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“Let’s host together,” Alia suggested. “I’d love your help with introductions. There are so many new people for me to get to know.”

“I won’t help you,” Daphne said with ire, voice rising enough that the maître d’ hurried up to them.

“Would you like to continue your conversation in the privacy of our wine cellar? It’s right here.” He waved at the narrow room directly behind the bar.

“Good idea.” Alia glanced at the assistant, who mouthed On his way. She followed Daphne into the room walled by racks of corked bottles.

Daphne whirled on Alia the moment the door closed. “These are my people. You have no place here.”

“Spiro—”

“Is concussed! He can’t see how you’re manipulating him. Marrying him when he wasn’t even aware of it? Pretending you’re in love and lying about being pregnant? You may have fooled my sons, but not me.”

Alia could be pregnant. She would find out in a few days, so she folded her arms and said defensively, “That’s not something we’re ready to discuss.”

“It is when you’re using it to take everything I have!”

“I’m not taking anything from you.” Trying to reason with her was probably futile. Daphne did not strike her as reasonable right now. “Spiro will always ensure you have what you need,” she assured her.

“Are you stupid?” Daphne snapped. “Lambros will leave me if he can’t become CEO again. I overlook his affairs, but if I can’t give him this, I have no value to him. Not anymore.”

“He said that?” Alia was so shocked, she backed into the wall of corked bottles, so she felt as though she had half a dozen guns against her back.

“Yes,” Daphne hissed as tears came into her eyes. “What will I have then? My sons hate me, no thanks to you. I’ll be utterly alone.”

Alia didn’t know how she was to blame for the years that Daphne had pushed her sons away, but blame-shifting wasn’t the issue right now. Daphne was in real distress. Those tears weren’t a ploy for sympathy. They were genuine fear. Alia recognized it because it was such a stark reflection of her own deepest angst.

Was this who she could become if she didn’t learn to be okay with being alone? It was like looking in a mirror and seeing the worst version of herself.

“Spiro and Khristos don’t hate you,” she said, hoping it was true. “They hate your husband. Let him go. You don’t need him.”

“No.” Daphne looked appalled. She was too frightened to let go, even though it was the only way she could reclaim herself and her sons. “I need him. I need this.” Daphne pointed at the back wall, where the noise of the gathered women had risen to a din in the main dining area. “You have to leave and let me have this.”

“I can’t.” Pity consumed her. Pity and self-revulsion at being so much like this woman.

Alia didn’t want to be frightened and desperately insecure. She wanted to be strong enough to live alone and know that any relationship she was in was because love bound her to her partner, not fear. Or, in Spiro’s case with his mother, a tremendous weight of resentful obligation.

This fresh view of herself and her marriage left her feeling like she had jagged shards of glass in her chest, but she breathed through it, holding her ground with Daphne.

“Spiro asked me to host the party so I will,” she said, firm, but gentle.

“You—” Daphne’s hand went back and she took a step toward Alia.

“Don’t,” Alia warned, bracing herself. “I will hit you back.”

“Alia.” Spiro pushed into the small room and raked her with his gaze, then looked to his mother, who was guiltily dropping her arm. He stiffened, astounded. “What did you just do?”

“I’m fine.” Alia’s heart was galloping, but she rushed forward to wrap her arms tight around his waist, trying to calm him so he wouldn’t attack his own mother. “I thought Khristos was coming. Don’t you have a presentation?”

“I told them to start without me.” His voice was gritty. He was wired for battle, muscles bunched like a pit bull ready to charge. His hands came to her shoulders, trying to push her aside, but she hung on with all her strength.

“Spiro.” She touched his jaw, trying to force him to look at her, but he was glaring at his mother in a way that seemed to have turned the woman to stone. “Lambros has threatened to leave her. He’s been cheating,” she added.

Spiro’s gaze snapped down to hers. His pupils exploded with fresh aggression, but his rage was no longer aimed at his mother. He became a warrior who smelled triumph through his flared nostrils and was gathering himself for the final smiting blow.

Behind her, Daphne sniffled.

“Go look after your guests,” Spiro said to Alia, pressing her toward the door. “Mother, come with me.”