‘When it comes you need to be paddling almost as fast as the wave,’ Nikos was saying and a trick of sound made his voice carry all the way up to where she stood. ‘Okay, here comes a good one. Paddle, paddle, go!’

The wave caught him, and Nicky hung on for dear life as the wave carried him all the way to the sand.

He stood up, exultant, in the shallows. Big with excitement. ‘I caught it. I caught it!’

‘We’ll have you kneeling on the board by tomorrow,’ Nikos said. ‘And standing by the end of the week.’

But she’d heard enough.

She turned away and walked back to the too big bed, lay down and stared up at herself. Multiplied by plenty.

‘Nicky needs his papa,’ she told Jupiter-or was it Venus? ‘He should stay here.

‘You need his papa.’ Right. She was talking to a planet.

It was probably a star, she told herself. Surely it was okay to discuss the meaning of life with a star.

‘To stay, I’d have to trust him,’ she told…what the heck, Venus.

‘I think I do trust him.’

But she-or Venus-was lying.

She might not trust him-but she loved him.

That was the only truth. She’d given her heart away when she was eight years old and she’d never taken it back. But that one dreadful betrayal…It didn’t mean she loved him less. It was as if there was some part of her that had got it wrong. She’d trusted him so absolutely that his betrayal had destroyed a part of herself.

She hugged herself and Venus tucked herself behind a cloud in sympathy.

There were still a thousand stars. All wanting to talk to her.

She was never going to sleep in this room.

Where, then? On the same floor as Nikos and the children?

‘They’re together. I’m on my own,’ she whispered and then thought, ooh, who’s feeling sorry for herself?

There was a shout of laughter from down in the cove. She climbed out of bed-it was almost a marathon to get to the side-and walked back out on the balcony.

They were playing Falafel.

It was a game she and Nikos had played as kids.

When Annia made falafels she formed her little balls of chickpeas and parsley into balls and then rolled them in flour until they were thoroughly coated.

So Athena and Nikos would swim until they were wrinkly as prunes, then race up the beach and roll and roll in the dry sand until every inch of them was coated. Then run round being falafels. They were doing it now-two kids and Nikos. Two kids and their papa.

Completely coated in dry sand, they stood-then Nikos spread his arms and moaned like a great sandy spectre and started chasing them.

The children squealed in delight. The beach at dusk…she’d always thought it was the most magical of times, and here was her son, learning about it for himself. With his papa.

Nicky ran and ran. Christa was far easier to catch but Nikos made it seem as if it was just as hard to catch her. Finally he had them, a child under each arm, and was staggering back to the water to wash them off. Oscar brought up the rear, barking his delight.

And suddenly she was crying.

Damn, she was crying.

Nikos looked up from the beach. And saw her.

He stilled. At his feet the children whooped and splashed in the shallows. But Nikos simply stood-and watched.

And, from nowhere, into her heart came the words he’d used so often.

Dare you.

Dare she take a chance? Dare she forget what had happened ten years ago?

Dare she move forward?

It was too soon. It was too fast.

She had to get rid of these stupid, wussy tears.

She turned and started to go inside.

‘Thena!’ It was a call from the beach, strong and demanding. She should ignore it. She should…

She turned.

He was still watching her.

‘Dare you,’ he called, and she gave a gasp of fright. What was it about this man? How did he know what was inside her head?

Did he know that she loved him?

She turned and headed back to her bed and her stars and her confusion.

If she talked to a thousand stars she might just get some answers.

Or not.


She’d left him for a career.

She’d had a career. She’d succeeded on her terms. Surely enough was enough. Surely he could convince her to stay.

He stood in the shallows and watched her back away from the balcony, head indoors and haul the French windows closed after her.

He’d swear she was crying.

‘Does your mama cry much?’ he asked Nicky conversationally, as if this was a guy to guy discussion of the female sex.

‘Only when she thinks I’m asleep,’ Nicky told him.

‘So she cries at night?’

‘I’m not supposed to know,’ Nicky said. ‘But sometimes when I snuggle into bed with her in the morning her pillow’s soggy.’

‘Why do you think she gets sad at night?’

‘I used to think it was ’cos she was lonely,’ Nicky said. ‘But she’s got me and she’s got Oscar. Only now I know about here…’ He stood and gazed around him, a small boy taking in a small boy’s heaven. ‘Now I think it must be ’cos she was lonely for you.’

‘For…for this island, you mean?’

‘Mama says things and places don’t matter,’ Nicky said. ‘She says only people matter. So I figure it’s you.’


He brought the children up from the cove. Mrs Lavros helped bath them and get them to bed. Athena didn’t appear. Nikos half expected Nicky to want his mother, but they discussed it and decided if she hadn’t wanted to swim she must be very tired indeed. So Nicky himself decided if he was sleeping with Christa and with Oscar there was no need to disturb her.

So Nikos sat beside their tent-cum-bed and started to read them a story-only Nicky objected.

‘I have a book in my bag,’ he told Nikos. ‘It’s really good. Mama lets me read to her. Can I read it to you? Is that okay?’

‘Sure,’ Nikos said, so he sat and watched as his son read his daughter a bedtime story and it was hard not to tear up himself.

It was Thena who wept, he told himself. Real men don’t weep.

What was the concept of a real man?

His father had been a real man. He’d died of a heart attack when Nikos was twelve, and Nikos had adored him.

His father had loved Nikos and had been totally, unconditionally proud of him. Even though he’d been dead for many years, that love lingered on. As did the echoes of his care.

‘Anything happens to me, you care for your mother, Nikos. She’s the light of my life. You and your mother…You’re my whole heart.’

A real man had a family and loved them unashamedly. A real man would face any terror to keep that family safe.

His parents had had disagreements-loud disagreements-but they’d never frightened him. Because they’d always ended in exasperated laughter, in hugs, in his father saying, ‘Your mother is impossible-an impossible woman-how am I to live with such a woman?’-and then cooking his biggest lobster and opening a bottle of wine and playing music his mother didn’t like, too loud.

And his parents dancing and him watching in sleepy contentment until they put him to bed and had the night for each other.

So…so what?

What was between him and Thena…it was a disagreement so enormous that no lobster would be big enough.

But to let that betrayal eat away at them for ever…

Maybe his father would say: ‘So what if Thena left you ten years ago? So what if she didn’t tell you she had your son? You know your actions must have distressed her unutterably, too.’

He couldn’t defend his actions. Was it fair therefore to ask her to defend hers?

What if he could simply say that was past history? Move on.

Move onto family.

To two children. A dog.

To a wife?

Ten years ago he’d asked her to marry him and she’d wept with joy. But things had changed. She no longer trusted him. If he was to ask her to marry him now…she’d assume it was because of the Crown, that he wanted control.

And maybe he did. If he married her he could keep her safe. It would stop Demos in his tracks. He’d be royal himself.

How could he ask her to marry him?

Christa was already fast asleep. Nicky read on, but his voice was starting to stumble. He lifted the book from Nicky’s hands, tucked him under the covers and then thought why not? And he kissed his son goodnight.

Such a little thing-but not small at all. Huge.

How could he ask Thena to marry him?

Dare you?


He left the bedroom and closed the door gently behind him. He turned, and Thena was watching him from the shadows.

He stilled. ‘Hi,’ he said cautiously.

‘Hi, yourself.’

‘I thought you were asleep.’

She was ready for bed. She was in a pale blue wrap, floor-length. Bare toes, though. Her curls were a tangle-had she been trying to sleep?

‘How can I sleep when I keep thinking of you?’ she murmured.

‘That’d give anyone nightmares.’

She tried to smile but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Nikos…’

‘Come up to the tower,’ he said and put his hand out to take hers. She looked down at his hand-appeared to think about it-and then placed her hand in his.

A tiny step…Why it made his heard thud…

It did. His heart definitely thudded. Whoa, he was in trouble here.

Dare you?

He led her up the stairs. On the landing that led to her bedroom he swiftly led her past. It was a bit too soon to face that room.

The stairs grew narrower the higher they climbed. The tower was just that, an eyrie built for a birds-eye view of the whole island. The tower narrowed the higher they climbed, so he was forced to fall behind.

He’d read somewhere-where was it?-that gentlemen always followed their ladies upstairs and preceded them down so they could catch them either way.

Their hands were still loosely linked-she didn’t seem to want to pull away and he’d have rather died-but what he really wanted to do was pick her up and carry her.