by Sharon Ihle
"No, ma'am. Mr. Adonis has checked out of the hotel."
"Checked out?" Shylo's heart kind of seized up. "But where did he go? And what about my things? Are they here?"
The maid shrugged. "I don't know. There's nothing left in this room."
"Oh." Her breath deflating along with her residual irrational anger, Shylo said, "Sorry to have troubled you." Then she hurried toward the stairs.
Dimitri—gone? Gone forever? It couldn't be. Not yet—not until she'd told him she that was sorry again, whatever good that might do. And definitely not until he looked at her one more time without that horrible expression of disappointment, or whatever it was she'd seen in his dark eyes since yesterday. And what about her clothes? Had he burned them?
All this and more ran through Shylo's mind as she scrambled down the stairs to the lobby below. She headed toward the reception desk to inquire about her belongings, but before she reached it she spotted Ari lounging on a velvet tufted settee near the front window.
Altering her path, Shylo hurried over to greet him. "Hello, Ari. You're still here."
"Oh, good morning, Miss Shylo," he said, rising slowly to his feet. "I hope you've found the grace to forgive our very bad manners last night. I'm afraid we discovered American whiskey—"
"Forget it," she said, much too anxious to waste time on apologies. "I was just up at the bridal suite, and found out that Dimitri has left the hotel. I was wondering what he did with my clothes. Do you know?"
"Oh, yes, of course. He left them at the reception desk for you, all neatly wrapped in a nice package."
"Oh." Her hopes sinking as she spotted a pair of very familiar traveling bags sitting next to the settee, she glanced around the lobby, then out to the hotel's grand entrance. A few guests were milling around near the horse-drawn cabs parked in the street, but none of them was as tall or handsome as the man she sought. Looking back at Ari, she cleared her throat and asked as calmly as possible, "And Dimitri? Where is he?"
Ari shrugged. "We plan to catch the train to New York today, but first, he said he must go off by himself. To do thinking, I suppose."
Gripped now by an almost desperate need to see Dimitri again, she impulsively grabbed the lapels of Ari's jacket and demanded, "Where did he go? I have to talk to him."
Taken aback for a moment, Ari studied the frantic woman, then smiled. "He would not say, but I saw him get on the streetcar heading west. Does this help?"
West—to the ocean. Was it possible he'd gone to their special spot for one last time?
"Ari, I have to find him. I've got to try to stop him from leaving things this way, if I can, and I need your help. Will you help me, please?"
Grinning, as the matchmaker in his soul was pretty sure of exactly why Shylo had to stop his nephew, he said, "Of course. What can I do?"
"Money." And a lot of it. She couldn't chance taking the unreliable Ocean Beach Motor Railway. "I need to borrow enough money to hire one of those cabs outside to take me all the way to Ocean Beach. Will you lend it to me?"
His grin spreading ever wider, Ari reached for his wallet, and then mimicked one of his nephew's favorite phrases. "But, of course."
* * *
Below the high cliffs and deep caves he and Shylo had explored so thoroughly, Dimitri sat perched near the end of one of the fingerlike rock formations jutting several yards into the Pacific Ocean. Behind and to each side of him, other formations, some layered like stacks of phyllo pastry, rose up, and then slithered into the sea. An occasional ship heading for San Diego Harbor went by on the horizon, some catching the sun in a way that made them look like ghostly apparitions.
Directly below him, great waves spent themselves against the solid wall of sandstone, filling the air with a thundering roar and showers of salt spray. More often than not, that spray reached Dimitri's perch, splattering his western denims and occasionally his head, but he didn't seem to notice the moisture or the rich panorama before him.
Instead he stared blankly at the dark sapphire blue water, trying desperately to restore some order to his life. All he could think about, in spite of those efforts, was how empty it all seemed without Shylo beside him. Even thoughts of his committee and the upcoming trip to England didn't cheer him up as usual. In fact, they served only to point out that not a single marble statue or even all six caryatids could ever equal the one warm woman who'd somehow become a part of him.
Dimitri thought back to last night and the fact he'd been forced to spend it alone in their bridal bed. Shylo's exquisite scent had saturated the sheets and pillows, nearly driving him wild with wanting her, needing her, and he'd tossed and turned until almost dawn. Even then, during those few hours of sleep, he'd been consumed by dreams of Shylo. Surely this attraction, or whatever this hold she had over him could be, was simply a physical obsession—God knew he'd never had such a wildly satisfying relationship with another woman before, so what else could it be? Even now, knowing her for the liar and user that she was, he ached to touch her, to hold her in his arms and kiss her until she cried out from wanting him.
It was physical all right, he decided, trying to convince himself. A physical obsession and nothing more. But even as he pronounced his feelings as such, Dimitri suspected his emotions ran much, much deeper than that—perhaps all the way to love.
Love was a strange and foreign sensation, if that was indeed the thing making him so crazy. Yet if he loved Shylo, how could he have been so cruel to her last night? The answer popped up right on the heels of the question. He hurt. And he wanted her to hurt, too, hurt as badly as he was hurting now. Not that he had the same power over her that she had over him. As far as he knew, the only people who had any power over Shylo were her family.
Dimitri thought back to the train ride west and the first time he saw her hair flowing free, remembering particularly the way the sun drew out those irresistible sparks of red. She'd tricked him into paying her way west to find Colleen Pappas, a woman he now knew to be her mother. Yes, he thought, recalling more, her mother had hurt her, and badly, he suddenly realized.
Dimitri nearly choked when it finally occurred to him that Shylo had been the little girl in her story about the orphan train. She'd been the abandoned child he'd felt so sorry for, the pitiful waif who fiercely protected her baby sister at all costs, determined to keep together what was left of her family. Why hadn't he realized that before now? And why the hell hadn't he been more supportive of her?
God, he thought, sick inside, the things he'd said and done to her, especially in their room after that ghastly scene with her mother down at the wharf. How could he have been so cruel, so blind? Because, Dimitri thought darkly, he was an idiot. An idiot who'd drive a wagon into a ditch and who couldn't see what was really important, even if it stood before his very own eyes. Had he always been so insensitive toward those he loved? Dimitri's thoughts turned automatically to his father, particularly to memories of the old man's disappointment over his son's chosen career.
Like the giant wave that had just doused him, another sudden realization swept over Dimitri: Was it possible that he had made the trip to San Diego in the first place more to assuage the guilt he felt over letting his father down than to revive the business? It certainly made sense in that light.
Now that he knew Adonis Imports had not failed because of his uncle's misdeeds, and that Niko would not be saving it from ruin, Dimitri felt both robbed and burdened at once. Ari could be of no real help, not now that he'd exhausted his source of contacts in New York. And he really couldn't ask more of the old man. No, only Dimitri could decide how to proceed with the company's future from now on—and that sobering fact offered yet another revelation. He was in the exact position he'd struggled to avoid his entire life.
What now? He could sell what was left of the business, he supposed, and invest the proceeds to see to his mother's needs for as long as the money lasted. Soon after his return to the university, he'd have a full professorship and would be able to take on financial respons
ibility for both her and himself. She was a simple woman who required little by way of expenses and who preferred living in Thessaloniki with her widowed sisters, and he knew he could make her quite comfortable for the rest of her life. Also, she would not be terribly disappointed in the sale of the family business—not the way his father would have been had he lived to see this day. All in all, selling the company seemed like the perfect solution.
But what about Shylo? How could he ever hope to win her hand again? With sudden clarity Dimitri knew that was exactly what he intended to do. The trouble was, with him as a hardworking professor who cared more about ruined civilizations of long ago than all that glittered in today's world, there would be precious little incentive for her even to think of coming back to him. Looking at it in those terms, he saw another alternative. He could keep the business and run it himself, bringing it back to its former level of respect and profitability. If he were to revive the business successfully, it might be enough of a jewel to again attract the attentions of one Shylo McBride—a woman, like her mother, who seemed to covet money, diamonds, and social position.
But could he do it? Could he actually force himself into the role of businessman and then live with that decision? To do so, and without a lifetime of regrets, Dimitri knew he would have to be very sure of his heart. The question was, did he really love Shylo enough to take over the helm of Adonis Imports, knowing that it would cost him his lifelong dream?
Deeply troubled by the impossible decision facing him, Dimitri began to weigh the intellectually fulfilling rewards of pursuing his career in archaeology against the purely emotional compensation he would find in attracting and then pleasing the woman he loved.
At first he thought both burdens to be completely and maddeningly in balance, but as the scale began slowly to tilt, leaning heavily on the side of his heart, Dimitri buried his face in his hands and wept as no man ever wept before.
* * *
As Shylo ran toward the cliffs, praying to God that she'd find Dimitri there, her purpose in going after him became increasingly urgent. How could she have been so wrapped up in finding her mother that she hadn't realized the most important person in her life, the only one who really mattered now, had all but slipped through her fingers? She loved Dimitri, yet she had never bothered to tell him. She loved him enough to throw herself at his feet and admit it, for the alternative—life without ever seeing him again—was too horrible even to think about.
It was a foolhardy plan going after him this way, she figured, one that might cost her a great deal of pride and even bring her more pain, but her dignity suddenly didn't matter. He was well worth the risk. She wouldn't ask anything of him but another chance and a fresh start. Maybe if he knew the real Shylo McBride, the basically decent and honest woman, he might still care enough to...
No. She wouldn't allow herself to hope past seeing him again. When she reached their usual spot and Dimitri wasn't there, Shylo fell to her knees, exhausted and miserable. Had they crossed paths somehow? Was he already at the Santa Fe station, preparing to board a train that would take him away from her forever? As her heart was breaking, her fading hopes encouraged her to look down at the tide pools, but there was still no sign of Dimitri. Then, as she climbed slowly back to her feet, she spotted a lone figure sitting far out on the moss-slickened rocks.
Dimitri.
Her heart pounding anew, Shylo made her way down the face of the treacherous cliffs, slipping and sliding and nearly falling once. When at last she hit the beach, she ran along the pristine sands, calling out Dimitri's name each time she drew in a lungful of air.
* * *
Troubled by a deep and unrelenting sense of loss, but appeased, too, to realize that from the depths of that anguish would come the chance for a lifetime of happiness with Shylo, Dimitri slowly released his doubts and let his mind wander. He realized almost immediately that he was getting wet—and had been getting wet all along. Then he heard the seagulls cry overhead, a strange and mournful song that sounded almost like a woman's voice. One, oddly enough, that seemed to be calling his name.
Dimitri turned toward the sound and saw Shylo running across the sand toward him. At first he thought she was some kind of mirage, because he wanted this sight so badly. Her hair had come loose from its pins, freeing those long strands to bask in a full measure of sunlight. The highlights of red in her hair seemed to catch fire, making her look as if she'd been sprinkled with droplets of sunshine.
His chest swelling with both hope and love, Dimitri wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve. Then he made his way back down off the rocks and onto dry land. As he ran to meet her, he could see that her arms were outstretched, encouraging him to run harder and faster.
They met in an explosion of hugs, kisses, and garbled mutters, determined to spill the contents of their hearts before it was too late.
"Dimitri," said Shylo, out of breath, "before you go, I have—"
"No, wait—I must to you talk, and I must—"
"But you have to understand that I've been—"
"Please, Shylo, my mind is very important." She bit her tongue, knowing that if she didn't let him go on now, she might not be able to understand a thing he was trying to say.
"All right. You first, but then you've got to let me have my say."
Nodding his agreement, Dimitri took a deep breath. "You must first know that I truly am the idiot you said I was in the desert of Winslow."
Shylo opened her mouth to object, but Dimitri silenced her with a finger on her lips. "Promise you will not interrupt me again until I have finished." Pressing her lips together tightly, she nodded, so he went on. "I have not seen or known what you are to me, and what I feel, but now I do."
"Excuse me?" she said, breaking her promise.
Damn, but this proposing marriage was so difficult when it was conducted in the name of love, not business, and he did so want to get it just right. Calming himself, Dimitri took several deep breaths this time and tried again. "I have come to know that you were the little girl on that orphan train, and I cannot tell you how it... how I"—he slid his right hand over his heart—"how deeply this knowledge has pained me in here. I cannot say—no, I cannot express—"
"Please, stop," Shylo said, cutting him off. "I know I promised not to interrupt you, but please don't go on about that. It doesn't matter anymore—honest it doesn't. The orphanage, the train, none of it matters now that I've found my mother and she knows all about my life. Those days almost seem insignificant to me now."
"But your childhood, it was so—"
"Maybe there is no such thing as a perfect childhood," she said, thinking not just of her own, but of what her mother must have endured. "I suppose we all burn inside with little embers of the injustices done to us as children, some of us more than others. But the strong ones among us survive, and maybe because of our troubles, we're even stronger."
Dimitri recalled his youth and the opposition he'd met from his father over his dreams of college and an archaeological career. And he recognized that to this day he still burned inside a little over the isolation it had cost him.
Giving her a warm smile, he said, "And so now I know what makes you so strong. Thank you for this—I promise not to talk of your past again."
"I appreciate it." Shylo made a silent vow to herself to try not to interrupt him again no matter what. "You were saying?"
"That I am the idiot, and also the fool who did not see love when it stands in front of me."
He knew? Shylo thought with a start. When had he realized that she'd fallen in love with him?
"But I know of that love now," he went on, still having difficulty with the right words, "and I also know that I will do anything to have that love with me for the rest of my life."
To have that love with him? Shylo was a little confused.
"What I'm doing," Dimitri finally said, "is the matchmaker job again, and as before, I'm afraid I'm not too good at it."
In spite of her promise, a few words slip
ped out. "Matchmaker? Surely you don't mean that you're—"
"What I mean, Miss Impatient, is that I wonder if you would consider to marry a businessman—me—if I were head of Adonis Imports? I know that I can have the company making a very nice profit within six months or so, and should make us an excellent living. Will you say yes?"
Shylo felt as if the world had turned upside down, half of her absolutely going wild over Dimitri's proposal of marriage, the other half trying to understand what Adonis Imports had to do with anything. Shaking her head, she said, "I'm afraid you've confused me a little. I don't know what you mean by calling yourself 'head' of Adonis Imports. I thought you would never return to the actual business, and that all you cared about was the university, those marbles, and the trip to the British Museum. Can you actually run the business and carry on with the work you really love all at the same time?"
Something dark and painful shadowed Dimitri's expression for a moment, but in the next instant the cloud was gone. He tried but couldn't quite keep the sadness out of his melodic voice as he said, "No, I cannot. If I am to have the honor of being husband to a woman such as you, running the family business will have to be my only other concern."
"Wait a minute." Shylo simply could not believe this. "You're not trying to say that you figure on running Adonis Imports on my account, are you?"
"But of course." He chuckled lightly. "I am proposing to you, so who else would I run it for?"
"Well, for you, that's who."
Again he laughed, this time with a bitter edge to his usually smooth, rich voice. "I care not for the import business. I never have, but I—"
"Wait a minute again." It couldn't be true—it couldn't. "You're not saying that you'd give up the career you love—your dreams—for me, are you?"
Smiling indulgently, Dimitri took Shylo's sweet face between his hands. "I love you, kouklitsa, and my only wish is to vow to the real Shylo McBride. For that privilege and for you, I would give up my very life."
"Oh... Dimitri." Shylo was stunned, utterly shocked, and tears seemed to spring from every pore in her body. Afraid she might come apart at the seams as the full impact of what Dimitri had told her sank in, she tore away from him and turned her back. "Oh, my God... " she muttered above the ocean's roar. "He'd give it all up for me—for me?"
