Lola & the Millionaires: Part One (Sweet Omegaverse #2)(103)

I slipped out of the car, following Leo to the mass of suits before splitting off on my own. There was a set of well-maintained stairs carved down the cliffside that led to the salt pans, and I followed it down, holding onto the rope handle. Malta was cool in early spring, especially at night, and I had grabbed one of Leo’s sweaters to wear over my sundress, but I enjoyed the salty bite of chill that licked at my legs from the sea.

I was halfway down the steps when I saw the couple by the cliffside, and paused on my way down. They were older, and mostly shadows against the sunset, but the man propped himself up with one hand on a cane, his other arm wrapped around the woman’s shoulders. They stood together, balancing on the grooves of the salt pans and watching the sun paint the water red. They definitely weren’t part of the suit party up by the house, and I guessed from Leo’s description they might’ve been the owners. Seeing them together like this, a wave of melancholy washed over me. They were selling their home. It looked as though they were savoring a sunset like this one for as long as they could.

The man turned slightly, and spotting me, bent his head to his wife, who waved me down the stairs. I was more interested in the view here than the negotiations Leo was in the middle of, so I finished my way down the steps, meeting the couple at the bottom.

“Elow,” they greeted with a dip of their heads.

“Hello,” I answered with a smile and a nod.

And then, impossibly, the woman took my arm and started off in a steady and incomprehensible stream of Maltese, accompanied by thorough gesturing to explain the salt farming process. I followed her tugs on my arm with confused laughter, letting her lead me through the shallow pools of the pans, to where the sea came in toward the shore.

I didn’t understand a word she said, but I could guess the process somewhere between the motions of her hands. They brought the seawater up from the grooves in the stone near the shore, let it bake in the pans under the sun, rotating the regions of the stone bench to keep track of how long it had been. She scooped a handful of salt in soft, gnarled hands, and then captured my hand again and forced the large granules into my palm.

“Tiekol,” she said, pushing my hand up toward my lips, leathery tan cheeks grinning at me.

I popped a morsel in my mouth, sharp and tangy and immediately making me salivate. I hummed, and she laughed and nodded, pulling me back to the stairs where her husband was perched on low steps.

I followed the couple on their slow journey back up the cliff, watching the sun sink until the steps were just visible as we reached the top. Most of the cars were already gone now, and Leo stood by the picturesque little house with a handful of others. His gaze immediately landed on me, his professionally smooth expression cracking under a grin. He made a quick escape from the group and joined me with the elderly couple.

“You made friends,” Leo said.

“I think these are the owners,” I explained as they offered him a more cautious greeting than the one I’d received.

“Grech?” Leo asked, beaming at the man’s nod. “Leo Santoro.”

“Look, I’ve farmed salt now,” I said, holding my hand in front of Leo.

“Oh, good, I’m starving.” Leo popped a quick pinch of the salt into his mouth and just like that, hearts were won over as he hummed with pleasure.

A tall black man in loose linen pants joined us. “Leo, you’ve met the Grechs.”

Mrs. Grech made a quick announcement which made the new man laugh. “She likes your woman, Santoro. And your taste buds.” Leo grinned at me as the real estate agent waited while Mr. Grech added to his wife’s statement. “Ah. Marcellino says that now that the vultures have left, you’re both very welcome to stay for dinner. He’s a good cook and I’m a decent translator, so I’d recommend saying yes.”

Leo took one look at me as I bounced on the balls of my feet and nodded. “Yes. Absolutely.”





“Il-lejl it-tajjeb!” I said, bending to accept the kiss on both cheeks from each of the Grech’s as Leo shook the hand of David, their real estate agent slash old family friend.

“Il-lejl it-tajjeb,” they echoed. ‘Good night.’

I wasn’t going to hold onto much of my new Maltese I’d learned over salted smoked fish, rabbit stew, and more warm fresh bread smeared with roasted veggies, but I liked the pretty rolling sound of the language. I blinked away tears as I stepped back, and Leo took my place, hugging the elderly couple.

I loved this sweet little house, so close and warm, everything centered around the kitchen and the small dining room table. And I loved this welcoming old couple who hated to give up their salt farm and have their home torn down to make room for another fancy hotel for tourists.

“Come on, I’ll give you two a ride back to Valletta,” David said, ushering us out the door and to his tiny four-door sedan. It was modest compared to what the visitors tonight had arrived in, and David scrambled to move kids’ sports gear out of the way of the back seat for me.

“You didn’t mind wasting the reservation?” I asked Leo as we got into the car.

“Are you kidding? Did you see me undo my belt after the stew?” Leo asked, laughing. “Home cooking like that can’t be beat.”

I leaned forward from the back seat to kiss his cheek as David slid into the driver’s seat on the right.