The AzoresTHREE MONTHS LATERThe Atlantic Ocean didn't look anything like the Caribbean. Here, off the rugged southern coast of São Miguel, the water wasn't a bright, deceptive turquoise designed to hide reefs and wreckage; it was a deep, majestic midnight blue, wild and heavy with the massive, rolling swells of the open sea. The volcanic cliffs of the island rose sharply from the crashing white surf, their jagged black rock faces carpeted in thick, emerald-green moss and wild hydrangeas that smelled of salt, heavy rain, and ancient, rich earth.Our villa was small, built from whitewashed volcanic stone and dark, weathered cedar wood, hidden completely within a natural coastal cove that could only be accessed via a narrow, twisting donkey path or a direct, precise approach from the sea. There were no high-tech security guards patrolling the perimeter, no infrared laser grids cutting through the evening fog, and no
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