a long moment before she finally realised what he was saying. ‘You mean...you’re coming with us? And you’re...you’re not angry?’
‘Angry?’ Angelos stared at her, nonplussed. ‘Why do you think I am angry?’
A grin split her face as relief zinged through her. ‘Maybe you should look in a mirror on occasion,’ she dared to tease. ‘You’ve been scowling the whole time you were climbing the hill, and scaring the dickens out of your daughter and me.’
For a second Angelos looked almost embarrassed. ‘Well.’ He rubbed his chin, looking away. ‘Like I said, it is very hot out here.’
And then the full realisation of what he’d done bloomed inside her, and she felt caught between laughter and tears. Angelos was coming on their picnic. He was trying, and maybe that was what had brought the scowl to his face, because this was unfamiliar territory, and it was hard. Harder, perhaps, than Talia even knew.
He was coming out of his comfort zone, and she admired him for it. She knew how incredibly hard that could be.
‘We’re glad you’re here,’ she said, and stepped aside so Sofia couldn’t hide behind her any longer. ‘Aren’t we, Sofia?’
‘Ne,’ Sofia answered after a moment, ducking her head so her hair hid her face. Talia suppressed the urge to tuck it behind Sofia’s ears; she knew it was a defence mechanism, and one she employed whenever she was in her father’s presence.
‘Good.’ Angelos’s expression clouded as he saw the way Sofia hid, but then he gave one brisk nod and surveyed the valley before them. ‘So where are you intending to have this picnic?’
‘I thought we could walk to the far side of the island. There are some rocks there that look interesting.’ Talia pointed to some large boulders that bordered the shoreline, perfect for scrambling.
‘Very well.’ Angelos nodded again, and Talia had to smother a laugh as she realised how out of his element he was. He had the most commanding, confident presence of anyone she’d encountered, and yet he was clearly out of his depth here, no doubt trying to manage a picnic like a business meeting. ‘Shall we?’
‘Yes, we shall,’ she agreed, and she must not have been able to keep a teasing note from her voice because Angelos gave her a swift, suspicious look before he started down towards the valley.
They walked down the hill towards the opposite shore; the hillside was dotted with the ancient, gnarled trunks of olive trees, the ground strewn with stones. Talia stumbled on one, and before she’d even had a chance to right herself, Angelos steadied her with one strong hand on her elbow, the touch of his skin against hers a shock to her system just as it had been last night, like being doused in ice water, or jolted with electricity.
Except, Talia reflected as Angelos dropped his hand and they walked on, both of those sensations were unpleasant and Angelos’s touch hadn’t been unpleasant at all. Far from it. The few times his skin had brushed hers she’d felt a warmth blooming inside her, spreading outward, taking over. It was the kind of feeling that made her want more, made her wonder how to get it.
She was still feeling the aftershocks of his hand on her elbow as they approached the shore, little zinging sensations arrowing low down in her belly. Amazing how a hand on her elbow of all places could make her feel so...tingly. Dangerous too, because she knew she couldn’t entertain some kind of crush or attraction for her boss. For a whole lot of reasons.
Not least of all the complication of Giovanni’s book. But she didn’t want to think about the book today, or how she was going to bring up the subject with Angelos. She just wanted to enjoy their time together, as Sofia was.
She looked down at Sofia walking between them, her shy glance darting from Talia to Angelos, as if she couldn’t believe they were both here. And in truth, Talia couldn’t believe it. She’d spent hours last night, lying on her bed, staring into the darkness and wondering what Angelos had meant, saying Sofia was better off without him around.
How could he, how could any father, think such a thing? Talia knew what it was like to grow up motherless, fatherless, longing for so much as a memory of the parents she’d had and having only an empty space in her heart and head instead.
She knew her parents hadn’t been perfect, far from it. Her oldest brother, Alessandro, had hard memories of her mother and father, memories he wouldn’t speak of to anyone, or at least not to Talia. She knew her father had had an affair, which had resulted in a half-brother she barely knew, Nate.
But surely any parents were better than none? Sometimes she and her sister Bianca, who had only a few shadowy memories of their mother—the smell of perfume, the jingle of bracelets—talked about how they missed their parents, missed having ever known them. Missed having a memory of a conversation or cuddle. Giovanni was wonderful, but he’d been only one old and sometimes ill man to care for seven very different and sometimes difficult children.
So why did Angelos shy away from his daughter? Last night, when she’d been in his study and heard the anguish in his voice, seen it in his face for a moment, Talia had been sure there was some private torment that kept Angelos from his daughter, and she’d longed to know what it was, so she could try to relieve him of such an awful burden.
But who was she, she’d asked herself in the darkness of her bedroom last night, to relieve anyone of anything? She’d chosen a life of isolation rather than brave the world around her. She wasn’t in any position to offer advice.
But you’re different. You’re protecting yourself physically. Angelos is cutting himself off from the person he loves.
‘Shall we stop here?’ Angelos asked, and Talia blinked the world into focus. She’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d barely been aware of the island around her, the sea shimmering with sunlight, the boulders they’d reached pointing proudly to a hard, blue sky.
‘Yes, this looks good.’ Talia took the blanket from her bag and spread it over a patch of even sand. Sofia sat down, kicking off her sandals and then digging her toes into the sand with a sigh of pleasure.
Angelos sat nearby, his long, muscular legs stretched out in front him, his arms braced behind him, as he gazed out at the sea.
‘Now this isn’t so bad, is it?’ Talia teased, and he shot her a dark look.
‘It’s hot. But the breeze is pleasant.’
‘You know I’m not talking about the weather.’
‘No.’ His forehead furrowed, he glanced at Sofia, who was now kneeling in the sand, scooping it up in handfuls.
‘How about we make a sandcastle?’ Talia suggested, waving a bucket, and clearly taking her meaning, Sofia clapped her hands. Angelos looked nonplussed.
‘A what?’
‘A sandcastle? You have made one, haven’t you, when you were a child at least?’
‘No, not as a child.’ He drew his legs up and rested his forearms on his knees, his expression becoming distant and veiled. ‘I... I used to make them with Sofia.’ He glanced at his daughter, who was watching him warily, not understanding the English. ‘But she’d always eat the sand.’
‘I’m assuming she was a baby at the time?’ Talia said. She was oddly moved by the arrested look on Angelos’s face,
