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gestured for her to sit at the wrought iron table that was set for breakfast for both of them. He wore a pair of black dress pants and a short-sleeved, casual shirt. He looked suave, debonair, and she felt…Well, even in the sophisticated clothing he’d provided for her, she still felt a bit frumpy.
    There was a plate of croissants with jam and butter, the cereal she’d requested but in European packaging with a different name than she was used to in the States, and a small French press coffeepot.
    She fiddled with her hair, tucking it behind her ear, waiting for him to look back at her. And when he did, she wished he hadn’t. There was too much knowledge in his eyes. It was clear that he knew she wasn’t herself this morning.
    Tristan put his hand over the phone. “I have to finish this call and I’ll join you in a moment.”
    “No problem. I can take care of myself.”
    He gave her that steely-eyed look of his, but she ignored him as she seated herself.
    “I’ll be right back. Wait for me to eat?”
    “If you’d like me to,” she said, but inside a panic was starting. She wanted to forget about breakfast and get away as fast as she could. She also wanted to linger. Wanted him to be sitting here waiting for her. Maybe kiss her when she’d come out instead of being on the phone.
    But that was just more of the fantasy she’d always wanted, and this was reality. One-night stands weren’t the beginning of a romance. They were temporary.
    Temporary.
    Maybe if she said the word enough times she’d start to realize that her reality wasn’t with Tristan.
    Too bad she remembered the way he’d held her last night even when they were sleeping. There was some kind of closeness between them that she didn’t want to let go.
    “I would.”
    She nodded as he walked away. Watch him, she told herself. Watch him walk away and know that he’s not the kind of man who’ll stay. Temporary, she reminded herself again.
    But dammit, she wanted him to be. Last night she realized that she’d been trapped in a box of her own making, that she’d let the men in her life dictate how she moved through life.
    Last night she’d stepped outside of that box.
    Instead of feeling unworthy of a man’s attention, she’d felt as if she deserved to be with Tristan. She wasn’t kidding herself that he might be the man for her. Their lives were too different. But he had changed her, and as she poured a cup of black coffee she realized she didn’t want to go back to being the woman she’d been before.
    It was time she started living.
    She took another sip of her coffee and felt that nervous anticipation that came from waiting. It reminded her so clearly of the times she’d sat in front of Aunt Millie’s house, waiting for her dad to show up. And he never did.
    God, she was pitiful. She pushed to her feet and walked away from the table, taking her coffee mug with her. She went to the railing and looked down at the street. It was crowded this morning with cars and people. Strange for a Sunday.
    A man glanced up at the balcony and took a photo. She shook her head, knowing he was capturing the architecture of Mykonos and not her. She stepped back from the railing so that he could get a better picture.
    “Come inside,” Tristan said, and something in his tone put her on edge.
    “What? Why?”
    “We have to talk.”
    Man, she hoped he wasn’t going to fire her. If he did, she could find another job as an executive assistant somewhere else in the city, but starting over was always hard.
    “Let’s talk here,” she said.
    “No. Come inside now.”
    “Why are you—”
    “Sheri, inside now.”
    “Tristan, you can’t speak to me like that. I’m not your pet or slave.”
    “I don’t think of you that way. Things have happened. Come inside and I will explain.”
    “Is it Christos and Ava? Are they okay?”
    “Yes, they are fine,” he said, reaching for her elbow and drawing her into the living room. He closed the door behind her and