Another sound reached me—something between a groan and a retch. Pushing back the covers, I padded across the cool hardwood floor, following the noise down the hallway toward my mother’s bedroom.
The bathroom light spilled from beneath the door, accompanied by another painful-sounding heave.
“Mom?” I called softly, knocking once before pushing the door open.
My mother kneeled on the tile floor, her body curved over the toilet bowl, one hand clutching her stomach while the other gripped the porcelain edge. A thin sheen of sweat glistened her forehead.
“Oh my God,” I gasped, rushing to her side. I gathered her braids away from her face as she heaved again. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Nothing serious,” she managed, her voice raspy. “Just upset stomach.”
I filled a glass with water from the sink and handed it to her. “You look terrible. Was it something you ate?”
Mom took a small sip, cringing. “Probably that seafood broil from last night. The shrimp tasted fine, but...” she trailed off, closing her eyes momentarily.
“We should go to the hospital,” I said, already calculating how quickly I could get dressed and schedule a ride. “Food poisoning can be serious.”
“It’s not that bad,” she insisted. She took another sip of water. “I’ll be fine in a few hours. Some dry toast and ginger tea will set me right.”
I helped her stand, steadying her when she wavered slightly. “You sure? You never get sick.”
Her smile seemed forced. “I’m fine, baby. Really.” She smoothed her rumpled nightgown, deliberately changing the subject. “What about Thalassía? Is everything completely done now?”
With her extensive work travels lately, we’d barely had time to talk. Meanwhile, I’d forced myself to rejoin the world. I’d gone on two dates. Both pleasant enough, if a bit surreal.
After years of invisibility to men, their sudden interest felt strange. The attorney who took me to dinner last week had asked for a second date.
I guided her back to her bedroom, settling her against the pillows. “Yes, I sent the final revisions to Aristides last week. He approved everything.”
“And?”
“My work with the Christakis family is officially complete.” I pulled the comforter over her legs. “Construction has begun.”
Mom nodded. “You could always go back, you know. To see your vision come to fruition.”
Two months had passed since we’d left Greece, since my world had shattered. The wound had scabbed over, but still ached when prodded.
Katalina had fled back to New York after the gala. The sex tape had proven devastating. Society mothers warned their sons away, business associates canceled meetings with her father, and social invitations vanished overnight.
I’d be lying if I said I felt no satisfaction. After everything she’d put me through, there was justice in watching her world crumble the way she thought mine would with her lies.
“I’m okay here,” I said, adjusting her pillows. “Besides, I’m waiting to hear back from Jensen & Associates. The interview went well, and Mr. Jensen seemed impressed with the Thalassía portfolio.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mom said, though her expression remained concerned. “But seeing your first major project constructed—”
“Will happen through photos and video updates.” I squeezed her hand. “Dimitrios promised to send me regular documentation of the progress.”
Mom opened her mouth to respond, but the doorbell chime interrupted her. It was barely past dawn, far too early for casual visitors.
“I’ll get it,” I said, already moving toward the door. “You rest. Do you want me to bring you some tea when I come back up?”
“Yes, sweetheart.” She waved me away, then suddenly pressed her hand to her mouth, looking queasy again. “Maybe I should make myself comfortable in the bathroom.”
I hurried downstairs, wondering who could be visiting at this hour. For one irrational moment, I imagined Santo on the other side, but I quickly dismissed the thought. He had respected my wishes to stay away these past months.
Reaching the front door, I pulled it open. The sun momentarily blinded me. Blinking, I focused on the figure standing on our porch.
“Zeus?” I gasped, stunned at the sight of the enormous Irish Wolfhound sitting politely beside a tall man whose face was obscured by the light behind him.
