by Joan Hohl
* * * *
It was fully dark outside when Andrea woke from a lovely dream in which she and Paul had walked hand in hand, ecstatic together, in a strange and unfamiliar but fantastically beautiful land. So stunningly beautiful had the land been—warm and sunlit, the earth verdant and filled with an abundance of colorful life, a true paradise—that for a moment Andrea mourned the passing of the dream. Then she turned her head and the memory faded, overshadowed by the beauty of the man standing by a wall of glass, smiling for her... only for her.
“You smiled in your sleep, my heart,” Paul said softly.
“I had a beautiful dream,” Andrea murmured.
In the dim indirect lighting, his eyes seemed to glow with inner amusement. “Dreams do come true, you know,” he whispered. “I had a dream of you... and here you are.”
“Yes,” Andrea replied. “Here I am. And I haven’t really seen the ‘here’ where I am.” Unconcerned and unembarrassed by her nudity, she pushed the bedcovers back and left the bed.
Scooping a silky robe from the back of a chair, Paul held it out for her. Andrea felt a sensuous thrill as the silky material glided over her skin. Knowing the robe belonged to Paul, she wrapped it tightly around herself. The smile that curved his sculpted mouth and darkened his eyes told her that he knew what she was feeling.
Curious about his house, Andrea glanced around the room. Her eyes halted at a large, open flight bag on a low chest against the wall. Slowly, Andrea raised her puzzled eyes to his.
“I have received word from my father,” Paul said in answer to her silent question. “I must return to my homeland.”
Stunned, Andrea stared at him in mute appeal.
“Come with me, my heart.” Raising his arm, Paul held his hand, palm up, out to her. “Love me as I love you. Come with me. Trust me.”
Andrea hesitated for an instant. She didn’t know where he might take her. She didn’t know if he was asking her to go with him to Greece or... Andrea didn’t know ... And in truth, she didn’t care. She would be with her love. Her instant of hesitation was over.
Smiling into his eyes, Andrea placed her hand in his with utter and complete trust.
* * *
Epilogue
The decor of the restaurant was underplayed elegance. Black-jacketed waiters and waitresses moved with silent efficiency among tables occupied by well-dressed patrons. Conversation was relaxed, low-key.
At a round table before a wide undraped window, a dark-suited russet-haired man raised a long-stemmed glass in salute to the couple seated opposite him and then to the woman seated next to him.
“To your health and happiness and to long years of artistic production together,” Sean Halloran toasted the pair.
“Hear, hear!” Alycia Halloran said, raising her glass to her lips.
Jared Cradowg and his bride of two hours, the former Karla Janowitz, smiled into each other’s eyes as they sipped their wine in acceptance of the toast.
“Thank you, Sean,” Jared said, tilting his glass at the other couple. “And to your continued happiness.”
“It was a lovely wedding,” Alycia murmured, smiling mistily at Karla.
“Yes.” Karla nodded. “Only one thing kept it from being absolutely perfect.”
“Andrea,” Alycia said, sighing.
“Why isn’t she here?” Karla exclaimed softly, recalling Andrea’s promise to stand beside her.
“Where is she?” Alycia cried in concern, recalling the endless ringing of the phone in California when she had tried to reach her friend.
The men spoke simultaneously.
“Darling, try not to worry—” Sean began.
“Karla, honey, I’m sure she’s all—” Jared began.
They were interrupted by the arrival of the wine steward, who came to a halt with a flourish at their table. Before their amazed eyes, the officious-looking man whipped the excellent bottle of domestic champagne they had ordered out of the standing ice bucket and waved imperiously to the waiter at his heels in a silent command to remove their glasses.
“Now, wait a minute—” Jared began.
“What’s this all—” Sean began.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” the wine steward interrupted, nodding to the waiter, who immediately set clean glasses in front of the puzzled foursome. “I was ordered to deliver this wine to you.” With a superior expression, he held a well-known, very expensive bottle of imported champagne aloft for their inspection.
Frowning in confusion, the foursome stared at the bottle and then at one another as the steward poured the bubbling liquid into their glasses. When each glass was half full, he placed the bottle in the bucket and held out a white envelope. “I was asked to give you this with the wine.” Turning smartly, he walked away.
Since Sean was seated closest to the steward, he handed the envelope to him. Raising his russet brows, Sean looked at his companions.
“You might as well see what this is all about,” Jared drawled.
“Right,” Sean agreed and tore the envelope open. He withdrew a single folded sheet of paper. Flipping it open, he read the contents aloud. “ ‘Dear friends,’ ” Sean began in a brisk, businesslike tone. “ ‘Please accept this bottle of champagne in celebration. I am sorry if I have disappointed you today.’ ” Sean’s tone and voice softened as he went on. “ ‘Karla and Jared, I wish you all the love and happiness that I know Alycia and Sean share. Though I can’t be there with you in person, please know that I am thinking about you and that I love all of you.’ ”
“Andrea,” Alycia whispered when Sean paused to glance up at them.
“But where is she?” Karla cried, clasping Jared’s hand for support.
Sean returned his attention to the note, found the place where he had left off, then continued reading. “ ‘I know that you are probably concerned about me, but please don’t be. For, you see, I am also celebrating this night. I am with the man I love. His name is Paul... and he is everything. Be as happy for me as I am for the four of you.’ ” Sean glanced up as he finished, “ ‘All Paul’s and my love, Andrea.’ ”
There was silence around the table for several seconds. Tears ran unchecked down the faces of the women and glittered in the eyes of the men.
Then Alycia slowly raised her glass. “To Andrea and her Paul,” said the woman who believed in yesterday. “May they love each other always.”
Karla held her glass with trembling fingers. “To Andrea and Paul,” repeated the woman who was firmly entrenched in today, “for all their tomorrows, wherever they may be.”
The meeting of four glasses over the table was reflected in the wide window. Beyond the brightly lit window, the chill, crisp air of late autumn afforded a spectacular view of a midnight-dark sky ablaze with brilliant sparkling stars.
* * * *
A man and woman stood arm in arm at the rail of the luxury cruise ship, gazing at the panorama of a night sky glittering with millions of stars. The woman was weeping softly, not from sadness but with joy. In her hand she held a small piece of white paper. The message written on it was brief: “Dear Aunt Celia and Uncle Blaine, I love you. I am happy. Paul is taking care of me. Andrea.”
About the Author
With many millions of her romances in print, Joan Hohl/Amii Lorin is an author romance readers can't seem to get enough of. She has received numerous awards for her work, including the Romance Writers of America Golden Medallion...the equivalency of the current Romance Writers of America Rita award.
When Joan sold her first book her editor asked her for a penname. It didn't take long for her to come up with Amii Lorin. Some years later, Joan began writing under her own name, but she has always preferred Amii Lorin. And now, through Belgrave House, Joan's preference is realized.
Joan lives in South East Pennsylvania with her husband of 57 years. She has two beautiful daughters, Lori and Amy...which explains her attachment to the name. There are two wonderful grandchildren and two adorable young great grandsons. She dotes on them all.
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sp; Publishing Information
Copyright © 1989 by Amii Loren/Joan Hohl
Originally published by Berkeley [0425114627]
Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.BelgraveHouse.com
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.