enough reason for him to want to live.
* * *
By the time they embarked onto the small luxury yacht in Puerto Rico that would take them on the last leg of their trip, Emily’s brain hurt. Her heart hurt.
Leaving Pascha to talk safety issues with the yacht’s skipper, in much the same way he’d discussed safety issues with the flight crew before they’d taken off from London, Emily settled onto a sofa in the saloon and closed her eyes, blinds shading her from the late-afternoon sun.
She must have fallen asleep as a tap on her shoulder made her open her eyes with a snap.
Pascha loomed over her. He wore the same outfit he’d been in when he’d caught her in his office hours earlier, but still looked as fresh as if he’d just dressed.
‘We’ll be there soon,’ he said before turning round and heading back outside, leaving his dreadful citrus scent behind him. Okay, maybe it wasn’t dreadful. Maybe it was actually rather nice. Too nice. It made her feel...hungry. She didn’t want to like anything about him, not even his scent.
Despite her worry and lethargy, she couldn’t help but experience a whisper of excitement when she joined him on deck and felt the warmth of the sun beat down on her face. It really was a picture-perfect scene. Not a single cloud marred the cobalt sky.
Pascha pointed out the tiny, verdant island before them poking out of the Atlantic—or was it the Caribbean? They were right at the border between the two watery giants. In the far distance she could see a cluster of larger islands, seemingly surrounding the smaller one like sentries.
‘That is Aliana Island.’ It was the first time he’d put a name to her final destination.
Aliana Island: even its name was beautiful.
Emily reminded herself that it should make no difference whether her prison for the next week was an under-stairs cupboard or a virtual paradise. Her reasons for being there were the same. She was there against her will.
All the same, the closer they got to their destination, the more her spirits lifted. The island didn’t appear to get any bigger, but she could see more detail. The deep blue sea beneath them lightened, turning a clearer turquoise than she could have dreamed of, the sandy beach before them sparkling under the beaming sun.
‘We have to be careful getting to the island,’ Pascha explained in that clipped manner she was becoming used to. ‘It’s surrounded by a coral reef.’
‘Aren’t they dangerous for boats?’ She didn’t know much about coral reefs but that was one thing she was fairly certain of.
‘Exceedingly dangerous,’ he agreed. ‘Only a fool would navigate coral waters without any prior knowledge of them. Luis has been navigating these waters for years.’
‘That’s good to know,’ she murmured without surprise. In the short time she’d known him, Pascha had proved himself a man who took security and safety extremely seriously.
‘Is that a temple?’ she asked, spotting what looked like some kind of Buddhist retreat set back a little from the beach.
‘No. It’s my lodge.’
‘Your lodge?’
‘Aliana Island belongs to me.’
Despite herself, Emily was impressed. Looking carefully, she could see other, smaller buildings with thatched roofs branching off the main one. ‘It’s beautiful. How did it get its name? Was Aliana the person who discovered it?’
‘No. Aliana is my mother.’
‘Really?’ Something flittered over her face, a look he couldn’t discern but made him think his answer had pleased her somehow. ‘You named an island after your mother? What a fabulous thing to do. I bet she was delighted when you told her, wasn’t she?’
‘She...’
He struggled to think of the correct wording to describe his mother’s reaction—the slap across his face and the words, ‘You think an island can repair the damage you caused?’
He decided on, ‘She wasn’t displeased.’
He’d bought the island three years before. The ink on the purchase contract had barely dried before he’d changed its name.
He’d had it all planned out. He would visit his mother and Andrei after five years of estrangement. As part of his atonement, he would invite them to spend a holiday with him on the island. He would give them their own keys and tell them to think of it as theirs too—a special place for them all to share and use however they saw fit.
Time and distance had given him a great deal of perspective. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was the worry etched on his mother’s face as she’d watched over the small son she hadn’t known whether would live or die. He’d seen the stress Andrei had carried with him but had never shown his adopted son. The thick, dark hair had thinned and whitened too quickly; the capable hands had calloused seemingly overnight.
Fate had worked against him. Shortly before the lodge had been completed, before Pascha had been able to make things right between them, Andrei had died. He’d gone to bed and never woken up. A heart attack.
The man who’d raised him as if he were his own, who’d worked his fingers to the bone to give Pascha the chance to live, the man Pascha had walked away from...had gone. He’d lost the opportunity to apologise and make amends. He’d lost the opportunity to tell him that he loved him.
His grief-stricken mother...
Pascha’s apology and remorse had washed right over her. His words had come too late. He should have said them when Andrei was alive. Aliana Island was just a possession; it meant nothing to his mother, not when she no longer had her beloved husband to enjoy it with.
But, while he might never be able to make amends with Andrei personally, he could secure his legacy. It was the only thing he could do. And if he was successful...maybe then his mother would forgive him. Their relationship could be repaired—he had to believe that.
‘Do you spend much time here?’ Emily asked, thankfully moving the conversation onto safer territory.
‘Not as much as I would like.’
The yacht had been brought into a lagoon and moored alongside a small jetty. A panelling in the side of the yacht unfurled to reveal metal steps for them to disembark from. Pascha strolled down the steps and made his way up the jetty.
He was sorely tempted to get Luis, the man he employed to skipper his yacht, to take him straight back to Puerto Rico so he could take his jet directly to Paris, his next destination. However, he’d been awake for over a day, having flown from Milan to London in the early hours. He needed sleep. If there was one thing Pascha did not mess around with, it was his health, and sleep was instrumental to it.
The odds of the illness which had threatened his life as a child returning was miniscule, but a miniscule chance was worse than no chance at all. Sleep, exercise and a healthy diet were all things he could control. Controlling them lowered that miniscule chance, putting the odds even more in his favour.
He’d planned to sleep on the
