Page 192 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

THEBLUE-GREENWATERSof the Aegean broke across the bow of the yacht in lacy curls of white foam as Santos stood at the helm and guided it towards the private dock at his villa on Amorgos. It had been three days since they’d left Barcelona, three glorious, sun-soaked, lazy, languorous, lovely andlovingdays.

Mia was doing her best not to over-analyse anything; simply to take every day, every moment, as it came and enjoy it for what it was. Something had shifted between Santos and her during that tumultuous evening when they’d made love, and then made up as well. They’dhadto make up because of the hurtful things said—and thought—on both sides. Mia was very grateful for Santos’s understanding, as well as his humility. He was a proud man, maybe even an arrogant one, but he’d still been able to say sorry when he’d felt the need to. Love wasn’t never having to say sorry, Mia had thought ruefully, but rather the reverse: love was being willing to, however many times.

That was if Santos loved her all. She still had her doubts; saying something in the passion of a moment was different from living it out day by day.

I love you, Mia.

The memory of those words, and the thrum of his voice as he’d huskily said them, still had the power to rock Mia to the very marrow of her bones. She still didn’t know how she felt about it, and more importantly how to respond. After their heart-to-heart that evening, which felt as though it had changed everything, they’d both mutually, silently, agreed on something like a truce. Or at leastsilence, but not a tense and accusing one like before. This one felt both healing, good and, more importantly, necessary. They needed simply to be with each other, rather than analysing every word that came out of their mouths.

And so, in three days, they hadn’t had any ‘talks with a capital T’ at all. There’d been no raking over the past, remembering the loss, grief, sorrow or pain. There’d been no talking about it. No thinking about it, even—at least, Mia had tried not to. And now they were here, about to spend a week at Santos’s private island on a sun-soaked Greek island in the middle of the Aegean. It looked like paradise. Mia hoped it really would be.

‘Welcome to Villa Paraiso, Señora Aguila,’ Santos said with a glinting smile as he stretched out one hand to help her from the yacht while a staff member secured it. Smiling, Mia flicked back her hair as she took his hand, his warm, dry palm sliding confidently across hers as she stepped onto the dock.

The villa was barely visible through a hillside grove of fig and pomegranate trees, with oleander and frangipani growing in rampant, beautiful abandon. Mia could only glimpse a wall of gleaming white stucco and several pairs of bright blue painted shutters. She felt a leap of anticipation inside at the prospect of exploring everything.

She’d always loved going to new places—wandering down cobblestone streets simply to soak in the sights, or sitting in a café and watching the world go by. Whenever her lifestyle had made her lonely—and it had, more often than she cared to admit, even to herself—she’d reminded herself of all the adventures she’d had, all the beautiful and remarkable places she’d seen...including Villa Paraiso on the island of Amorgos.

‘I want the grand tour,’ she told Santos with a smile. ‘Of everything.’

‘And I’ll give it to you, I promise.’ His golden-brown gaze was warm and approving as it rested on her and made her feel as if she were melting inside. The last three days had been really, really good. If only they could always be like this—escaping reality, never having to dig deeper...

But that wasn’t how life worked, was it? Unfortunately, Mia couldn’t keep the practical, pragmatic side of her brain from piping up. At some point they’d have to face reality...and whatever that meant...but not yet. Thankfully, not yet.

‘Come, let me show you,’ Santos said, drawing her along the dock by the hand. Laughing a little, Mia let him lead her up the winding path through the garden, the bright-yellow and pink frangipani flowers releasing their soft, peachy scent as their waxy petals brushed against her. At the top of the garden, a wrought-iron gate opened to a wide terrace that overlooked the sea, with three sets of French doors open to the sultry breeze.

For a second Mia simply stood there and let herself soak in the view: the undulating, flower-strewn hillside down to the deep-blue sea that stretched untroubled to the horizon. She turned slowly to take in the rest of the view: the olive grove to the side of the villa; the gnarled trunks and twisted branches of the trees looking as old as time itself. Then the villa: three sets of doors led into a huge lounge with a terracotta-tiled floor and comfortable sofas in varying shades of cream scattered across the huge, relaxed space.

Still holding her by the hand, Santos drew her inside. A smiling, round-faced woman came from the kitchen to greet them, her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun.

‘Señor Aguila.’ She turned to give Mia a warm smile. ‘Señora Aguila. It is so lovely to meet you at last.’

‘This is Rosita.’ Santos introduced them. ‘She’s housekeeper here, and her husband Alvaro manages the grounds.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you, as well,’ Mia replied. Santos was still holding her hand in a way that Mia found she liked. Back at the Aguila estate in Seville, they’d kept their gestures of physical affection—even the barest of handholds—to private moments. Although she and Santos had never actually discussed it, Mia had had the sense that physical affection was frowned upon by his mother, not seen as the appropriate behaviour for the head of such an august family or his wife.

Apparently it wasn’t that way here, and she was glad. It was just one more way that this felt like a time out of reality. But she wasn’t going to think too much about that, she reminded herself. She was just going to enjoy this time together...however long it lasted.

‘Rosita,’ Santos was saying, ‘My wife wants a tour of the villa. Where should I start?’

‘Upstairs?’ Rosita suggested with a rather ribald wink that made Mia choke on a laugh. The housekeeper turned to her with an unabashed grin. ‘We have quite the honeymoon suite here.’

‘Do you?’ Mia murmured as Santos tugged on her hand to lead her up the curving staircase from the foyer. ‘And why is that?’

‘I designed this place to be my bolt hole,’ he explained as they climbed the stairs. ‘A hideaway...and one that I hoped, one day, to share with my wife.’

‘So, were you planning on taking me here?’ Mia asked, genuinely curious. ‘I mean, before...’ She stopped, wishing she hadn’t started down that bumpy road.

Before we lost our baby. Before life felt unendurable. Before I left.There were far too many ways to finish that sad sentence.

‘I certainly hoped to,’ Santos replied easily enough, neatly sidestepping any potential recriminations, which was a relief. Like her, he seemed to want to ride this pleasurable wave for as long as it lasted.

And, Mia told herself, maybe that would be a long time, longer than either of them expected.

For ever...?

She pushed the thought away, determined to stay in the moment and revel in it.

‘Here it is,’ Santos said, pushing open a door before he stepped aside so Mia could go in first.

---