“Oh, I should have realized. I could translate for you.”
“That’s all right. I trust you to pick something tasty. Not too spicy, though.”
He laughed, then spoke in fluent Greek to the waiter, while the man scribbled down their orders.
Olivia tried not to stare at Darius, but her eyes were drawn to him like a magnet. Every time she was around him, she grew more impressed. The way he handled himself with quiet confidence yet no trace of arrogance. The gentle way he treated his daughter. Even his grief over Meredith’s death showed how decent and caring he was.
“Is something the matter?” He watched her, a hint of amusement in his eyes, after the waiter had headed off to the kitchen.
She dropped her gaze to the tablecloth, her cheeks heating. “I was just admiring . . . your tie.” She almost groaned. How inane did that sound? Her ears now felt on fire.
He chuckled, as though knowing she hadn’t said what she’d really been thinking. “Thank you. Sofia picked it out for me. She has very good taste.”
The waiter returned with a basket of some type of flatbread, which he set in the middle of the table.
Olivia had never been more relieved for an interruption. She plucked a piece from under the cloth and set it on her plate, praying to get her emotions under control before she humiliated herself and ruined the evening.
Darius gazed at Olivia’s flushed face and wished he knew what she was thinking. Was this all a bit too much for her? Should he have taken her somewhere less blatantly romantic?
Well, it was too late to second-guess his decision now. He’d have to make the best of the situation.
He tried hard to calm his nerves as he watched her. She looked so incredibly beautiful in the candlelight. He couldn’t believe she’d agreed to this outing.
He forced his gaze to his plate. Tonight, he would concentrate on getting to know her better, and hopefully coax her into opening up a bit more about herself. And he wouldn’t make the same mistake he had with Meredith. He would offer no criticism or judgment of the events that had changed her life.
“What did you order for us, or is it a surprise?” Her teasing question brought him out of his thoughts.
“No surprise.” He smiled, relieved at a turn in the conversation. “I ordered us roast lamb with rice and grilled vegetables. Lamb is a Greek specialty.”
“It sounds wonderful. Mrs. Neale does an admirable job cooking for us, but I find her dishes a bit bland. Maybe because I’m used to my mother adding loads of garlic and spices.”
“This meal definitely won’t be bland.” He winked, then took a sip of his water as he mulled ways to bring up the topics he hoped to discuss.
Soft music played in the background. Muted conversation and the occasional burst of laughter sounded from the other guests in a room across the way.
“If it’s not too painful,” Olivia said softly, “would you tell me about your late wife?”
His hand stilled on his glass. “What would you like to know?” It was a subject he usually avoided at all costs, unless Sofia asked about her mother.
Another couple entered the restaurant, and the hostess seated them several tables away, enough to ensure their privacy, which suited Darius.
“How did you meet? How long were you married?” Olivia gave a tiny shrug.
Maybe it would be cathartic to talk about Selene. Perhaps it was time to test the scab over the wound. “Selene and I grew up on the same street. Our parents were best friends. It became understood that we would marry one day, and when I finished school and got my first job, I proposed. We were married that summer and moved into her parents’ house.”
“Was Selene Greek as well?”
“Yes. Her family came over around the same time as my parents. We had so much in common, which was the bond that strengthened our relationship. When we learned Selene was expecting, we became our own little family.”
Olivia bit her lip. “I wish I’d had the chance to share that with Rory. I wrote to him, of course, but I don’t know if he ever received my letters.”
He frowned. “Didn’t he write back?”
“He might have, but by that time I was in the reformatory. After I was released, I found out that my father had destroyed all his letters.”
His chest constricted at the sorrow on her face. “You must have loved him very much.”
She raised troubled eyes to his. “At the time, I did. I was so very young, and my father didn’t approve of Rory because he wasn’t Italian, which made him all the more enticing.” She set the bread down on her plate. “We got engaged right before he enlisted, and then I made that one terrible mistake, giving in to him the night before he left.”
From her frown, Darius deduced she blamed herself more than Rory.
“I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead,” he said slowly, “but an honorable man wouldn’t have made such a demand, knowing he would be leaving you to bear the possible consequences of his actions.”
She nodded. “I went through a great deal of anger thinking about that—not to mention fury with my father for his actions.” She straightened her shoulders. “However, I came to realize that living with that type of resentment only harms me and doesn’t change anything.”
He covered her hand with his. “I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but I admire you greatly for your courage to turn your life into something positive.”
She shook her head. “Please don’t make me out to be anyone special. I’m only doing what I can to move forward. With God’s help, I’ve found that giving back to others is allowing me to heal.” She gave a sad smile. “Well, except for losing Abigail, but that was another lesson.”
The desire to comfort her became a physical
