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“Did you ask to see it?”

“He doesn’t have an Australian driver’s licence. You showed me your passport last night,” she retorted. “Peter’s a decent, responsible kid.”

“Not on current evidence,” Hamish bluntly contradicted her.

“After Peter called at the house, they invited me for lunch one day. Peter talked about his parents, his brothers. His lifestyle in Sydney wasn’t lavish, but he was living better than your average international student. Sophie wanted me to get to know him.”

“And she didn’t want her grandfather to know him better?” Hamish was more persistent than a female mosquito locked in a room with only one live body.

“She didn’t want Papa to forbid her seeing him.”

“Why would he do that?” Marty asked, mystified.

“Because Papa didn’t choose him”—Lela flung a hand in the air in an unconsciously Mediterranean gesture of dismissal—“because there’s some deep, dark history between the Vella and Debrincat families. Because even though she’s started university, Papa still thinks of her as a child. Because Peter’s a foreign student, and they’ve only known each other a few months. How would I know? Nothing reasonable,” she snapped, then lowered her voice. “They wanted me to put in a good word for Peter with Papa.”

“Has your father objected to other boyfriends?” Hamish looked at her curiously.

“This is Sophie’s first serious relationship.” Her niece had glowed with first love.

“The age of consent is sixteen in Australia, isn’t it?” Marty asked.

“It can vary, but yeah, in New South Wales it’s sixteen,” Hamish agreed.

“Unlike here, where it’s eighteen, and Peter could get into trouble if he’s caught having sex with an underage girl.” Marty made a note.

“I didn’t know that,” Lela whispered, positive seventeen-year-old Sophie and Peter had been lovers before they’d left Sydney.

“Peter will.” Hamish’s mouth set in a grim line.

“So will Papa.” Lela’s gut twisted as the broader implications of crossing borders hit her. Different laws, different values. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Their relationship was legal in Australia; they could have moved in together, married, done anything without seeking anyone’s permission if they’d waited a few weeks.”

“They can marry here at eighteen,” Marty said mildly.

“I don’t think marriage is their plan. I must find them, speak to them,” she insisted. This wasn’t making any sort of sense.

* * *

“IF MARRIAGE ISN’T THEIRplan, what is?” Hamish asked.

Lela swung her head to stare at him. “I don’t know.”

The distress in her eyes gave the lie to her earlier claim that facts were the key here. Whatever her gripe with her father, her concern for her niece was real. The emotions rolling off her had the force of a runaway locomotive—confusion, fear and a desperation she was trying to keep in check by insisting on a methodical, fact-driven approach.

“Would your father be thinking of marriage?” Given old man Vella’s opinion of the guy that was unlikely.

“She’s too young to be thinking of marriage.”

“Young people think of getting married all the time.” Hamish tested another idea. “While a true patriarch uses his female children to cement the dynasty’s future.”

“A bit out of touch in this day and age.” She wrinkled her nose defensively, leading him to conclude dynastic marriages weren’t unheard of in the Vella family.

“Marriage for money is never out of fashion for some people. Your brothers’ marriages align nicely with Vella business interests. Business partnerships have followed the church unions.”

“My brothers are married to wonderful, independent women they love.” She was as tart as a hibiscus flower and as stunning.

“That’s a bonus isn’t it, Marty?”

“The old guard can nudge their children in a particular direction.” Marty followed Hamish’s lead.