The Giannakis Bride. Catherine Spencer

surely it lies with her doctor?”

      Again the fire went out of him. “It lies with me,” he muttered, dropping down on the love seat. “It’s a parent’s job to protect his child. He should instinctively sense when something’s not right, and maybe I would have, if I hadn’t been away half the time, looking after business.”

      “But, Dimitrios,” she said, “that’s what fathers do. They go out and make a living so that their children have a decent roof over their heads, food on the table and clothes on their backs.”

      “There’s a big difference between working to live, and living to work.”

      “I’m not sure I understand.”

      He cast her an oddly cynical glance. “Ambition can consume a person—and you ought to know.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, averting his gaze. “Just that, in your line of work, you have to…stay on top of your game.”

      “Well, yes. But don’t you think that’s true of anyone who wants to succeed, regardless of what they do?”

      “Not if winning becomes more important than anything else. Because somebody always ends up paying. In my case it happened to be my daughter.”

      “You give yourself too much credit, Dimitrios. You aren’t responsible for Poppy’s illness. It happened despite you, not because of you. None of us ever has total control of the world around us. Sometimes fate plays a dirty trick and all we can do is find a way to live with it.”

      He pinned her in a mesmerizing stare. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

      Not five minutes earlier he’d said that the past was over and done with and the future was all that counted. But the way he was looking at her now was all about the past. It hung between them, as vibrantly alive as if it had happened just yesterday. The memories tore at her, making her ache for what might have been. And for the man she’d thought he was.

      “Brianna?”

      He felt it, too. It was there in the sudden deepening of his voice when he spoke her name. It swirled in the air between them—an awareness so acute she felt herself melting in its heat.

      “Yes,” she said, hating that she sounded so breathless. “I learned to move on when dreams I held dear didn’t materialize.”

      “Any regrets? Ever wish you’d held on to those dreams, instead of letting them go?”

      Cecily’s triumphant voice echoed down the years. Face it, Brianna, it’s over. He tried both of us and chose me. We were married, just last week. Sorry there wasn’t time to send you an invitation….

      Hardening her heart, Brianna said, “No. Do you?”

      “Hell, yes,” he said grimly. “I wish I could have given Poppy a mother who cared. But there are some things money can’t buy.”

      “Are you always so uncomplimentary about my sister?”

      He flung another forthright gaze her way. “What do you want me to say, Brianna? That she was the best wife a man could wish for? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but there’s a limit to how far I’m willing to go to preserve your illusions. The plain fact is, marrying Cecily was the second-biggest mistake of my life.”

      “What was the first?”

      “You were,” he said, surging to his feet and towering over her. “You and that damnable cruise to Crete. I should never—” He blew out an exasperated breath and raked his hand through his hair.

      “Well, don’t stop now. You never should have what?”

      “Never mind! I’ve already said too much.” He strode to the door and yanked it open. “Thank you again for coming. Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

      And having stirred up memories of the most painful period of her life, he left her.

      So much for leaving the past in the past….

      They’d stopped in Athens en route to London and Vancouver; a two-day rest between flights only. At least, that was the original plan, until the invitation was hand delivered to their suite at the Grande Bretagne, the evening before they were scheduled to leave.

      In marked contrast to Brianna’s uninterested reaction, Cecily had almost fallen over herself with glee. “It sounds divine! I want us to accept, I really do! If you won’t go for yourself, do it for me.” She’d pinned on her most beguiling smile. “Please, Brianna? Pretty please?”

      “Honestly, Cecily, I’d rather not. This is the first break we’ve had in months, and I’m ready for a rest. But there’s no reason you can’t go, if you’re all that keen. We’re not joined at the hip.”

      “You know full well having both of us there is the coup they’re after. One of us doesn’t have the same cachet.”

      “For heaven’s sake, we’re professional models, not a circus act.”

      “And all you ever think about is work.” Cecily’s tone crossed the line from wheedling to whining. “If you’re so damned eager to take a rest, why can’t you do it floating around the Mediterranean on a luxury yacht? What’s so hard to take about that?”

      “We don’t know anyone else, for a start. These people so anxious to have us on board aren’t friends, Cecily, they’re collectors whose idea of scintillating dinner conversation is dropping the names of the celebrities they’ve rubbed shoulders with.”

      “And we’re highly collectible!”

      Brianna sighed. They’d argued this point more times than she cared to count, and were never going to agree. “We’re a couple of reasonably pretty women who look so much alike, most people can’t tell us apart. They might recognize our faces, but they haven’t a clue who or what we’re really about, and nor do they care. We’re nothing more than novelties.”

      “Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe these hosts enjoy meeting new people and showing them a good time.”

      Tired of riding the same pointless merry-go-round yet again, Brianna had welcomed the arrival of their manager, Carter Maguire, who occupied the suite next door. As usual after a successful assignment—and this last had been a triumph both on the runway and at the photography shoots—he’d brought a bottle of champagne. Her relief, though, was short-lived when he told them that he, too, was to join the yachting party. Was, in fact, largely responsible for the three of them having been invited in the first place.

      “Too bad you wasted your time,” Cecily informed him petulantly, when she heard. “Brianna’s refusing to go. Thinks I should put in a solo appearance.”

      “Out of the question.” Calmly he uncorked the champagne and filled three flutes, handed one to Cecily and shooed her out to the balcony. “Go enjoy the view, and leave me to talk to her.” When she was well out of earshot, he faced Brianna. “This isn’t so much an invitation as a command performance, sweet pea. These people are big names in the fashion industry and we need the contacts. You’ve been at the top for a long time now, but we’re in danger of losing that spot, and I think we both know why.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “Cecily’s screwed up a few times too many, and word’s getting around that she’s not reliable. That business in Bali last month made big headlines.”

      The reminder of her sister’s drunken display at a night club made Brianna blush all over again. “I know. People don’t forget that kind of thing in a hurry.”

      “Especially not in this business. And not to put too fine a point on it, but time isn’t exactly on your side anymore. You’ll be twenty-four in August. The next couple of years are critical—for all of us.” He’d given her the lopsided grin she knew and loved so well. “Come to that, I’m no spring chicken myself. The way I see