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Alia poured it as he took his seat. The aroma enveloped him like an old friend. He lifted the cup and inhaled the bitter fragrance of nut and dark chocolate. It mingled with orange blossom and honeysuckle from the nearby planters, lemon and oregano off the eggy tiropita he liked to eat for breakfast and a faint, hot breeze of sunshine and sea air.

His home overlooked the glittering waters of Dikastika Bay. It had been built to his specifications, was fenced and gated, and typically the only people here were those he hired or invited himself.

Alia sank into the chair opposite and added a spoonful of honey to a dish of yogurt. “How are you feeling?”

He sipped his coffee, closing his eyes as the darkly roasted tang rolled across his taste buds and caffeine entered his bloodstream, awakening his senses.

“Good?” she asked with amusement.

He opened his eyes. “Cut the crap, Alia. Who the hell are you?”

Her humor fell away, replaced with a calm mask that hid any sting he might have caused with his gruff words.

She licked her lips. He was annoyed that he noticed.

“Julian and I are friends from childhood. We grew up together on Karpathos.”

“That’s where he and Khristos went on their honeymoon,” Spiro recalled.

His brother had married his longtime partner six months ago, in March. They could have gone anywhere in the world to celebrate their nuptials, but they’d chosen the Dodecanese islands in the southeastern Aegean. Julian had wanted to visit the village of his birth.

“I presumed they were looking for a holiday property, not visiting old friends.”

“His family sold their cottage years ago, when Julian moved to Athens for university. He and Khristos stayed with us in Yaya’s pension.” Alia smiled as though it was a pleasing memory.

She was quick to smile, Spiro noticed. It was an irritation when his world had been toppled so thoroughly. It was as though she didn’t realize what she’d done to him. Or didn’t care. As though she was happy to be taking advantage of him, the way Lambros had done for so many years.

Her relentless cheer made more sense if her days were spent running a boarding house, though. He imagined that work required a constant, chipper attitude no matter what was going on behind the scenes.

A lot was going on behind the scenes. He caught the shadows that flickered behind her shiny armor as she continued speaking.

“Things have been difficult lately. Yaya’s symptoms have become very challenging to manage. Our village is too remote to have professional supports. The best care is here in Athens, but logistically, I couldn’t see how to get her here and look after her the way she needs. Even if I found a job at a hotel, those wages don’t cover a private nurse. Who would stay with her while I was at work? Her doctor put her name on some waiting lists for care facilities, but…” She shrugged, trying to appear philosophical while she worried her lip with her teeth.

“So you asked Julian for help and he suggested you marry someone wealthy and unconscious?”

“No. I mean, I did ask him for help after I saw him in March. The pension doesn’t actually belong to Yaya. The house has been in her husband’s family for generations and belongs to her nephew.”

“Not you?” Greek laws ensured spouses and children were not excluded from inheritance rights. Spiro had become familiar with the rules when he’d had to fight Lambros for control of his father’s company.

“Yaya wasn’t able to have children. She was widowed and living alone when I was orphaned. She took me in, but it was never a formal adoption, just a foster situation. Her nephew—”

“She’s not even your real grandmother?” He had thought her actions couldn’t get any more contemptible! “What the hell is she doing in my house?”

“Excuse me.” A fierce glint arrived in her eyes and she set her jaw pugnaciously. “I love her as though she is my flesh and blood. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known. Even if she wasn’t, no one should be discarded the way you’re suggesting.”

“I wasn’t saying that,” he muttered. He was only trying to regain control over his life. Learning his brother had married him off to a stranger was bad enough, but this orphaned waif with a foster grandmother was too much.

Alia sniffed and jabbed her spoon into her yogurt, then closed her lips over it. Her head was dipped to hide her expression, but he could see her eyebrows had gathered into a scowl.

He had very mixed feelings toward his own mother, but he would die for his brother. She seemed to have a similar loyalty to this woman who’d given her a home. Normally, he would admire that, but she was using him to look after her.

“You said she’s in the guest suite?” he asked.

“The one behind the garage, yes. I think it’s actually meant for a housekeeper or nanny. Khristos suggested it because it’s self-contained and has that little walled courtyard out the back, so she can go outside without wandering away.” Her chin came up, but instead of defiance, her eyes had become pools of helplessness.

“Why?” He could see what Khristos had been trying to accomplish with this marriage, but it was still preposterous. “Why you? Why did you go along with it? For her?”

His harsh tone made her flinch, then she smoothed her expression into one of dignity.