Trophy Wives by Jan Colley Page A

Princess Athena.
    Ethan had been munching on a satisfyingly saltypiece of fish which suddenly turned to paste in his mouth. He wished she hadn’t said that.
    â€œI defy you to find me one woman,” she continued, “barring the criminally insane, who would turn down a cruise on a baby like that.”
    An excited cry from the clutch of children distracted her. “Oh look, they’ve caught something.”
    Ethan flung the piece of food into the air. Seagulls rose up and then down to scramble for their prize.
    But when she turned back to him, her face was so open and animated, no trace of the shadows of the morning. He told himself it was a throwaway remark.
    Anyway, at this point, they were sharing a friendly day out. Nothing more complicated than that.
    â€œTell me about your job,” Lucy demanded, choosing a fat chip, bending her head back to lower it into her mouth.
    Ethan explained his role in Magnus’s corporation. Scouting tourist resort locations, negotiating the deal, organizing architects and surveyors and necessary permits. “Everything from bribery to schmoozing with local councils, religious leaders and politicians.”
    Once the consents were secured, he would hire and supervise building crews, interior designers and trades-people for the finishing. The management and staff came last. “I generally stay around for the first month or so of operation,” he explained. “One project can take up to two years.”
    He told her about Turtle Island, his father and Magnus’s history with the island, and how once it was completed—provided he got the deal—it would be his last.
    â€œWhat then?”
    â€œI don’t know. Some piece of farm land somewhere.”
    â€œYou want to farm?” she asked curiously. “I’d havethought you would shy away from that, after your childhood.”
    â€œPart of me wants to prove I can do it, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully. “Prove I can make a better job of it this time round.”
    â€œProve you are a better farmer than your father, you mean.”
    Ethan chuckled. “That wouldn’t be hard.” He lifted his bottled water and took a swig. “Enough about me. Did you always want to look after trophy wives?”
    Lucy laughed and wiped her fingers on a tissue. “Being dyslexic kind of stifles any great ambition. I’ve never really thought in terms of a long-lasting career. But there are a few things I’d like to do to improve Summerhill.”
    â€œSuch as?” he asked, interested.
    Lucy shrugged. “They’ll never come to anything. Tom doesn’t think I have a lot to offer.”
    Remembering the brochures, he wiped his hands and drew them from his jacket pocket. “I went to the Seabrook MacKenzie Dyslexia center this morning.”
    She took the brochures, a little line between her brows as she perused them quickly.
    â€œHave you ever had an assessment, Lucy?”
    She shook her head. “They once arranged an appointment for me at school.” She shrugged carelessly. “Must’ve been busy that day.”
    â€œPeople with learning disabilities have different strengths and weaknesses. They learn to enhance their strengths to compensate.” He tapped the brochures she still held. “Without an assessment, you won’t know what your strengths are. It wouldn’t take long, Lucy. Half a day.”
    Another rise of her shoulders. “Tom does the office stuff. I spent ages memorizing all the brochures andtourist stuff so I don’t really need to be able to read. I mean, I can read, just not quickly and it’s hard with other people about.”
    â€œI think you’re selling yourself short.”
    â€œJust be glad you’re not my boss,” she quipped. “How come you know so much about it?”
    â€œDyslexia is something Magnus cares a lot about—he’s dyslexic himself. He’s made sure his