Page 178 of Dagger in the Sea

“There’s this wistful quality to the way you told me about the island. And you’re not the wistful type.”

“Wistful?”

“Hmm. Then there’s Marissa telling me how invested you are in every detail of the restaurant from the font we chose for the menu to the light bulbs, to the food, especially the food. Every damned detail.”

“Did you think I’d become some raging bureaucrat only interested in the bottom line?”

She touched my arm. “No. Your attention to detail always pleased me.”

I put my hand over hers. “The entire team is committed to the opening. That’s my only focus. You need to focus on getting stronger so they’ll let you out of here sooner rather than later.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and my heart squeezed in my chest. This was vulnerable Erin, grateful Erin. An Erin I hadn’t experienced in I don’t know how long.

“Okay.”

“So, is she Greek?”

I grit my teeth. “Erin.”

Saying her name would conjure Adri before my eyes, here in this hospital room. Something I hadn’t allowed myself. With everything going on, I’d pushed her into a vault and locked her up tight, so I could concentrate on the tasks at hand. But she was real. And I fucking missed her.

“Her name is Adriana.”

“What a beautiful name.”

“She is very beautiful.”

I told my mother about Adri, about meeting her, the yacht, Mykonos, the getaway to Andros, all the damned food, all the wine.

None of the blood.

“Andros sounds extraordinary,” she said. “I’m glad you had that. And to have experienced it with someone you care about.”

I opened my mouth to say something, to refute as would have been my usual response. But there was nothing to refute. Only that my feelings for Adri went beyond mere caring, didn’t they? An ache that had begun to hurt as the days wore on had rooted itself deep in my chest and would not be plucked like some weed. Unyielding and strong.

“Turo, you can’t hide it. You can’t. Oh, look at that—” Her voice softened considerably and she touched my chin, and her hand slid down my arm and squeezed.

“Mother, stop.”

“No, honey. You and I, we’re done with stopping and not discussing the important things. We have a lot of catching up to do, and we’re going to do it.”

* * *

Marissaand I met at seven in the morning three times a week organizing ourselves and maintaining the company’s flow. The first weeks of my full-time management, I’d met with each department director, toured each restaurant at lunch, cocktail hour, dinner time and during the day, spoke with the chefs, the managers, the bartenders. I wanted them to see the face, feel my handshake, hear my voice. Be assured that Erin’s ship was under firm command.

Most evenings I spent at the different restaurants, having meals, checking on quality, watching the staff in action with either Marissa or Tricia or many times on my own. On one of those evenings, Charlotte, the attractive blonde sommelier at the steakhouse, propositioned me.

She stood close to me at the bar where I was nursing a Cabernet. I could smell her sweet perfume, noticed the tip of her tongue skirting her matte red lips. I knew it was coming, and yet, I had no reaction—no swell of heat, no tick of the pulse or shift of the cock, no smug satisfaction at the thick, expectant attention from such an attractive woman.

Charlotte slid her empty wine glass to the side. “I get off work in an hour. I’d love to show you this terrific wine bar in River North. They have an incredible new selection of reds from Latin America I think you’d really like.”

“No, thank you. I have an early day tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay.” Her lips pursed and she stood up straight. “Well, have a good night, then.”

“You too, Charlotte.”

She wasn’t the only woman who tried. There was a restaurant hostess, a special events planner, a bartender, a lawyer from the Mayor’s office. But all their pheromones were an unscented mist. Their flirting, teasing, grins—no power, nothing.

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