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What do I wear? she asked.

Something from today.

Well, that was helpful, wasn’t it?

Are we meeting anyone?

Just us. I’ll wear a jacket and tie, he added.

Now it started to sound like a date. Her heart swooped, but she didn’t let that thought take hold. She allowed the nurse to take over with Yaya and went upstairs to get ready, walking in on Spiro speaking to someone in clipped tones.

“No. We have plans.” A pause, then, “Yes, I heard your message. That’s why I texted that we have plans. No. Absolutely not. You know why. I’ll see you in the city once I’m back at the office. You. Not him. Fine. Lunch on Monday. I’ll have Florian set it up.”

Spiro swore wearily and came into the dressing room, where Alia was tentatively applying makeup she was still learning to use. She had changed into cream-colored, wide-legged pants and a matching, fitted crop-top, but he didn’t offer an opinion on her outfit.

His movements were contained, aggression radiating off him as he shot his arms into a dark blue dinner jacket with a subtle pattern. Silk jacquard? She had learned the term from the designer at the boutique.

“Did Mother or Lambros come here while I was in the hospital?” he asked in a tone that warned she had better have the correct answer.

“No.” She pushed the mascara wand back into its tube and twisted it closed. “She suggested coming for lunch so we could get to know each other. I pointed out that I was at the hospital all day every day.” Alia held back mentioning that his mother had made little effort at more than a brief appearance there.

“Good,” he grunted. “My staff knows that she is only allowed in this house if I’m here and she’s alone. Lambros is never to cross the threshold. Not even to identify my dead body. Herena’s caregivers should have been told that, but follow up to be sure they understand how serious I am.”

“I will.” His animosity toward his stepfather was actual hatred, Alia realized with a chill. The last thing she wanted was for that level of antipathy to be turned on her, but she didn’t know how to iron things out after today.

“Are you ready? You look nice,” he said.

A full-body blush rose under her skin, making her drop her gaze and say inanely, “I don’t know what to do with my hair.” She had released it from its ponytail and picked up one of her new decorative clips. It looked like filigreed gold, but she wasn’t used to any of this—wearing sophisticated clothes and trying to match accessories.

Going out with a man.

“I will never complain when you wear it down. But there will be formal occasions, like the gala next weekend, when you’ll want to wear it up. I’ll have Florian find you a stylist. Shall we go?”

“What gala?” she asked as they walked down to the foyer.

“Florian will send our schedule. We have several engagements.”

Several? “I thought you said there was no downside to our staying married,” she grumbled.

He cut her a glance, removing his sunglasses as they came out to the twilight of early evening. “You don’t like dressing up and going out?”

“I haven’t done it enough to be good at it,” she said with exasperation.

“Good thing we’re having a rehearsal, then.” He made her back tingle with pleasure as he helped her into the car.

The restaurant was the kind she’d only ever seen from the outside. It overlooked a marina and they were shown to a premium table on the terrace where fairy lights and candles created a romantic atmosphere. Soft music played in the background and a warm breeze caressed her face and arms.

“This is even fancier than the dates I pretended we went on,” Alia said after she had awkwardly allowed Spiro to seat her and he had instructed the maître d’ to serve them whatever the chef recommended.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh.” She shouldn’t have said anything. “The, um, doctor said that I should talk to you when you were in your coma. Do you remember anything I might have said?” she asked with dread. How mortifying if he did.

“No. Maybe.” His attention shifted to an internal place. “It’s not a proper memory, but I remember something that I thought was… I don’t know. It felt familiar. I think I became used to your voice. It’s very lyrical. It must have been strange, though, talking to someone who doesn’t respond?”

“Not really.” She cleared her throat. Had he called her voice lyrical? She smiled as wine arrived and sipped to wet her dry throat. “I’m used to chatting to Yaya even though she doesn’t always take it in.”

“What did you say to me?” His gaze delved into hers.