“I love our life,” Pippi said with a sigh one day.
“I love our life, too, mikrí mou.”
They were seated by the window in their favorite cafe in Isla de Flores, with both of them nursing mugs of steaming hot coffee between their hands.
“I’m just so thankful you gave my town a chance,” his wife said shyly. “I know you’ve yet to make any friends here, and while the people here aren’t as sophisticated as your friends, they’re all very nice, and you’ll find them great company, too.”
Acheron only nodded, thinking it was too soon to shatter Pippi’s illusions about how “simple” Isla de Flores was. As he found more and more time to explore the town and meet the other locals, he had come to realize that IDF seemed to have the highest population of secret millionaires in the entire state. And in this case, he was using the word ‘millionaire’ rather loosely, having realized that these men had deliberately avoided crossing the billion-dollar mark to avoid being in the limelight.
The owner of the cafe they were in, the town’s sole lawyer, the guy managing the corner bookstore and even IDF’s own mayor – Acheron, because of his rather extensive connections, had known who they all were despite their rather convincing attempt in downplaying their wealth.
Even Alistair had moved to IDF recently, and thinking about this made Acheron frown as he recalled the last time he was at the local hospital. “Has Vik mentioned anything to you about finding a boyfriend?”
“Vik? My man-hating sister Vik?” Pippi shook her head with a laugh. “That’s impossible.”
And yet he had seen Vik and Alistair together.
“Why do you ask?” his wife questioned curiously.
“Just a thought.” Whatever was going on between those two was up to them. There were other better ways to spend the time than meddling in other people’s businesses, and speaking of which—
Pippi straightened up in her seat in shock when she felt Acheron touch her knee under the table. Her gaze flying to his, she frantically shook her head –
But then she felt his fingers start creeping up.
“Open your legs, mikrí mou.” Her husband’s voice was low and husky, a voice meant to seduce and own. “You know you want to.”
Lud, lud, lud.
But because he was right, her legs slowly parted —
I love our life.