The Santorini Bride
One more hill.
Looking up the stone steps that twisted up from the dock, Martha could see the house at last. Thank God.
When she'd got off the launch in Santorini she'd thought, "I'm home." But she'd forgotten the climb and she hadn't told Ariela, the local lady who took care of the house, that she was coming. So no one knew to meet her.
No matter. She'd been determined to get here on her own, to be here on her own. The climb was just the last part of it. Still, she was exhausted and sweating, and her duffel bag, packed for a move back to New York, not a spur-of-the-moment desperate flight to Greece, felt like lead as she dragged it behind her.
She looked up again. In the shimmering summer heat the walls of the two-story, white-stuccoed building seemed almost like a mirage, a dream. Martha had been running on adrenaline so long that it could ... read full excerpt from The Santorini Bride ebook
