Gratitude for all that she had been given ran through Mel like circling water. So much. This fabulous place, this fabulous time—and this fabulous man who had given it to her and was sharing it with her.
* * *
The Crystal Caves were as breathtaking as she’d hoped from their description in the guidebook, and after their visit they headed back to their hotel and some time on the beach.
As the sun lowered, though, Nikos got to his feet.
‘You stay on down here for a while,’ he told her. ‘I need to head back to my room—check over my speech for tomorrow.’
‘Oh, my goodness—is it the conference already?’ Mel asked, surprised.
‘I’m afraid so. But, like I’ve said, I’m only putting in a single day there. Then we can get on with the remainder of our holiday.’ He smiled.
Her eyes followed him as he made his way along the beach. A little frown furrowed her brow. Halfway—they were halfway through their holiday already. Nikos had said ‘the remainder’—that was a word that had a tolling bell in it, pointing towards the end. The end of their time together. The end of their romance.
She felt a little clenching of her stomach.
The end.
Her gaze slipped away, over the sea beyond. Her frown deepened, shadowing her eyes. Theirs was a holiday romance—a brief, gorgeous fling—and holidays always came to an end. But it would also mean a start to her independent travels—her footloose, fancy-free wandering—going where she wanted, when she wanted, tied to no one and bound to nobody...
Not even Nikos.
It’s what I want—what I’ve planned. What I’ve always intended.
The reminder sounded in her head—resolutely. Determinedly. Silencing anything else that might be trying to be heard.
* * *
The conference hall was packed with delegates in business suits, and Mel had to squeeze into a space at the rear. But from there she still had a good view of Nikos on the podium. But it wasn’t his discourse on sovereign debt or optimal fiscal policy that held her gaze. Oh, no.
It was the way his bespoke tailored business suit moulded every long, lean line of his fit, hard body. The way his long-fingered hands gestured at the complex graphs displayed on the screen behind him. The way his expression—focussed, incisive, authoritative, as befitted a man who had responsibilities she could not dream of—would suddenly give a hint...just a hint...of the humour that could flash out so beguilingly.
So she sat and gazed, spellbound and riveted, until his Q&A session had ended and the audience was dispersing for lunch.
She didn’t join him—this was his world, not hers—instead making her way to the poolside bistro. The area was busy, but after her lunch she found an empty sun lounger in the shade and settled down to leaf through a magazine, content to while away the afternoon until Nikos was finished with the conference.
A voice nearby interrupted her. ‘Hi—didn’t I see you in the conference hall before lunch?’
The American-accented voice was female, and friendly, and it came from the next lounger along. Mel looked towards the woman, taking in an attractive bikini-clad brunette, a few years older than her, with an extremely chic hairstyle and full eye make-up.
The woman smiled. ‘Wasn’t that last speaker something? The foreign guy with his own bank—total dish!’ Her dark eyes sparkled appreciatively.
There was an air of shared conspiracy, an invitation to agree with her, and Mel found herself smiling in wry agreement.
Taking it as consent to keep chatting, the woman continued. ‘Are you here as a delegate yourself? Or a spouse?’
‘Well, not a spouse—just...um...a “plus one.” I guess you’d call it,’ she answered, not sure whether she should mention that she was the ‘plus one’ of the ‘dish’... ‘What about you?’ she asked politely.
‘Oh, my husband’s a banker,’ the woman said. ‘John Friedman of Friedman Hoffhaus,’ she added, looking expectantly at Mel.
Mel gave an apologetic shake of her head. ‘I’m afraid I’m very ignorant of the banking world,’ she answered.
‘Oh—so who are you the “plus one” of?’ the woman asked curiously.
Mel’s expression changed again. ‘Well, actually...um...it’s the “dish”,’ she said apologetically.
Immediately the woman’s eyes sparkled. ‘No way! My, oh, my—you are one lucky, lucky lady! Mind you...’ she nodded in tribute to Mel’s blonde beauty ‘...I can see how you pulled him. The thing is, though,’ she went on airily, ‘how are you gonna keep him? Men that rich and young and good-looking are hard to hog-tie. You’re going to have to have a watertight “get him to the altar” strategy to be his permanent “plus one”!’