champagne now a pretty pink hue. “Not my memory,” he said, handing her the glass. “I was there once visiting friends. It was your Fourth of July. The fireworks in the marina had to be canceled due to fog.”
“That does happen,” she agreed. “But it’s almost a joke to those of us who live there. Will we see the fireworks? Won’t we? And if the fireworks are canceled, you just watch them on TV.” She sipped from her flute. “Mmm, this is nice. What is it?”
“Champagne with a generous splash of Chambord.”
“I like it.”
“The cocktail was inspired by your dress. You look beautiful tonight.”
The quiet sincerity in his deep voice made her heart jump and her stomach flip. “Thank you,” she whispered, touched, flattered. “I feel pretty tonight. Not normal for me.”
“I’d like to destroy the person that filled your head with lies. You are beautiful, Kassiani. You are beautiful inside and out.”
She opened her mouth to argue and then thought better of it. She and Damen argued too much as it was. “Thank you,” she said instead, aware that she was blushing. For a moment she was too flustered to concentrate and then she remembered the young woman from housekeeping. “The maid—”
“Neoma,” he supplied.
“You know her name?”
“I know the names of all my staff. I hire them myself.”
She was silent a moment, processing. “Neoma says she goes home every October when it’s time to pick olives.”
“The majority of my staff do. Olives are Adras’s chief economy. Olives and honey.”
“Do you go home—”
“Adras isn’t home.”
She suppressed a sigh. “Do you go back for harvest season?”
“I have.”
“Do you have your own groves?”
He hesitated. “I own all the groves on Adras.”
“All?”
“I essentially own Adras.”
“What does essentially own mean?”
“I bought the island.”
“Can you do that?”
He shrugged. “It was privately owned before, so it was a straightforward purchase, but over time, I’ve complicated things by encouraging the village to grow, and the people to assert themselves in terms of commerce. I thought it would be healthier for the people of Adras to have true economic independence. So while many on the island do work for me, they also have other options.”
“But the main source of income comes from the olives?”
“Olives and olive oil, yes.”
“Is there any tourism?”
“There has always been some during the summer, but once summer ends, tourists return home. So a few years ago, a half dozen of my more intrepid locals created a working holiday program, and it was so successful that this year, the accommodations are already fully booked for this fall.”
“What is a working holiday?”
“It’s where tourists come for our harvest season on Adras, and they stay in one of the small traditional Greek houses in the village, are served traditional Greek meals and exposed to our local culture, and in return, we put them to work in the groves, picking olives.”
Kassiani was fascinated. “People pay to do this.”
“Yes, and willing to pay a great deal for the privilege of working in our groves.”
“Do they actually help, or do the tourists get in the way?”
“Probably a little of both, but these aren’t the tourists that like being pampered on a cruise ship or luxury resort. They’re adventurous and are looking for new experiences, and being part of Greek culture is exciting for them. They have a fair amount of time off, and they enjoy exploring the island in their free time. They ride bikes and visit the beaches, and want souvenirs to take home so they spend money in the village, buying the honey and olive oil soaps and various olive oil products. They also eat in the taverna. They drink. They bring life to the little town.”
“You don’t mind them roaming about on your island?”
He shrugged. “I’m hardly ever there. And I don’t think of it as my island. I bought it so that I could give it back to the people of Adras.”
“Have many Americans participated in the work holiday program?”
“No Americans yet. Most have been from Holland and Scandinavia. Americans don’t seem to like taking their vacation days, or at least working on their vacation.”
“I think it’s a fantastic idea. I’d love to do it.”
“You’re not going to pick olives.”
“Why not? Haven’t you worked in the groves?”
“That’s different. I was born in the village. You’re a Dukas—”
“What does that have to do with anything? I’m Greek. The olive harvest is sacred in Greece.”
“Adras’s work holiday program is for seasoned European travelers who want authentic experiences, not my wife, or the lady of the estate. Women like you do not belong in the groves, or in the olive press. Period.”
“Even if I want to help?”
“It’s not up to you.”
“Why not? Maybe I can’t be a traditional Greek wife, but can’t I try to participate in Greek life? Locking me up in your villa will only create distance between me and the people who live on Adras.”
“As it should be. The villagers aren’t there to be your friends, or your playthings. They have their own lives and you’re not part of it.”
Kassiani’s jaw dropped. “That is so incredibly offensive.”
“Maybe. But it’s better that we are clear on this point now, because I am quite serious about this, and if it’s a problem for you, we simply won’t ever go to Adras—”
“You have a ridiculous need for power.” She jumped to her feet, and set her flute down on the table. “And this marriage is doomed if you think issuing me orders is going to help bring us closer!”
“I don’t understand your obsession with closeness.”
“It’s not an obsession!”
“Maybe because you were inexperienced when we married you don’t realize
