wasn’t at the barns, or strolling along the wall, or ha at the boulder

“Kaliméra sas”

It was Spiro He had come up behind her, as quietly as a shadow

“Kaliméra sas,” Laurel said, and hesitated The old lish and she spoke no Greek beyond the feords she’d picked up during the week Still, it orth a try Damian had to be here somewhere “Spiro, do you knohere Mr Skouras is?”

The old ly

“I’ at the platinu band on her left hand, “you know, my husband”

“Ah Damian Né Yes, I understand”

“You do speak English, then?”

“A little bit only”

“Believe lish is a thousand times better than my Greek So, where is he?”

“Madam?”

“Damian, Spiro Where is he?”

The old man cleared his throat “He leave island, madam”

“Left Actos? For Crete, you mean?”

“He is for New York”

Laurel stared at him “What do you mean, he’s No, Spiro, you one to New York without me”

“He is for New York, madam Business”

“Business,” she repeated and then, without warning, she began to weep She cried without sound, which so for Spiro to watch

“Madam,” he said unhappily, “please, do not cry”

“It’s my fault,” she whispered “It’s all my fault We quarreled, and I hurt him terribly, and—and I never told him—he doesn’t kno much I—”

She sank down on a bench and buried her face in her hands Spiro stood over her, watching, feeling the sao, when he’d coht on a wire fence

He put out his hand, as if to touch her head, then reached into his pocket instead, pulled out an enormous white handkerchief, and shoved it into her hands

“Madam,” he said, “you will see All will be well”

“No” Laurel blew her nose, hard, and rose to her feet “No, it won’t be You don’t understand, Spiro I told Das”