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      “Tchau,” Natalie whispered and felt her throat close on the word.

      But Christo didn’t hear. He was already striding toward his grandmother’s house, not even glancing back.

      It had been the right thing to bring Natalie.

      It was important for his grandmother not to worry about him. And she would have worried, even though she would have smiled and teased and made a joke of throwing women in his way.

      Christo had been shocked at the change in her. He’d seen her four months ago when he’d come to visit over Easter. And she was a shadow now of the woman she’d been then.

      He hadn’t believed his father when he’d called. Had it been only five days ago? Yes. It didn’t seem possible for the world to have changed that fast. Maybe the whole world hadn’t, but his had.

      His grandmother had been the single constant dependable anchor in his life since he’d been barely six years old. She was the one who’d had time for him, who’d listened to him, who’d both trusted him and demanded more of him. The man he’d become owed more to her than to anyone.

      He hadn’t believed it when Xanti had said she was dying.

      “I just talked to her a couple of weeks ago!” Christo had protested. “She never said a word.”

      “Would she?”

      The question had stopped Christo’s protest like a blow to the heart.

      Would she tell him? He knew the answer even as his father’s question echoed in his head.

      No, she wouldn’t. Not while he was so far away. Not while he had his own life. She wouldn’t want to take him away from it, wouldn’t want him to worry, to fret about what he couldn’t change.

      But now that he thought about it, he remembered again the talk about finding him a wife. There had been gentle teasing in her words as there always was. But last time there had been something urgent. Something more.

      “She is dying,” Xanti repeated. “So I’m getting married.”

      “To whom?” Christo had demanded, stunned.

      “To Katia! Who else?” Xanti had sounded affronted at the question. Katia Ferreira did public relations for the sporting-goods company his father worked with. She was in her mid-thirties, pretty enough, very blonde, a quickwitted, savvy businesswoman. Unlike the other women who had come and gone in his father’s life, Katia had never seemed enthralled by Xanti’s boyish antics and mercurial behavior—or by Xanti himself for that matter.

      “And she’ll have you?” Christo had asked.

      “She loves me. It will be good,” Xanti retorted. “It will make your grandmother happy. She can stop worrying about me.”

      Ergo, Christo knew, she would be worrying about him. About finding a wife for him. And that had led him instinctively to the notion of bringing Natalie with him to Brazil.

      But the moment he’d thought it, he knew he couldn’t. Then he knew he had to. He didn’t want to. Oh, yes, he did.

      His mind, usually incisive, his decisions, clear-cut, were anything but for the next twenty-four hours. It was madness, foolishness. It was a bad idea all around.

      But it wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t ask just any woman, he knew that. Avó wasn’t stupid. She would see through such a ruse in a minute.

      But she would believe Natalie.

      She would love Natalie.

      She wouldn’t just see the outer beauty of Natalie Ross. She would appreciate her gentleness, her compassion, her innate toughness, her sincerity, her sense of humor. They were both strong people, caring people.

      He suspected Natalie would like his grandmother, too.

      But it hadn’t been easy to ask her. He still thought about her far too often. He still woke up reaching for her.

      Besides, he knew she’d object. He knew she’d say it was wrong.

      It wasn’t, damn it. Not to make the most beloved person in his life happy. Not to keep her from worrying about something she had no control over.

      But if he thought the asking had been hard, having Natalie here with him now in the bosom of his family was worse—because almost instantly she seemed to belong.

      The days were busy with wedding preparations. He didn’t have a lot of time to spend with her because Xanti was always thinking of things to have him do.

      “Don’t worry. I’m fine,” she said when he apologized. “I can help, too.”

      She did—running errands for Katia, making place cards for the tables at the reception, even helping with some minor alterations to the wedding dress. And if she spent a fair amount of time helping Katia, she spent even more time with his grandmother.

      Despite her discomfort with their charade, she played it well. She didn’t keep a low profile. And she didn’t shy away from his family.

      On the contrary, she sought them out.

      “You don’t have to spend every minute with them,” he told her.

      She looked at him, her eyes wide and hurt. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

      “Of course not. It’s fine,” he said gruffly, scowling, out of sorts and not quite sure why. “I just don’t want you to feel—put upon.”

      “I’m not. I’m enjoying myself. I like your grandmother.”

      “She likes you, too.”

      So did everyone else.

      Xanti, of course, thought she was delightful. But Xanti thought that about most females. There was more to his approval of Natalie, though.

      Thursday night, two days after they’d arrived, he and his father were sharing a beer on the veranda and staying out of the way of even more wedding preparations going on in Avó’s house. They stood there in the twilight and watched through the windows as the women bustled back and forth.

      Then Xanti dropped into a chair and tipped it back on two legs, then took a long swallow of his beer and looked up at his son who leaned against one of the uprights that supported the veranda roof. “You’re a lot smarter than I was at your age.”

      Christo raised a brow. “Doesn’t take much.”

      Xanti laughed. “Probably not. Some men teach by bad example. And I did a damn good job of it for a lot of years.” Then his grin faded and his expression grew serious as he added, “But I’m glad you didn’t turn out the same way. Glad you picked the right woman the first time around.”

      Christo opened his mouth—and closed it again. He couldn’t deny it, so he didn’t say anything at all. Only when Xanti looked at him quizzically, did he finally answer.

      “I’m glad you approve.”

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