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joy.
    She prayed that her inner core, the steel
that only her husband had recognized in her, would somehow get her
through the next days and weeks. She’d stopped thinking in terms of
months or years. A future without Will was terrifying. One day at a
time would have to do for now.
    Diego led her out of the terminal to a black
Mercedes with dark tinted windows. When Alex caught sight of her
reflection in the car’s mirror-like finish, she grimaced. Florida’s
humidity was already frizzing her hair and she irritably tucked it
behind her ears. What was left of her makeup was melting. Her
appearance was one of the few things still within her control and
now that had been taken from her also. “The hell with it,” she
mumbled.
    “Welcome home, Señor Navarro,” the
cheerful driver said as he opened the car’s door for them. Diego
shook the man’s hand and introduced Alex.
    “Miguel, this is Mrs. Cameron.” The man
nodded to her.
    “Welcome, Señora . I hope your stay in
Miami will be pleasant.”
    “Thank you.” She hoped the expression on her
face was a smile and not a grimace. Despite a brief nap on the
plane, she was as cranky as an overtired two-year-old. All she
wanted to do was strip off her clothes, shower and crawl into bed.
She was grateful that Diego didn’t try to make conversation.
    After snaking its way through Miami traffic,
the car slowed to cross a narrow bridge and was waved through a
gated security checkpoint. Minutes later, they arrived at Diego’s
home. Alex looked out the window in time to notice the discreet
brass plaque on a stone pillar next to the driveway that read
“Villa Recoleta.” Ornate wrought-iron gates slid open at the touch
of a button on the car’s dashboard. Ground lights illuminated lush
landscaping and the villa beyond. The house — was it pink? — had
the look of Mexico or Tuscany, which made sense since Diego’s
mother was Italian and his father, Spanish. The beauty of the place
took her breath away and helped to improve her mood a tiny bit.
    The Mercedes glided to a stop in front of a
pair of enormous, intricately-carved wooden doors. Diego extended a
hand to help her from the back seat as a man emerged from the
house. He stood with erect military bearing, impeccably clad in a
dark navy suit, starched white shirt and charcoal gray tie. The
suit’s fine tailoring did little to disguise the muscles that were
apparent beneath his clothes. Alex wouldn’t have been surprised to
see him salute his returning master.
    “Welcome to the Villa Recoleta, Mrs.
Cameron,” he said formally. Then he grinned at Diego and the two
greeted each other as only men can by pounding each other on the
back. Diego introduced him as Serge, but didn’t elaborate. She
assumed the tall, blond man was a butler or some other household
employee. He had a slight accent that she couldn’t place. Eastern
European? German? Didn’t matter. Fatigue was making it hard for her
to think clearly.
    An olive-skinned, fortyish woman hurried
toward the door and hugged Diego, then excitedly said, “Welcome,
welcome, Señora Cameron. I am Luisa. I will do everything I
can to help you feel at home.” A radiant smile reinforced her words
and her dark eyes twinkled with a mixture of kindness and delight.
Alex liked her immediately.
    “Are you hungry? The cook prepared a light
supper as soon as we heard you were on your way. I am sure this has
been a difficult day for both of you.” Alex didn’t know how to
answer. She felt like she was a character trapped in an endless
play, only she didn’t have a script. Was it just this morning that
Will had been buried?
    Diego saw her confusion and jumped in. “I
think you should show Alex to her room, Luisa, and perhaps send a
tray up. I’ll find something to eat in the kitchen.”
    The woman nodded. “Of course, Señor Diego, as you wish. Come with me, Señora .” She wrapped her
forearm around Alex’s in the European fashion, patted her hand
maternally, and