“It’s okay, kardia mou.” Milos sat beside her and slipped an arm around her shoulder assuredly, as if her wardrobe was all that was plaguing her. “My mother will have something for you to wear, I’m sure. She said…”

When he didn’t finish, Sarah said, “What?” She was alarmed, all of a sudden, that she’d made a negative impression on this woman who was about to exert significant influence upon her life.

“Don’t worry! She said you are wonderful. Beautiful. Of course, she would like you to convert to the Orthodox religion.”

“I won’t. We talked about this, and I—”

“Don’t worry,” Milos soothed. “I told her that. But she did say you should wear the kerchief in your hair.”

“Oh.” Sarah had noticed it, the women all bedecked in white headscarves.

“If you are married and don’t wear it, it gives the wrong impression.”

“Okay.” Sarah fixed her eyes on her nails to distract them from spilling tears. “Should we go down for dinner?”

“Not yet. My mother knows we would like some time alone.”

“Yes.” Well, it was to be understood. Milos was a man, and she was committed to him now. Sarah tried to psych herself up to the task. “How should we—”

“No!” He laughed. “You think I’ve brought you up here to make mad, passionate love with you?”

At his joking tone, Sarah’s chest heaved relief. “Are you telling me you didn’t?”

“Sarah, we have our whole lives for that. This is a huge sacrifice you’ve made, to come live with me—”

“Until my parents change their minds,” she reminded him.

“Yes. Until then. I just want you to feel safe. All I want in the world is for you to feel happy and safe.”

And when Milos put it that way, and wrapped his arms around her, and the sun wrestled from the clouds and warmed them through the window, Sarah found she could feel happy. In the interludes she didn’t fixate on what she’d left behind, she could feel quite happy, indeed.

*  *  *

And so Sarah’s life went from her parents and Benjamin and Rachel, and laundering and ironing for Yanni the widower, and the Evraiki and synagogue and Jews, to Milos and his parents and his colicky baby sister, and Sarah’s new job baking pastries in the shop of an old lady with a large mole on her chin who smelled like the cheese she produced—and no Jews. Sarah was the only one on the island.