Page 54 of Dagger in the Sea

Adriana blinked.

“I love seafood,” I said. “Food, in general, is very much my thing. Good food.”

“I love good food too.”

“You’re not eating though.”

She only shrugged, pressing her lips together.

The steward brought over the bottle ofVermentinoand refilled my glass with the white wine. Pale, liquid sunlight rising in my glass. I put my fork and knife down and leaned back in my chair. A simple thing, that I experienced on a daily basis in Chicago—fine food, a great glass of wine. But here, on the Aegean on a luxury yacht alone with Adri under a bright sun and a blue sky, a phenomenon. A little piece of perfection for us to share.

Adri raised her glass.“Stin iyiá mas.”

“Stin iyiá mas,”I murmured and drank. Light, crisp, and dry. Brightness in my mouth.

“Alessio’s chef is a good friend of his fromMilano.He always comes on the boat trips with him.”

“He’s very good. The risotto is cooked perfectly, the texture is just right, and the ink is that perfect salty contrast to the creaminess of the rice.”

“Yes.” She scooped up a bit of risotto on her fork. “I think I’ll enjoy it more now after your precise analysis.”

This sort of quality must have been routine for Adriana, standard. I was raised on a silver spoon too, but Adriana’s spoon had been thicker, heavier with an intricate, baroque filigree. My mother had trained my palate from an early age, and I’d enjoyed the lessons just as much as she had enjoyed giving them. I’d been raised to appreciate unexpected tastes, and the ability to discern, not only between mediocre and good, but between fine and remarkable.

This was very fine.

I swallowed my wine, a refreshing flood washing away the sudden memories of satiny laughter, beaming amber eyes across small tables in hundreds of restaurants.

A platter of seared scallops arrived on a bed of mixed greens along with an aioli sauce for dipping. Using the silver spatula, I served a scallop into Adri’s fresh plate and one onto my own.

Wine glass in hand, she watched me as I ate. “You know food?”

“I do. I grew up in the food industry in Chicago. My mother owns a company that develops and manages restaurants. She’s done very well.”

“Really? How interesting.”

“It is. Over the years, Chicago has become quite a force in the restaurant business. A foodie capital, they call it.” I drank the wine. “I used to work with her.”

“Used to? You gave it up?”

I stabbed at the arugula. “It was time for a change.”

Adriana squeezed lemon on her scallop. “You don’t get along with your mother?”

“My mother and I are very much alike, actually.” My gaze skittered to the sparkling surface of the water.

“Maybe that’s why you needed time apart.”

My eyes caught on hers. “Maybe.”

“I’ve worked with my parents since I was a teenager, all through university.”

“Are you finished with school now?”

“Yes, graduated and full of all sorts of degrees.” She twisted her lips into a self-deprecating smirk. She wasn’t impressed with herself.

“Your father wants you to go to London but you don’t want to go?”

“It’s quieter there for me, unlike here. But I’d rather be with my family right now, rather than be in England by myself.” She went back to pushing her food around her plate. She’d been picking at her food, not eating. “I’ve been tagging along with Mum on her fundraising projects and the odd job at her real estate development company.”

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