LITMIR.BIZ

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do.”

      “Did any cross the water into our country?”

      “Three families that we know of.”

      “Do they still exist?”

      “Yes, but were given Halencian citizenship at a time when our borders were more porous. They’re no longer a problem. What I’m concerned about is creating high-tech jobs. Tourism and agriculture alone aren’t going to sustain our growing population. I have many plans and have been laying the groundwork to establish software companies and a robotics plant, all of which can operate here to build Halencian industry.”

      “So that’s what you’ve been doing in San Francisco all these years. No wonder you didn’t come home often.”

      “Are you accusing me of being a workaholic?”

      Her eyelids narrowed. “Are you?”

      “I make time to play.”

      “Since I won’t be able to go to sleep for a long time, what can I do for you, my husband?”

      “How about reading to me?”

      The question pleased her no end. “You’d like that?”

      “I saw a book in your suitcase. Have you read it already?”

      “I’m in the middle of it.”

      “What’s it called?”

      “Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton. He wrote about South Africa and the breakdown of the tribal system. It’s not the part of Africa I know, but it’s so wonderful I’m compelled to finish the book.”

      “I never got around to reading it,” he said.

      “Tell you what. I’ll read you the blurb on the flyleaf. If it interests you, I’ll read from the beginning until you fall asleep.”

      “I’m surprised you don’t carry a Kindle with you. Aren’t physical books heavy to carry when traveling?”

      “They can be, but I really like to hold a book in my hands. They’re like an old friend I can see peeking at me from the bookshelf, teasing me to come and read again.”

      “I’ve decided you’re a Renaissance woman, Christina.”

      “That’s a curious word.”

      “It really describes you. You’re a very intelligent woman. I see in you a revival of vigor and an interest in life that escapes most people. You’re more intriguing than you know.”

      If she was intriguing, that was something. “When did you discover that?” she asked without looking at him.

      “It happened when you were just fifteen. I drove you and Elena to an old monastery in the woods above Lake Geneva. When we went inside, you were able to translate all the Latin inscriptions in those glass cases. I detested Latin and at eighteen I still needed a tutor for it. To hear you translating for us, I was so stunned at your expertise, it left me close to speechless. Do you remember that time?”

      He remembered that? It caused her pulse to pick up speed. “Yes. I was showing off to you so you wouldn’t think that your sister was spending time with a complete numbskull. My mother hated it that I was such a bookworm and would rather read than go to tea with a bunch of girls who only talked about boys and clothes.”

      “This conversation is getting interesting. When did you first become interested in boys?”

      “Actually I was crazy about them at a very early age.” Pictures of Prince Antonio and Princess Elena were constantly in the news. From the time she was about eight, she always liked to see photos of the famous brother and sister in the newspaper accompanying their family on a ski trip or some such thing.

      He was the country’s darling. By the time she met him in person, she’d already developed a crush on him that only grew after being with him. Of course all the silliness ended when she left Montreux and had new experiences in Africa. Once in a while she and Marusha would see him in the news, but until Elena’s brush with the law he’d been as distant to her as another galaxy.

      Antonio broke into laughter. “The secret life of Christina Rose. How scandalous.”

      She chuckled. “Marusha had plenty to tell me about tribal mating rituals of the Kikuyu. In fact, she kept me and Elena royally entertained most nights after lights went out. We’d stay up half the night talking. She had a crush on this security guard who was guarding a VIP at the Montreux Palace Hotel.

      “You know how beautiful Marusha is. Well, we’d walk past him and she’d say things to him to capture his interest. He never spoke, but his eyes always watched her. He was tall, maybe six foot five, and he kept his arms folded. He was the most impressive figure I ever saw and I think he was the reason she could handle being in Montreux when she’d rather be home in Africa.”

      Laughter continued to rumble out of Antonio.

      “Your sister had other interests. There was a drummer in the band that played at this one disco we were ordered not to visit. He was crazy about her and kept making dates with her. She only kept one of them. It was through him she met other guys, the kind she finally ended up with who got thrown in jail for drugs.”

      “Let’s be thankful she has grown up now, but don’t stop talking,” Antonio murmured. “I could listen to you all night. What masculine interest did you have?”

      Christina didn’t dare tell him that there was no male to match Antonio. His image was the one she’d always carried in the back of her mind. “Oh… I always loved men in the old Italian movies. You know, Franco Nero, Marcello Mastroianni, Vittorio De Sica.”

      “No Halencian actors?”

      “No. I’ve liked a couple of British actors too. Rufus Sewell…ooh-la-la.” She grinned. “Now, there is a male to die for! So, which actress did it for you?”

      “That would be difficult to answer.”

      “You don’t play fair. You manage to get a lot of information out of me, but I ask you one question and suddenly you play possum.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “It means you play dead like a possum when you don’t want to reveal yourself. The possum does it for protection. It’s a very funny American expression and it describes you right now. What are you hiding from? Is the truth too scary for you?”

      “Have a heart, Christina. I’m not nearly so terrible a womanizer as some of the tabloids have made me out to be. They’re mostly lies.”

      “That’s all right. You just keep telling yourself that. When I married you I forgave you for everything. But I’ve talked your ear off, so excuse me for a minute.”

      She hurried into the other bedroom and grabbed the book from the table, and then she returned to Antonio. “Are you still in the mood to be read to, or are you ready to confess your sins?”

      “Yes and no.”

      He was hilarious.

      “All right, then. Here’s the quote from it. ‘Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear.’” She read the rest.

      A long silence ensued before Antonio murmured, “That’s very moving. Tell me something honestly. Are you going to miss Africa too much?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You’ve spent ten years of your life there. So many memories and friends you’ve made.”

      “Well, I’m hoping that from time to time I’ll be able to fly to Nairobi to keep watch over the foundation, which I plan to continue with your permission.”

      “There’s no question about that.”

      Good. “But our marriage is my first priority, and your needs come first and always will with me.”

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