The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel. Lucy Gordon

was signed only with an initial. He immediately texted back.

       No need to be sorry. You were right to break it off. Forgive me for upsetting you.

      Hopefully that would be an end to it, but after a moment another text came through.

       I don’t want to break off. I really didn’t mean all those things. Will I see you at the wedding? We could talk there.

      This time it was signed with her name. He responded.

       We always knew it couldn’t last. We can’t talk. I don’t wish to subject you to gossip.

      The answer came in seconds.

       I don’t care about gossip. I love you.

      Madness seemed to have come over her, for now she’d stepped up the intensity, signing your own forever, followed by her name. His response was brief.

       Please accept my good wishes for the future. Make sure you delete texts from your phone. Goodbye.

      After that he switched off. In every way. To silence a machine was easy. It was the switching off of the heart and mind that took skill, but it was one he’d acquired with practice, sharpening it to perfection until he would have guaranteed it against every female in the world.

      Except perhaps one.

      But he would never meet her again.

      Unless he was very unlucky.

      Or very lucky.

      ‘You look gorgeous!’

      Petra Radnor laughed aside the fervent compliment from Nikator Lukas.

      ‘Thank you, brother dear,’ she said.

      ‘Don’t call me that. I’m not your brother.’

      ‘You will be in a couple of hours, when your father has married my mother.’

      ‘Stepbrother at most. We won’t be related by blood and I can yearn after you if I want to.’

      ‘No, I think you’ll be the brother I’ve always wanted. My kid brother.’

      ‘Kid, nothing! I’m older than you.’

      It was true. He was thirty-seven to her thirty-two, but there was something about him that suggested a kid; not just the boyish lines of his face but a lingering immaturity that would probably be there all his life.

      Petra liked him well enough, except for his black moods that seemed to come from nowhere, although they also vanished quickly.

      He admired her extravagantly, and she justified his admiration. The gaunt figure of her teen years had blossomed, although she would always be naturally slender.

      She was attractive but not beautiful, certainly not as the word was understood among her mother’s film-land friends. She had a vivid personality that gleamed from her eyes and a humour that was never long suppressed. But the true effect was often discovered only after she’d departed, when she lingered in the mind.

      To divert Nikator’s attention, she turned the conversation to Debra, the starlet who would be his official companion.

      ‘You two look wonderful together,’ she said. ‘Everyone will say what a lucky man you are.’

      ‘I’d rather go with you,’ he sighed.

      ‘Oh, stop it! After all the trouble Estelle took to fix you up with her, you should be grateful.’

      ‘Debra’s gorgeous,’ he conceded. ‘At least Demetriou won’t have anything to match her.’

      ‘Demetriou? Do you mean Lysandros Demetriou?’ Petra asked, suddenly concentrating on a button. ‘The Lysandros Demetriou?’

      ‘There’s no need to say it like that, as though he was important,’ Nikator said at once.

      ‘He certainly seems to be. Didn’t he—?’

      ‘Never mind that. He probably won’t have a woman on his arm.’

      ‘I’ve heard he has quite a reputation with women.’

      ‘True. But he never takes them out in public. Too much hassle, I guess. To him they’re disposable. I’ll tell you this, half the women who come here today will have been in his bed.’

      ‘You really hate him, don’t you?’ she asked curiously.

      ‘Years ago he was involved with a girl from this family, but he ill-treated her.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘I don’t know the details. Nobody does.’

      ‘Then maybe she ill-treated him,’ Petra suggested. ‘And he reacted badly because he was disillusioned.’

      He glared at her. ‘Why would you think that?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said, suddenly confused. A voice had whispered mysteriously in her mind, but she couldn’t quite make out the words. It came from long ago, and haunted her across the years. If only—

      She tried to listen but now there was only silence.

      ‘She fled, and later we heard that she was dead,’ Nikator continued. ‘It was years ago, but he knew how to put the knife in, even then. Be warned. When he knows you’re connected with this family he’ll try to seduce you, just to show us that he can do it.’

      ‘Seduce?’ she echoed with hilarity. ‘What do you think I am—some helpless maiden? After all this time around the film industry I’ve learned to be safely cynical, I promise you. I’ve even been known to do a bit of “seducing” myself.’

      His eyes gleamed and he reached out hopeful hands. ‘Ah, in that case—’

      ‘Be off,’ she told him firmly. ‘It’s time you left to collect Debra.’

      He dashed away, much to her relief. There were aspects of Nikki that were worrying, but that must wait. This was supposed to be a happy day.

      She checked her camera. There would be an army of professional photographers here today, but Estelle, as she always called her mother, had asked her to take some intimate family pictures.

      She took one last look in the mirror, then frowned at what she saw. As Nikator had said, she looked gorgeous, but what might be right for other women wasn’t right for Estelle Radnor’s daughter. This was the bride’s big day, and she alone must occupy the spotlight.

      ‘Something a little more restrained, I think,’Petra murmured.

      She found a darker dress, plainer, more puritanical. Then she swept her luxuriant hair back into a bun and studied herself again.

      ‘That’s better. Nobody will look at me now.’

      She’d grown up making these adjustments to her mother’s ego. It was no longer a big deal. She was fond of Estelle, but the centre of her life was elsewhere.

      The bride had already moved into the great mansion, and now occupied the suite belonging to the mistress of the house. Petra hurried along to say a last encouraging word before it was time to start.

      That was when things went wrong.

      Estelle screamed when she saw her daughter.

      ‘Darling, what are you thinking of to dress like that? You look like a Victorian governess.’

      Petra, who was used to her mother’s way of putting things, didn’t take offence. She knew by now that it was pointless.

      ‘I thought I’d keep it plain,’ she said. ‘You’re the one they’ll be looking at. And you look absolutely wonderful. You’ll be the most beautiful bride ever.’

      ‘But people know you’re my daughter,’ Estella moaned. ‘If