The Silver Bride

'No, it isn't that. It's you,' he condemned with a wry light in his eyes. 'I get so used to listening to you say whatever you like that I relax my guard around you.' Stella thought about that. 'That's good.' Well, sometimes it would be good—even most of the time, she adjusted inwardly. But right now she really could have done without finding out that Dior had been comparing her in even the tiniest way with Aria.

Such a trivial little com‐ parison too: Aria so tall and shapely, Stella so small and slightly built. But still, Stella would have preferred not to have had the confirmation that the beautiful brunette was still so much in Dior's thoughts on their wedding day. But then it didn't take a rocket scientist to work out why Aria was on Dior's mind.

All his a.d.u.l.t life, Dior had assumed that Aria would be his wife. He had had little time to come to terms with the sudden switch in brides. And he certainly cared about Aria, Stella was forced to concede. He praised the beautiful brunette, became upset if she was criticized and hotly defended her. As she faced those hard facts head-on, Stella was in pain.

What if Dior did love the other woman? He might have decided to put the needs of his unborn child ahead of his personal feelings. But if he had done that, time would weaken his resolve, wouldn't it? As they entered the huge hall, Dior dragged Stella back to the present by momentarily stilling with a low-pitched groan.

'We have company,' he sighed. Two tiny old ladies with almost identical creased faces and wide smiles were waiting for them in the hall. Stella rather thought she had noticed the elderly pair in their old-fashioned black dresses on her previous visit to the villa. Dior greeted both women in a flow of warm Greek.

He settled Stella down on her stocking-clad feet to introduce her to his grandmother's twin sisters: Lucy and Bella. 'Dior has no mother to welcome you to your new home,' Lucy—Stella thought it was—said in heavily accented English.

'We are here to make you welcome.' To make you welcome,' Bella repeated cheerfully. 'Bella, I have said that.' Her sister turned to admonish her. 'But we are not staying long.' Bella gave her sister a decidedly defiant look. Stella couldn't help herself. She just grinned. An abundant supper awaited them in the big drawing-room she remembered.

Lucy and Bella sat perched on the sofa opposite. They were so small and shrunken that their feet didn't touch the carpet. In between arguing with each other, they urged more food on Dior and shot loaded questions at Stella. What did she think of the island?

With pride, they announced that neither of them had ever left the island, even for a day. Didn't she think it would be a wonderful place to live all year round? Did she know how much Dior loved Chandos? Didn't she think that Dior worked too hard and traveled too much?