by Jane Porter
“Absolutely. You will have more collections, and you will succeed.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because I’ve seen what you can do, and I know you. You’re truly talented, Morgan. There’s no one else like you.”
* * *
Drakon’s car was parked at a helipad outside Pompeii, waiting for them, and the driver whisked them to the ancient city to meet a private guide who was going to take them on a behind-the-scenes tour of the ruined city.
Morgan was glad she’d worn flat leather sandals since they walked from one end of the city to another, and she listened closely to everything the guide said, captivated by his stories of first century Pompeii, a thriving city of approximately ten thousand people. She was fascinated by the buried city and its restaurants and hotels and brothels, as well as the artwork revealed…frescoes and mosaics and sculptures.
“Pompeii is the most incredible place,” she said as they made their way through the extraordinary villa, House of the Faun, and back into the sunlight. “But Pompeii also breaks my heart. It was such a beautiful city, and so full of life and people and passion—and then it was all wiped out. Gone in a matter of hours.”
“Are you sorry I brought you today?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s amazing. All of it. The houses, the streets, the restaurants, the statues and pots and artifacts. But it hurts, too. Life is so fragile, and unpredictable. There are no guarantees. Not for anyone.”
“Your life changed overnight, didn’t it?”
She looked at him, suddenly wary. “You mean, with the revelation of Michael’s Ponzi scheme?”
Drakon nodded and Morgan bit down into her lip. “It did,” she agreed softly. “I still find it hard to believe what’s happened at home. Who would have thought a year ago…even three months ago…that my father would become one of the most hated men in America? That we’d lose everything…that so many others would lose everything, too, through his, and Michael’s, actions?”
They’d come to a stop next to the cordoned-off fountain with its bronze statue of a dancing faun. This beautiful solitary faun was all that was left of this once glorious, elegant garden, and she held her breath a moment, pressing a fist to her chest, as if somehow she could control the pain, ease the tenderness.
“My father was horrified when he discovered that all his clients, all his investors, had lost their money. He found out on his way to a Valentine’s Day soiree—another one of those black-tie balls my mother loves—when he got the text from Michael to say that it was over. That agents from the federal government had just left his house and there would be arrests made, and that Dad should flee, rather than be indicted.” Her voice faded and she struggled to continue. “At first Dad didn’t believe it. None of us could believe it. And then when the shock wore off, there was anger, and shame.”
Morgan worked her lip between her teeth, tasting blood but thinking nothing of it, because everything hurt now, all the time. Pain was constant. Pain and that endless, overwhelming shame. “Dad wanted to kill himself. My brother talked him out of it, telling Dad that if he was innocent, then he owed it to his family, his friends and his clients to prove his innocence, and try to recoup as much of the lost investments as he could. But then Dad vanished, and Mom said Dad would have been better off killing himself. That by disappearing, Dad had left us in a worse situation. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe Dad should have died—”
“You don’t really feel that way,” Drakon said brusquely. “Or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to help him now.”
“I guess part of me keeps hoping that if he returns, he can fix this…salvage something. Branson, you know, is determined to see all the investors paid back—”
“That’s impossible.”
“I know, but Branson can’t escape his name. Women can marry and take a new surname. But Branson’s a man. He’ll be one of those hated Copelands forever.”
“Someday people will forget. There will be other news that will become more urgent and compelling. There will be disasters and tragedies that will eventually cover this scandal, burying it.”
Just as the volcano had buried Pompeii.
Morgan’s gaze drifted slowly across the columns and walls and the sunken garden, feeling the emptiness, hearing the silence. Everything was so still here, and yet once this villa had bustled with life, with the comings and goings of the family and its household servants and pets. And all that activity and laughter and anger, all the fears and needs and dreams, ended that August day, and for hundreds of years this city lay buried beneath layers of ash and soil, grass and the development of new towns. New construction. New lives. New dreams.
“Come,” Drakon said, putting his hand on her bare arm, his touch light, but steadying. “Let’s walk. This place is making you sad, and I didn’t bring you here to be sad. I brought you here to inspire you.”
“I am inspired, and moved. Gives one perspective…and certainly a great deal for me to be thankful for.” She flashed Drakon an unsteady smile, allowing him to steer her from the garden and back to the street. “Like life. And air. And sunlight.”
“Good girl. Count your blessings. Because you have many, you know. You have your health, and your creativity, and your brother and your sisters—”
“And you,” she said, catching his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “You’ve been here for me, and have hired Rowan to help rescue Dad. I am so grateful—”
“Please don’t thank me.”
“Then let me at least apologize, because I am sorry, Drakon, I am so, so sorry for what my father did, and deeply ashamed, too.”
“You didn’t do it, love. You aren’t responsible.”
“But he’s my father.”
“And maybe he didn’t know that Amery was just depositing all that money into his own account. Maybe he had no idea. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we wait to judge and try him, until he is back, and he can answer the charges, answer everyone’s questions?”
Her heart surged, a little rush of hope, and she turned quickly to face him. “Do you really think he could be innocent? Do you think—” And then she abruptly broke off when she saw Drakon’s face.
He didn’t think her father was innocent. He still despised her father. Drakon was merely trying to soften the blow for her. Make her disillusionment and pain more bearable.
Her eyes burned and she looked away. “You don’t have to do that,” she whispered. “There’s no need to say things you don’t mean just to make me feel better. I’d rather hear the truth from you.”
“And I’d rather protect you, agapi mou.”
Agapi mou. My love. Her chest squeezed, aching. “I remember when I really was your love.”
“You will always be my love.”
“But not the same way. It will never be the same.”
“No, it won’t be the same. It can’t be.”
He’d spoken gently, kindly, and for some reason that made it all even worse. “I hate what I did to us,” she said. “Hate that I destroyed us.”
“What did happen, Morgan? You were there one morning, and then gone that night. I just want to understand.”
She hadn’t planned on talking about what really happened, not here, not like this. “I wasn’t prepared for life as a newlywed,” she said, stumbling a little over the words. “I…I had unrealistic expectations of our life in Greece.”
“What did you think it would be like?”
“Our honeymoon.”
“But you know I had to return to work.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know work for you meant twelve-hour days, every day.” Her hands twisted anxiously. “And I understand now, that’s just how you work, and I’m not criticizing you. But I didn’t understand then, how it would be, and it didn’t leave much time for me. I married you because I wanted to be with you, not because I wanted your money or a villa in Greece.”
“Looking back, I know now I wasn’t very flexible with my hours. I regret how much I worked.”
“
You loved your work.”
“But I loved you more, Morgan.”
She’d looked into his eyes as he said it and for a moment she was lost, his amber gaze that intense, searing heat of old, and her heart felt wrenched and she fought to hold back the tears.
She couldn’t cry…couldn’t cry…wouldn’t cry….
“So where do we go now?” she murmured, holding back the tears by smiling hard, smiling to hide her pain and how much she’d missed Drakon, and how much she’d always love Drakon. “What’s next on our tour?”
“Lunch,” he said lightly, smiling back at her. “I’ve a restaurant in mind, it’s on our way home in Sorrento.”
* * *
They didn’t actually eat in Sorrento, but at a restaurant just outside the city, on the way to Positano. The simple one-story restaurant was tucked high into the mountain, off the beaten path, with a beamed ceiling and breathtaking views of the coast.
Normally the restaurant just served dinner, but today they’d opened for them for lunch, and Morgan and Drakon had the place to themselves.
With the expansive windows open, and course after course of the most delicious seafood and pasta arriving at their table, Morgan felt the tension easing from between her shoulders. After finishing her coffee, she leaned back in her chair. “This was really lovely, Drakon. I feel almost optimistic again. Thank you.”
“I’ve done very little, Morgan.”
“You’ve done everything. You’ve brought in Rowan and his team, and while they work to free Dad, you’re keeping me occupied and encouraging me to think about life, down the road. You’ve shown me incredible things today, and given me ideas for future designs, and best of all, peace of mind. You’re my hero…my knight in shining armor.”
“So much better than a husband.”
“Husbands are overrated,” she teased.
“Apparently so,” he answered drily.
And then reality hit her, and the memory of what had happened to them. Her smile slowly, painfully faded. “I’ve cost you a pretty penny, haven’t I? Four hundred million here, seven million there—”
“I don’t think about the money when I look at you.”
“What do you think about?”
“You.”
She dipped her head, and while this is what she wanted to hear, she did feel guilty. Love shouldn’t be this expensive. Love shouldn’t have cost Drakon so much. “I want to pay for Dunamas’s services.”
“They’re expensive.”
“But my father isn’t your responsibility, and I can’t allow you to keep picking up the tab, taking hits and losses, because you got tangled up with me.”
“Tangled? Is that what they call wives and weddings these days?”
“Don’t try to distract me. I’m serious about paying you back. It will take me some time. I’ll pay in installments, but I’ll pay interest, too. It’s what the banks would do. And I may be one of those entitled Copelands, but I’m not entitled to your money, and I insist on making sure you are properly compensated—”
“You’re ruining my lunch.”
“You’ve finished eating, already.”
“Then you’re ruining my coffee.”
“You’ve finished that, too.” She held up a finger. “And before you think of anything else I’m ruining, please know I’m immensely grateful, which is why I’m trying to make things right, as well as make them fair.”
“How is it fair for me to take what little money you earn over the next ten years? I’d be ashamed to take your money.”
“And you don’t think I’m ashamed that I had to come back to you, with my hand out, begging for assistance?”
Frowning, he pushed his empty cup. “We should go.”
She reached across the table and caught his hand in hers. “Don’t be angry, Drakon. Branson’s not the only one who wants to put things right. If I could, I’d pay every one of my father’s investors back—”
“You’re not your father, Morgan. You’re not responsible.”
“I feel responsible.”
“You’ll make yourself sick, obsessing about this.”
“And you don’t obsess about what my father did to you?”
Drakon looked down at their hands, where their fingers were laced together. “Yes, I did lose a fortune,” he said after a moment, his fingers tightening on hers. “But losing you five years ago was so much worse.”
“No.”
“Yes.” He squeezed her fingers again. “There is always more money to be made, gynaika mou. But there is only one of you.”
* * *
The driver stopped before the villa’s great iron gates, waiting for them to open to give them access to the old estate’s private drive and exquisite gardens. But Morgan wasn’t ready to be back at the villa with Bronwyn and Rowan and the villa staff. After so many years of not being with Drakon, it was such a joy to have him to herself.
“We’ll soon find out if Rowan’s heard anything,” Drakon said, glancing out the window as the four-story white marble villa came into view.
“Hopefully he has,” she said, feeling guilty because for the past hour she hadn’t thought of her father, not once. She’d been so happy just being with Drakon that she’d forgotten why she was here in Italy on the Amalfi Coast.
“And hopefully you had a good day,” he added. “I’d thought perhaps you’d be inspired by Pompeii, but it can be overwhelming, too.”
“I loved it. Every minute of it.”
And it was true, she thought, as the car stopped in front of the villa’s entrance and the driver stepped out to come around to open their door. But it wasn’t just Pompeii she loved. She loved every minute of being with him today. This was what life was supposed to feel like. This is what she’d missed so much—his warmth, his strength, his friendship, his love.
His love.
She frowned, confused, suddenly caught between two worlds—the memories of a complicated past and the changing present. In this moment, the present, anything could happen. In this moment, everything was fluid and possible.
She and Drakon were possible. Life was possible. Love was possible.
She and Drakon could make different decisions, be different people, have a different future.
Could it be a future together?
“I enjoyed today, too,” Drakon said.
“I hope we can do it again.”
“Visit Pompeii?”
“Not necessarily Pompeii. But another outing…another adventure. It was fun.”
Drakon suddenly leaned forward and swept the back of his hand over her cheek. “It was. And good to get away from here, and all this.”
Her heart ached at the gentle touch. She’d forgotten how extraordinarily tender he could be. Over the years she’d focused on his control and his aloofness, in contrast to the wild heat of their lovemaking, and she’d turned him into someone he wasn’t…someone cold and hard and unreachable. But that wasn’t really Drakon. Yes, he could be aloof, and hard, and cold, but that wasn’t often, and only when he was angry. And he wasn’t always angry. In fact, he’d never been angry during their engagement or the first couple months of their marriage. It was only later, after they’d gone to Athens and gotten stuck in that terrible battle for control, a battle that had come to include Bronwyn, that they’d both become rigid and antagonistic.
She reached up, caught his hand, pressed it to her cheek. “Promise me we’ll do this again soon. Please?”
“I promise,” he said, holding her gaze as the driver opened the door to the back of the car.
Drakon stepped out and Morgan was just about to follow when heavy footsteps crunched the gravel drive and Rowan appeared at their side.
“Where have you been?” Rowan demanded. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour.”
“My mobile didn’t ring,” Drakon answered.
“I called,” Rowan said. “Repeatedly.” He turned to look at Morgan, his expression apologetic. “Your father was moved from his v
illage today and we don’t know where he is at the moment. But my office is gathering intelligence now that should help us understand what happened, why and where he’s being held now.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MORGAN PACED THE living room, unable to stop moving, unable to be still.
How could her father have vanished? Where had he been taken? And why? Had he gotten sick? Had he died? What were his captors reason for moving him?
She reached the end of the living room, turned and started back again. She’d traveled this path for ten minutes now but there was no way she could sit, not when fear bubbled up in her, consuming her.
Drakon was at the opposite end of the living room, watching her, keeping her company. “Where did they take him, Drakon?” she said, stopping midstep. “Why did they move him?”
She’d asked him the same questions already, several times, as a matter of fact, but he answered just as patiently now. “As Rowan explained, high-profile hostages are often moved from one location to another to stymie rescue attempts.”
“Do you think they knew we were planning something?”
“I doubt it. Rowan doesn’t think so, either, but we don’t know for sure. Fortunately, his office is diligently gathering intelligence now and we should know more soon. Believe me, your father is at the top of Dunamas’s priority list.”
“He’s right,” Bronwyn said, entering the living room with a brisk step, her deceptively simple knit dress, the color of ripe plums, making the most of her lush shape. “Dunamas is pulling all their sources and resources from other tasks to gather information on your father, leaving dozens of ships, countless sailors and hundreds of millions of dollars of cargo vulnerable to attack.”
“That’s not necessary, Bron,” Drakon said, rebuking her.
“But it’s true.” She leaned on the back of a wing chair, her blond hair smooth and sleek and falling forward in an elegant golden shimmer. The expression in her blue eyes was mocking and she shot Drakon a challenging glance. “I know you don’t like to discuss business in front of your wife, but shouldn’t she know the truth? That Dunamas is dropping everything, and everyone, because Morgan Copeland’s criminal father has changed village locations?”
