.

will not break. And I will not let you break our son.”

      She turned around and started walking back the way she’d come, moving quickly, almost jogging back to the road, and then once on the road, she kept jogging, running, as if she could escape him, her and the truth.

      She loved the baby.

      The baby was hers...

      * * *

      She was grateful Nikos didn’t chase after her. She would have had to run faster, and she didn’t want to fall. She just wanted to get back to her room, to lock her door and hide.

      But the moment she reached her room, she felt ill, cold and shaky and nauseous. She dashed into the bathroom, leaning over the toilet, stomach rolling, churning.

      Her heart would break if she gave the baby up. Her heart would never be the same. How could she do this?

      How could she hand him over and never look back?

      It wasn’t just because Nikos was detached and cold and hard. It actually had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her. She loved the baby. She loved him and talked to him at night, and in her heart she talked to him throughout the day...

      Tears streamed as she emptied her stomach.

      Afterward, she clung weakly to the toilet, trying to catch her breath, trying to get her stomach to settle.

      But her stomach wouldn’t settle. The tears wouldn’t stop. She’d made a pact with the devil. She’d sold her soul to make sure her sister would be financially taken care of, but the cost was too high.

      The cost was unbearable.

      She’d spent all this time telling herself it wasn’t her baby, wasn’t her son, but it was a lie.

      He was hers.

      And she loved him.

      And it would break what was left of her heart if she left this island without him.

      “This isn’t good,” Nikos said from the bathroom doorway, his deep, rough voice echoing in the small space.

      She used her sleeve to dry her damp eyes. “Did you break the door down?” she asked hoarsely.

      “I used the key.”

      “Thank you.”

      He disappeared from the bathroom and returned a minute later with a glass of water. He handed her the glass. “Rinse, spit and come talk to me in the living room.”

      She did as he suggested, and when she emerged he pointed to the couch.

      “Sit,” he said.

      She wanted to tell him not to be bossy, but she didn’t have the energy. Instead she sank onto the cushion and curled her legs up under her.

      Nikos faced her, hands on his hips. “I don’t like to see you this way. It’s not good for—”

      “The baby. I know.” Her chin lifted. “I’m aware of that, and I don’t want to stress him in any way.”

      Nikos’s jaw tightened. “I was going to say you. It’s not good for you.”

      She didn’t know how to answer. She just looked at him, her heart so raw, her emotions wild.

      “What is happening here?” he ground out. “I don’t understand it.”

      “Understand what? That you kiss me and then run away...or that I tell you I’m scared and then you tell me it’s none of my business?”

      He muttered something beneath his breath. She couldn’t make out the words, wasn’t even sure if he was speaking English.

      “What did you say?” she demanded.

      “It’s not important.”

      “I think it is. I think it’s time you talked to me, Nikos. Not yell, not shame, not intimidate, not berate. Talk to me. Have a conversation.”

      “I’m not good at this.”

      “You’ll get better with practice, and even if you don’t want to do it for me, do it for your son’s sake. He will need you to talk and listen. He will need you to not close down the moment you feel threatened—”

      “I don’t feel threatened!”

      “You’re terrified of emotion.”

      “That’s not true.”

      “You run from intimacy like a little, scared schoolboy.”

      “What?”

      “It’s true. Conflict isn’t going to kill you, Nikos. Having an uncomfortable conversation is just that—uncomfortable—but it’s not the end. It doesn’t mean we hate each other or won’t still be friends—”

      “Are we friends?” he interrupted, standing over her, black eyebrows flattened over dark, piercing eyes.

      She had to think about the definition of the word for a moment. “Yes. At least, I think we should be. It’s the only way to get through this. It’s the only way I can possibly manage this last part...getting through to the end.”

      “So you do have misgivings now?”

      “I don’t know what kind of woman I would be not to feel conflicted. I feel him moving. He’ll give a kick when I talk. When I go to bed, he gets active. It’s like a game we play.” Her throat ached, and the lump she’d been fighting grew. She couldn’t say more. It would be impossible to say more, especially when the emotion was right there on the surface.

      He dropped into a chair next to the couch and leaned forward, looking at her intently. “I have been making it harder for you, haven’t I?”

      “The whole thing is hard.” She struggled to smile. “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this in one piece.”

      “You make me nervous when you say that.”

      “And you make me nervous when I imagine you isolating a child from the world. Promise me you’ll take him on trips and adventures...promise me you’ll expose him to a life outside Kamari.”

      He searched her eyes. “I promise.”

      She blinked back tears. “Good.”

      “I will be a good father to him, too, Georgia. I will love him, and I will protect him—”

      “Protect him from what, Nikos? From the world, or from you?”

      He shifted, uneasy.

      “You are only really, truly dangerous when you detach and disappear,” she said. “I don’t like your rough edges or your coldness when you’re angry, but the distance...that feels like rejection. Abandonment. No one wants that.”

      “I pull away to keep from hurting you.”

      “You only hurt me when you pull away.”

      “I hurt you on the tarmac. I made you run away in tears.”

      “Because you’d pulled away! You and I had this incredible moment in my room and then you disappeared completely for days. It hurt. So tell me now, why do you do that after we’re close? Why do you punish me?”

      “I’m not punishing you. I’m punishing me.” There was an edge in his voice, and tension washed off him in waves. “I should have had more control. I should have not taken advantage of you.”

      “You didn’t take advantage of me. I took advantage of you. I wanted everything you did, and more.”

      Heat flared in his eyes, and she nodded. “I loved being close to you. You are so good at what you do...you’re wow. Seriously, wow. You make me feel so good, but then you leave and I feel ashamed because I think my pleasure disgusts you—”

      “No.”

      She