§ § § -- December 28, 1999

It was early afternoon before Leslie was free; by then Christian was a little antsy, for he hadn't seen her at all since she had left him at Anna-Kristina's bungalow the previous day. So when he appeared unannounced at the main house shortly after she and Roarke had finished lunch, he was glad to find that she seemed to have completed everything she needed to do for the day. Roarke welcomed him with a warm smile and a handshake. "I presume you'd like to spirit away my daughter for the day," he said with good humor.

"You presume correctly," Christian said and grinned. "Besides, you know what they say about all work and no play. I think Leslie's earned some play time. What about a trip to the beach, my Leslie Rose? I think I need to soak in some sun while I'm here. You can just imagine what our weather's like right now at home."

Leslie laughed and nodded. "I just bet! Okay, then, let me change my clothes and I'll be right with you."

They spent a couple of hours on the beach, lying in the sun, wading in the ocean and collecting shells. Christian even made a whimsical game out of chasing a seagull that seemed to think he had something for it to eat. Presently they packed up their gear and, by mutual unspoken agreement, left the sand, strolling at leisure back towards the main house. Once they had crossed the Ring Road and entered a path through the jungle, Christian cleared his throat as a prelude. "You mentioned my being arrested for bigamy if I didn't leave the island, or something like that, yesterday," he said. "Believe me, I wouldn't care if I were, so long as I was in the same place as you."

"Kind of a drastic way to achieve that goal, don't you think?" Leslie kidded.

"Frankly," Christian said, seeing an opening, "I'm feeling very drastic right now. Do you realize it's been more than three years since you and I first met and fell in love? Don't tell me you didn't think that by now we might have been married at last."

"A lot of unexpected things happened," Leslie said, her face clouding over. "Not the least of which was the cure for the bone-eating disease. I really never expected that one."

"Nor I," Christian remarked, his tone carrying a strange note that made Leslie turn to look at him with curiosity in her eyes. "How ironic that something so beneficial should be a source of curses on my part."

"Christian, my love, I want to be with you just as much as you want to be with me," Leslie said, "but I have no control over the timing. Are you sure you're all right? You seem a little touchy all of a sudden."

Christian sighed deeply and let his head fall back for a moment. "I know, and I'm sorry, my darling. But ever since Anna-Kristina told me that she can never break her need for amakarna, I've had quite a lot on my mind; and the more I think, the more frustrated I feel. Never have I loathed an inanimate object as I do that spice."

"I can imagine," Leslie said. "I'm not too fond of it myself."

"As a matter of fact," Christian said deliberately, "I had an idea last night as I was going to sleep. You understand that Marina's father is still the only source of amakarna on earth, don't you? And with his good health restored, he can hold me and Marina in bondage for the rest of our lives—mine, Marina's, and yours as well. He's not the sort to give in, especially in the position he believes he's in."

Leslie nodded, keeping one eye on Christian and the other on the ground in front of her as they walked. "And your point is?" she prompted.

"If Mr. Roarke knows so much about amakarna, then why can't he cultivate the spice? It would solve many problems. Arnulf could get his supply from your father instead of Marina's; Marina could marry her man and I could marry you…"

Leslie winced to herself. "It's a wonderful solution, Christian, but there's one little problem with that. Father absolutely refuses to have the stuff on his island. He's put an unconditional and permanent ban on it."

Christian stared at her. "Why?" he demanded, stopping altogether.

Leslie stopped too and turned to him. "He has his reasons, and Father never does anything without good reasons."

"Well, what are they?" Christian persisted, losing patience.

"I don't know," Leslie admitted, "but as I said, there's no doubt in my mind that they're valid and legitimate reasons. I wish it were different, but that's how it is."

"Wait a minute here," Christian said, scowling at her and surprising her greatly. "You don't know why he's banned amakarna from the island, yet you agree with it?"

"He's my father! I've known him more than half my life, and I know him well enough to know that he doesn't do anything lightly!" Leslie said, her voice rising in defense of the man who had raised her. "Who am I to pry into his private affairs?"

"You're his daughter, that's who you are," retorted Christian. "As his child, I should think you have a perfect right to know why he won't grow the stuff himself, especially since it's interfered directly with your own life." He paused and regarded her with a frosty look in his hazel eyes. "Or are you simply happy with the situation as it stands, and don't really care whether we can ever be together?"

Leslie gasped. "That's a low blow," she exclaimed.

"It's meant to make you think," Christian said sharply. "And you really should think about it—about your stance on the whole issue, not to mention your real feelings about this relationship. Granted, it's been stagnant for three and a half years, but you don't seem to have any urgency about rectifying it, even when a perfect solution is staring you in the face." He shook his head. "I think I'd better leave you to consider it." And he stalked off in the direction they'd come, leaving Leslie staring after him.

"Maybe you'd better think about making accusations where you don't have all the facts!" she shouted after him, then turned and ran. She didn't stop till the path spilled her out onto the terrace behind Roarke's study, and only then did she let herself go over the heated words she and Christian had exchanged. She was still more dumbfounded than anything else: it was the first time they'd ever argued, and it was a novelty for her.

"You're back early," said Roarke in surprise. "Where's Christian?"

"I don't know," Leslie said, thumping into a chair to catch her breath.

Roarke watched her for a moment, but she didn't volunteer anything else, so he said, "Just what's the matter, sweetheart?"

Leslie turned a bewildered look on him. "Christian and I had a fight."

"Oh, is that all?" said Roarke, amused. "I was wondering when that was going to happen. You two seemed much too docile." Before he could continue, the phone rang and he picked it up. It turned out to be a fairly involved call, and Leslie got up and made herself busy around the study, trying not to dwell on her fight with Christian. But it wouldn't leave her mind; and eventually she turned inward as she worked, ruminating over Christian's words. Did she really have a right to know, whether she was Roarke's daughter or not? Would it be presumptuous of her to try to look into the matter?

Roarke wound up the call after a while and hung up, but in spite of her curiosity Leslie was too unsure to ask any questions. Several times she almost got up the courage, turned toward Roarke as if to say something, then chickened out and resumed working.

Of course, before too long Roarke noticed, and began to watch her surreptitiously. Inevitably he caught her the next time she tried to ask, and as soon as their gazes met, Leslie turned quite red. Roarke laughed. "Am I truly that forbidding to you?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's not really that…" she began, then let her voice trail off. Roarke's humor faded.

"Come and sit down, Leslie," he suggested. "You seem quite bothered by your argument with Christian."

"It just feels so odd and unnerving to be on the outs with him," Leslie said uneasily, settling into the chair again. She sighed softly. "The problem is that I don't know what to do about it."

"Oh, you'll patch things up before long," Roarke said easily.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you," murmured Leslie, her gaze dropping.

Roarke paused then and focused fully on her. "Why? What was the argument about?"

Again Leslie felt heat fill her face. "You," she finally confessed, "and your stance on amakarna."

Very surprised, Roarke studied her for a long moment before prompting, "Go ahead and tell me about it."

Reluctantly Leslie described hers and Christian's altercation. "He seems to think that I have a right to know your reasons, simply because I'm your daughter," she concluded, "and furthermore, I get the impression from his attitude that he thought there was nothing more than long-standing stubbornness driving you on the subject. Of course, I told him you never do anything without good reason. If you put out a total ban on amakarna, then you have to have excellent motivation for it, and that's all there is to it."

Roarke regarded her with ironic amusement. "While I appreciate the support, my dear Leslie," he remarked somewhat pointedly, "there is such a thing as blind loyalty." He watched her blush yet again and smiled faintly. "Yes, in fact, I do have good reasons for banning amakarna, although one is based purely on chance. But you need not think those reasons are too private for you to know about." He settled back in his chair and let his gaze drift upward, reaching deep into memory. "Primarily, I banned the spice because it contributed to the deaths of my parents. I mentioned to you and Anna-Kristina that I inherited the gene from them that saved me from the need for amakarna in my diet. In my mother especially, there was a further complication. The gene normally permits tolerance of the spice without creating a requirement. But when Mother tried it, she was found to have no tolerance whatsoever. For her it was far closer to a severe allergy. What for Anna-Kristina would be a day's normal intake proved to be a great deal more than her system could deal with; in essence, she perished from overdose."

Leslie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my God," she breathed.

Roarke nodded, his gaze trained on some distant recollection. "By then my father had the bone-eating disease. Amakarna had been helping him maintain a nearly normal lifestyle; but when Mother died, he refused to take it ever again. Within another year, he too was dead." He closed his eyes and fell silent.

Stricken, Leslie leaned forward, eyes filling with tears. "What a terrible tragedy," she said, her voice thickening as her throat began to close with emotion.

Surprised again, Roarke opened his eyes and took in her expression, smiled sympathetically and came around the desk, pulling her out of the chair and gathering her into his embrace. "If I had known it would affect you so strongly, perhaps I would have thought twice about telling you," he said softly.

"No," said Leslie, shaking her head, "I think it's because I feel that much closer to you. I mean…we're both orphans."

That made Roarke chuckle. "At what age is one not considered an orphan upon the deaths of one's parents? I was already an adult when it occurred. But I can certainly see your point of view in the matter. Yes," he concluded, gently teasing, "we orphans must stick together, huh?" That got him a shaky laugh and a nod.

"You said there was a reason based on chance," Leslie managed after a few minutes. "What was it?"

Roarke smiled ruefully. "When I first acquired this island," he said slowly, "I spent a little time searching for a way to make a living. I had tried several different ventures before deciding that perhaps it was inevitable that I deal with my people's spice. So I tried to cultivate it, only to discover that amakarna doesn't agree with Fantasy Island's soil. I could never discern the reason for that, but it was a convenient excuse nevertheless—so I put a ban on the spice." He sighed quietly. "I have never had reason to rethink the ban, at least until this year when I became ill and realized its presence would have been a great boon after all. Unfortunately, even if I were to change my mind and rescind the ban, it would be moot, due to the problem with the soil."

Leslie nodded. "Well, that's not for anyone to decide except you…not me, and definitely not Christian. He must have really thought he had the answer to the whole stupid problem, and that's all very well and fine, but he didn't have to get belligerent about it."

"I suspect his anger stemmed from frustration," said Roarke, "and that's perfectly understandable. Try not to fret over it, sweetheart. Give yourself and Christian some time, let him cool down, and then perhaps you can take up the matter with him again. He's a reasonable man, and I'm sure he'll understand."