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They dressed for travel and, as he strapped on his watch, a piercing sensation went into his chest. He had thought about looking for it a few times, but it had meant revisiting those early days of loss, and those dark days after the watch had gone missing and his mother had accused him of misplacing it, never wanting to admit that Lambros had sold it.

Spiro had convinced himself he didn’t want anything from his past, but with this watch, Alia had given him back a piece of his history. A piece of himself.

“I was afraid you would think I was being overly romantic,” she said softly.

He disliked being caught in moments of introspection. It felt too intimate, even when it was his lover looking at him. His wife. Even when her soft expression was so beautiful, it hurt to look into her eyes.

“I love it,” he admitted.

Something flickered behind those melted-chocolate eyes of hers—a flash that dimmed before she forced a smile and turned away. “I’m glad.”

Ah, hell. He knew that glint of dashed hope. He’d seen it on female faces before.

I brought her here to cushion her against loss, not set her up for more heartbreak.

“Alia.”

She turned from clipping her earring onto the edge of her ear, her most pleasant smile firmly in place.

Don’t do that, he wanted to say. He hated when she withdrew from him. It pushed all his acquisitive buttons, but another part of him knew it was better for her to protect herself, even if it was from him.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” he muttered, taking hold of her upper arms in the light crepe jacket she wore and touching the scarf she’d tied to hide the mark on her neck.

“Completely,” she assured him, but she was speaking to his Adam’s apple. “Are you ready? I know the plane will wait for us, but I’m anxious to get back to Yaya.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Despite the excellent care she was receiving, Herena’s health was failing rapidly. Alia didn’t want to see it, but it was obvious when they returned that she had declined. She was sleeping most of the day and had completely lost her appetite.

Aside from a weekend in Rome, Alia didn’t leave her for more than an evening after that, but this weekend was the much-vaunted AGM that had loomed over her marriage since the day after Spiro woke up.

They stayed in the city because it was a busy two days of presentations and breakout meetings culminating in the vote, then a formal ball. Spiro wanted Alia with him, ensuring Lambros had no opportunities to pretend they were anything less than devoted to one another.

In fact, Spiro had taken things up a level, assigning Alia to host the executive spouses for an afternoon social that his mother had been running for decades.

Daphne didn’t wish to be deposed. Alia had heard Spiro on the phone with her, overriding whatever objections she had voiced.

When he ended the call, Alia had said, “Let her do it if you want to keep the peace. I don’t have strong feelings about it.”

“It’s not peace she wants. It’s a weapon she intends to use. She wants me to believe there’s no value in having the ears of all those wives. Why does she want it so badly, then? Because all those women want to know who holds the power to advance their husband’s career. I do.” He tapped his chest. “But she wants them to believe that if their husbands throw support behind Lambros, they’ll reap special favors later. If you host, they will see the back channel to the top is through you.”

It all sounded very Shakespearean, but Alia went along with his wishes.

Now, as she welcomed a flow of well-dressed women into the atrium restaurant of the hotel, she tensed when she saw Daphne bearing down on her.

“Will you ask Khristos to make an appearance here, please?” Alia murmured to the MSPM assistant beside her. “Immediately?”

Alia had asked Julian to host with her, but he was in a sports bar down the street, watching a game with the handful of husbands who were not interested in tiny English sandwiches and the fashion accessories that would be modeled for guests.

Khristos was only one floor away, in a ballroom where Spiro was giving a presentation prior to the vote that would be held to determine whether he stayed on as CEO.

“Daphne.” Alia greeted Spiro’s mother with her warmest smile. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“I host the afternoon tea,” Daphne said with haughty affront. She wore an ivory skirt-suit with a blood-red scarf and stepped right in front of her.

“Spiro asked me to do it.” Alia kept her tone mild and stepped around her to face her. “Did he not speak to you?”

“He did not,” Daphne lied coldly.