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-tobe, 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.