The Bed You Make
Chapter 39, continued

Dara Jensen Cassadine thought she already knew what it felt like to be the only one of ‘something' in a crowd … the only woman, the only person of color, the only lawyer. But until she'd walked into that restaurant on her husband's arm, she quickly realized that she had no idea at all what that truly felt like. Dara did not exaggerate when she decided that the entire assemblage came to a stop when they arrived on the scene.

The maitre d' swiftly appeared and directed them to their table. Stefan had made no reservations; none were needed. The Cassadine name opened doors everywhere in Europe and all the more in an establishment the family supported financially.

Dara took some time to appreciate the décor. The dining room was all cream-colored marble columns and rough stone walls, punctuated by splashes of color provided by the large urns of native flowers scattered about the room. The tables, most designed for only two occupants, were spaced closely enough to be sociable yet allowed the diners a degree of privacy. “This is beautiful,” Dara marveled. “It looks old and new at the same time.”

Stefan followed Dara's gaze. “The credit is entirely Philip's. He possessed a clear vision for this establishment and did not allow himself to be detoured from it.”

“How very … Cassadinian of him.” Dara laughed softly at Stefan's reaction to the word she'd chosen. The man had a genuine appreciation for words and all their varied uses. She would never tell Stefan, but she was almost envious of the enormous body of words at his disposal. As a lawyer, Dara knew that such a vocabulary was a tool beyond value. And against adversaries, it was a weapon without equal. “Well,” she shrugged, “it was the only word I could think of that really described what I meant.”

“And what did you mean?”

“ Stefan! ” The strident greeting sounded from the hallway leading to the public restrooms. “ Stefan Cassadine!” A tousled young brunette dramatically blew kisses as she made her way across the restaurant to their table. She wore a black Chanel dress with a severe v-shaped neckline that ended just inches above her navel. A strand of oversized but undoubtedly authentic pearls coiled artistically about her neck. Everything about her, Dara observed, was designed to draw attention. “MIlaya Moyna!"

Stefan politely rose to his feet. As Dara watched, the woman flung herself against him. “It has been such a difficult time for me, Stefan.” The woman's lower lip trembled and her eyes began to shimmer with unshed tears. “I have been so terribly alone,” she cried.

“My condolences on the loss of your husband,” Stefan offered.

“It is already much better now that you-”

“Jacqueline de Mardors…” Stefan firmly moved her an arms' length away. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife.”

The woman drew back as if struck. “Wife?” She turned and stared at Dara. The years she tried so hard to camouflage were glaringly obvious when viewed up close. She was closer to fifty than the thirty-something Dara first believed.

“My congratulations,” the woman finally offered through clenched teeth.

“Thank you, Miss de Mardors.”

continued