CHAPTER FOUR

Sasha believed herself to be a creature of order, of practical routine. When she elected to do something outside that routine, it was after careful thought and deliberation.

Or it had been until she’d flown to Corfu.

Now, roughly twenty-four hours after she’d checked in, unpacked her bags, she was packing them again, preparing to check out, to move into a villa with two people she’d known less than a day.

And no matter how many times she questioned the sanity of it, she knew it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do if she wanted real answers.

The villa was beautiful, spacious, and even a woman who considered herself practical couldn’t deny the thrill of walking through it, considering she’d live there for . . .

However long she did.

Tumbled tile floors, she thought as she carefully packed, wide, wide stretches of sparkling glass, the soaring entranceway and double curves of stairs leading to the second floor. Where, Sasha recalled, Riley had arrowed toward.

Her new friend chose the master with its massive bed, one Riley had bounced on gleefully before bulleting into the en suite and crowing in triumph over the freestanding stone tub—big enough for a party—and the equally generous shower.

For herself, Sasha had studied several options, all lovely, but had fallen for the four-poster with its domed and pleated canopy of sea-blue linen. Like the other bedrooms, it opened to a terrace, and she imagined herself painting there.

Even when she realized her view would include the promontory, she couldn’t persuade herself to select a room facing away.

She closed her suitcases, checked the room twice to be sure she’d left nothing behind, and was about to call for a bellman when someone knocked at the door.

She opened it to Bran.

“Are you set then?” he asked.

“Yes, just now. I was going to call for a bellman.”

He glanced in at her suitcases, pack, tote.

“We should be able to handle it.” He hooked her tote around the handle of one suitcase, slung her pack over his shoulder. “Can you manage the other?”

“Sure, but can we handle your bags, too?”

“I’ve already taken them down, loaded them. Of course, I’ve about half of what you’ve got here.”

“Of course you do. You’re a man.” Sasha walked out behind him without giving her room a backward glance.

“I am that. I’ll just check on Riley, and we’ll— Well, no need,” he added as Riley stepped out, rolling a single wheeled duffle behind her.

“That’s it? Your backpack and a duffle?” Sasha demanded.

“Got everything I need and room for more.”

Sasha looked at her own luggage, actually felt Riley’s smirk. “I have my art supplies,” she began.

“Uh-huh.” With the smirk still in place, Riley headed for the elevator.

“I do! And my travel easel, several small canvases, a spare sketchbook, not to mention paints, brushes.”