Page 7 of The Island Villa

Cassie washed her hands. “What do you need me to do?”

“It’s going to be another baking hot day, so I’m betting there will be a run on salads rather than the toasted paninis. And you can forget soup.” He rubbed his arm across his forehead. “It’s hot in here. Or maybe I’ve been spending too long in a climate-controlled library.”

“Don’t look at Cassie for sympathy.” Rhonda came back into the room carrying a basket of salad items she’d picked up from the market. “She loves the heat. She spent most of her childhood in Greece.”

Ted looked interested. “You did?”

“My mother has a home on the island of Corfu.” Cassie reached for a tomato and lifted it to her nose. The scent told her that it was freshly picked and packed with flavor. “It’s my favorite place on earth.” She gathered up the tomatoes and rinsed them.

“Wait. That’s why you’re Cassie? Cassandra, right? Trojan princess.”

“My mother loves Greek myths.”

He grinned. “So you’re destined never to be believed. I guess she could have called you Helen—the face that launched a thousand ships.”

She was happy with the way she looked, but she doubted her face would have launched a tugboat or a kayak, let alone a thousand ships. “I got lucky.”

“So why are you stuck here instead of spending your summer in Greece? That’s where I’d be given the opportunity.” Ted started on the cucumber, slicing it into rough chunks.

“I’m going next month, actually. My mother is getting married.” Smiling to herself, Cassie removed feta cheese from the fridge. “I’m going to her wedding. Do you want me to make the Greek salad? Horiatiki. It’s my specialty.”

“Sure. That would be great. Your mom’s wedding? No kidding.” Ted slid a tray of salmon fillets into the oven. “That isn’t awkward? What does your dad say about it?”

“My dad is dead.” Cassie saw his face turn red and felt sorry for him and annoyed with herself for blurting it out without thought. “Don’t feel bad. I was three. I don’t have any real memories of him.” Just the ones she’d spun in her head from the many stories her mother had shared with her. Let me tell you about the night I met your father...

She’d memorized every detail, until they were so clear they’d become real, until she could perfectly picture the moment when her father had stepped into that bar and first seen her mother. I went into that bar for a drink, and left with the love of my life.

Her mother had told her that story so many times, but Cassie never tired of hearing it. She repeated the story to people who told her that love didn’t exist. That romance was a fantasy.

Cassie knew it wasn’t a fantasy. The fact that she was standing here was proof of that.

One day, she promised herself, she was going to find a love and grand passion like the one her parents had shared. It was tragic that her father had died so young, but at least he and her mother had known true love even if only for a short time. In that sense, they’d been lucky. Cassie wouldn’t settle for anything less. On every date, she asked herself, Would I want to follow this man to the ends of the earth? The answer was always no. Mostly she didn’t want to follow them as far as the Bodleian Library, which was depressing because it was a very short distance. The only man who was a constant in her life was Oliver, but that didn’t count. Oliver was her best friend, and if she followed him anywhere, they were guaranteed to be lost because Oliver had a terrible sense of direction, which was why she was always in charge of navigation whenever they went out together. They’d met on the first day of term, during the obligatory college photo. There had been much shuffling around to fit everyone in and Cassie, being on the petite side, had been placed right at the front. Oliver had been standing behind her and he’d leaned forward and whispered a joke in her ear just as they took the photograph. He’d made her laugh, and four years later he was still making her laugh. She was conscious that she didn’t date as much as she probably should, because dating was hard work and a little stressful, and it was easier and more fun just to hang out with Oliver.

Thinking of him reminded her that he’d been on a date with Suzy again the night before and she hadn’t heard from him since.

She felt something shift inside her. If Oliver fell in love, would that change things? It was bound to. Even if the girl of his dreams was sufficiently evolved to accept that he had a female best friend, he wouldn’t have as much time to spend with her. No more mooching around museums together. No more picnics on the riverbank, no more swapping of books and long brunches. No more conversations that started with you’ll never guess what happened to me yesterday.

Ted shredded lettuce. “Man, that’s tough about your dad.”

“Tougher on my mother.” Cassie dragged her mind away from what her life might look like when Oliver fell in love. “Theirs was a true love story. A romance to end all romances.”

Ted watched as Cassie reached for the olive oil. “She’s been a widow all this time?”

“No, she married again, but she and Gordon—” she didn’t even consider Gordon Pelling her stepfather “—were divorced a couple of years ago. It didn’t work out.”

But at least she’d tried, and she was about to try again. Her mother’s courage in matters of the heart was inspirational and Cassie was happy for her. She couldn’t wait to celebrate in person.

“Wow. So this is her...” Ted paused, working it out, “third marriage?”

“It’s actually her fourth. She was married before she met my dad.” Cassie thought about her half sister Adeline and felt a twinge of guilt, as she always did.

Felicia walked in at that moment carrying a tray of dirty cups and plates. She caught the end of the conversation. “You obviously don’t know who Cassie’s mother is.”

Ted glanced from her back to Cassie. “Why would I know Cassie’s mother? What am I missing?”

Felicia loaded the cups into the dishwasher. Her skin was evenly tanned, her hair cropped close to her head. “I assume you’ve heard of Catherine Swift?”

“No.” Ted frowned. “Wait—you mean the romance writer? The one who churns out all those trashy beach novels? She’s your mom?”

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