He was close, she could feel it.
It wasn't just the prickle at the base of her neck and the
catch in her throat that had Marietta Lombardi on full
alert. It was the way the air seemed suddenly thinner,
tighter, as if the myriad candles in the Castello's enormous
dining room had consumed every last drop of oxygen from the
atmosphere, leaving a vacuum that ached to be filled.
And then across the room the ancient timber doors swung
open, and even the air in her lungs was sucked out.
Yannis Markides, the man she'd vowed never to see again, was
finally here in Montvelatte. Dressed entirely in black, he
filled the wide entrance like a dark cloud, his eyes
purposefully scanning the throng assembled for the wedding
rehearsal dinner while an adrenaline-fuelled wave crashed
over her, pinning her to the chair and threatening to free
thirteen-year-old memories that had been buried in the
deepest recesses of her mind.
Apparently not deeply enough.
Yet even a flood of unwanted memories was no match for
seeing him in person. The Yannis of her unbidden and
unwanted dreams couldn't hold a candle to this man, who
looked more like a warrior about to go into battle than an
old family friend. Had he always been so tall? Had he always
been able to fill a space with his mere presence? And, in
spite of the war-like stance, had he always looked so damned
good?
She swallowed down on a sudden lump in her throat. She
didn't need him to look good. Didn't want him to. She
should go now. Slip out in the confusion of waiters serving
a multitude of meals before he saw her, before she had to
face him again and relive the humiliation of their last
encounter.
And then her brother jumped to his feet beside her, calling
across the room, and Marietta knew she'd left it too late.
The obsidian eyes she'd been hoping to avoid found their
mark as they zeroed in on Rafe, his mouth turning into a
smile until those same eyes fell on her, lingering so coldly
that she shivered, any semblance of a smile frozen clear
away, before they snapped back to Rafe so cleanly and
decisively as if even looking at her had been a mistake.
Released from his cold-as-a-grave gaze, Marietta felt as if
she'd taken a blow to the gut. She'd known Yannis Markides
was not the type of man who would forgive and forget, but it
was clear he also had no problems holding a grudge. And from
the expression on his face as he'd practically seared her
with his gaze, he was as unenthusiastic about seeing her as
she was about seeing him.
Fine. The sooner this wedding was over, the sooner
they could both go back to never seeing each other again,
and the happier they'd both be.
So she was here, just as he'd been warned. His fists
clenched and unclenched at his sides in time with the thump
of his heart, a deep-seated anger turning his vision to red.
He'd always believed in the principle that to be forewarned
was to be forearmed. The adage had stood him in good stead
over the years in both his professional and his private
life, and yet now, coming face to face with the woman who'd
done more to destroy his family's financial security than
any number of corporate sharks he'd had to deal with in his
time, the old adage wasn't holding up to scrutiny. Because
it wasn't until now that realised the depths of his
resentment. It was as if seeing her had rekindled every last
spark of anger and bitterness, reigniting old wounds and
sending the flames high.
He didn't want to be here, even if it was his best friend's
wedding—not if it meant seeing her again, and certainly not
if it meant being thrust back into those dark days.
He dragged in a lungful of air heavy with the combined
scents of garlic, rosemary and spit-roasted game and sensed
something else in the mix—duty. For he had no choice but to
be here. One thing he'd learned over the years was that life
didn't necessarily serve up what you wanted. He was here,
and somehow he was expected to be her opposite number on the
bridal party, to be her partner throughout the festivities,
even to take her in his arms and dance with her. No amount
of forewarning was going to prepare him for that.
He should have brought a woman. He could have had his pick
of any number, even after terminating his brief liaison with
Susannah, and he cursed the decision that had seen him
arrive alone—although he was still sympathetic with the
logic of it. Taking a woman to a wedding was fraught with
danger. It put ideas in women's heads, ideas that had no
place in his relationships.
'Yannis!' She heard her brother's greeting over the chamber
music and hubbub of conversation from the assembled guests
as the pair met, shaking hands and pulling each other into a
man hug before slapping each other on the back. She watched,
unable to move, compelled to watch, waiting for the
inevitable moment when Rafe would pull Yannis over to
introduce him to his bride-to-be, and for the moment when
she would have to look him in the eye and greet him and
pretend that what had happened thirteen years ago had never
taken place.
'So that's Yannis Markides,' Sienna said, leaning across
Rafe's empty chair between them, her head still angled
towards the reunion between the two men. 'He's very
good-looking, isn't he? Almost as good-looking as Rafe.'
Better.
The rogue thought came unbidden and unwelcome, but as much
as she tried to clamp down on it, the truth would not be
denied. Having inherited the best of their father's genes,
her brother was beyond handsome, and in his dress uniform of
maroon jacket and ceremonial sash, even more so. But Yannis,
with his unique mix of his Montvelattian mother and
Greek-Cypriot father, was something else again. It was as if
he'd been blessed with the best genes the Mediterranean had
to offer, a combination of dark hair, bottomless eyes and
chiselled features. As a twenty-one-year-old, he'd been the
best-looking man she'd ever seen. Thirteen years on, as a
man in his prime, he was utterly arresting.
'I guess so,' she replied at last as she reached for her
glass, looking for something tactile and solid and real to
cling onto, telling herself he was only a man, a mere mortal
like everyone else.
And then she looked up again.
Under the ballroom lighting, his black hair gleamed thick
and healthy, his strong features complemented by the play of
light and shadow as he moved, with even the angles and
planes of his face speaking of nobility.
Mortal? Then why did he have to look so much like a god? Was
it any wonder she'd once imagined herself in love with him?
What girl wouldn't be naïve enough to let herself imagine,
to think that maybe there was something more to it when this
man was your brother's best friend and you saw him
practically every day of your life, and when he treated you
as if you were something special, the way he always had…
What girl wouldn't have made the same mistake she had? She
took a deep breath, her fingers locked tight around the stem
of her wine glass. Back then she'd been just a teenager, and
clearly impressionable at that. Thank God she wasn't so
naïve, so easily driven by her hormones any more. And thank
God this ordeal would soon be over. A day, maybe two, and
the wedding and the associated formalities would be done
with, and they would both be gone from the island.
She could hardly wait.
'I can see why he's so popular with the women,' Sienna
continued, 'although I can't believe he's alone now. I
expected he'd bring a partner.'
Marietta didn't care. Yannis had a reputation as a playboy,
the same label her brother had boasted until his world had
connected with Sienna's. If Yannis was by himself, she had
no doubt it would only be a temporary situation. 'Maybe she
saw sense,' she muttered, not quietly enough.
The other woman's head swung around, 'You don't like him? I
thought you guys grew up together, one big happy family. At
least, that's how Rafe makes it sound.'
Marietta shrugged and forced a smile to her face. 'You know
how it is, two's company, three's a crowd. They've always
been best friends and I've always been Rafe's little sister.'
Whether she'd placed too much emphasis on the last two
words, or whether they'd contained a hint of bitterness that
she'd never quite dispelled, Sienna studied her for a
second, as if weighing up her answer. Then she nodded and
reached over to squeeze her free hand. 'I think I
understand.' And Marietta felt a surge of affection for the
Australian woman who would soon be her sister-in-law.
The two men turned then, Rafe gesturing towards the women,
and something twisted in her gut, pulling her lower into the
chair. She let go the glass she was still holding in a rush,
lest she tip it over and spill its contents, and battled to
dredge up a plastic smile to affix to her face as they came
closer.
'You remember Marietta, of course,' her brother said as he
led the way, and the dark cloud hovered before her, brooding
dangerously over her before she'd had a chance to find her
feet, even if she'd been able to remember how to do so,
standing so close to her that she dared not attempt the feat
now. Not when the look in his eyes damned her to the core,
without the merest shred of warmth at meeting her again.
She'd done that, she realised in a rush. She'd banished
every good memory he might have of their years together with
one foolish and reckless act. And now, just as he had done
thirteen years ago, he was still making her pay the price.
So many years later. She'd been a teenager back
then. Made just one foolish mistake. Had what she'd done
been so unforgivable?
'Yannis,' she said, needing to do something to break the
silence that stretched taut like piano wire between them,
'it's been a long time.'
The searing look he sent her in reply told her he thought it
nowhere near long enough, before he dipped his head in the
barest nod. 'Princess,' he said, and Marietta swallowed. The
way he said it made it sound like an insult, but before she
could force her tight vocal cords to relax enough to tell
him that he could call her Marietta, as he had always done,
Rafe had already turned away to introduce his fiancée, and
Yannis had severed contact.
Sienna clearly had more presence of mind than Marietta or
maybe it was just that the other woman's knees were still
working, as she rose from her chair to greet Rafe's lifelong
friend, her smile broad and welcoming as he lifted her hand
and pressed his lips to the back of it.
'Raphael always insisted he would beat me at everything. At
finding the perfect wife, I'm afraid I must concede this
contest.'
Sienna laughed a little, her smile widening. 'Rafe told me
you were a charmer. I'm surprised you haven't found the
woman of your dreams by now.'
Marietta stiffened in her chair as she awaited Yannis's
response, although she wasn't entirely sure why. She'd long
ago given up the notion that she was the woman of his
dreams. Long ago given up caring who he was with. So she
topped up her glass of mineral water, needing the
distraction and waving away the waiter who had descended
upon her ready to do the task himself.
'Yannis will never marry now, I am convinced of that,' Rafe
answered for his friend. 'No woman is good enough for him.'
Especially not Marietta. She hadn't even been good
enough to sleep with.
Beyond her, Sienna shook her head at her husband-to-be and
smiled softly. 'Tell me, Yannis, how is your father now?
Rafe said he's been very ill.'
'He has been, although he's thankfully off the critical
list. He suffered another stroke a month ago. My mother
apologises for not coming to the wedding, but she cannot
leave him now.'
'I'm sorry that they can't both be here, but it is so good
to meet you at last,' she said. 'Rafe's told me so much
about you.'
'None of it good,' Rafe added, urging them all to sit as
waiters appeared from nowhere to bring another meal and fill
wine and water glasses. Yannis took his place alongside
Sienna, and with a sigh of relief Marietta settled in her
brother's shadow, happy for the barrier of the grateful
couple separating her from their new arrival.
'Although now,' Rafe continued, 'I'll have to take back the
bit about not making it to our wedding. You've missed the
rehearsal, though. What kept you? You were supposed to be
here days ago.'
Yannis shrugged and picked up the large wine glass, swirling
the contents and lifting it casually to his nose, and
Marietta thought he would never answer, until finally he
spoke. 'The US market has been jittery, and with it some of
our clients. It seemed unwise to leave too early. As it is,
I'll have to head back straight after the wedding.'
Rafe's face darkened, his brow creased. 'You never mentioned
jittery clients in your emails.'
'You're getting married,'Yannis countered, 'there are some
things you don't need to know. Besides, you have enough on
your plate sorting out Montvelatte's finances.'
'Then why not let Kernahan handle it? After all, you
hand-picked the new manager yourself. Why couldn't you have
left it to him?'
The other man's eyes glowed unnaturally bright as he stared
silently out over the crowd, his jawline tight and rigid.
Marietta chose that moment to reach forward for her water,
needing to feel something cool in a throat that felt too
tight, too dry. In itself it wasn't a foolhardy action. The
mistake she made was in turning her head, only to have her
eyes connect once again with the man three seats down, who
was staring right at her. Sensation sizzled down her spine
as the connection was made—and held.
'Oh, I had my reasons,' he muttered, his voice low, his lips
tightly drawn, and his eyes still locked on hers so that she
was in no doubt that he had waited until the last moment to
attend his best friend's wedding so as to avoid her.
Beside her, Rafe made a move to remonstrate, but his fiancée
stopped him with one hand on his wrist. 'Rafe, Yannis is
here now, in plenty of time for the wedding. That's all that
matters.'