The Italians: Cristiano, Vittorio and Dario. Jane Porter

Maybe we’re all to blame because we depend on him so much.’ Dani let go of Laurel’s hands. ‘When Dad died it was a hideous time. Mum was a mess—I was just eleven, Santo was still at school. Cristiano flew home from the States and took charge. And we all leaned on him—’ she pulled a face ‘—and we’ve been doing it ever since. Because he turned Dad’s dream into reality, this hugely successful global business employing thousands, everyone thinks he walks on water, but I do see how stubborn and arrogant he can be. Tell me what he did to you, Laurie. Was it the whole “taking charge” thing? That always drives me mad.’

      Laurel’s heart was hammering. ‘I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, Dani, but it isn’t going to change anything. It’s finished. We can’t go back. And I wouldn’t want to.’

      ‘You were perfect together. So perfect it was actually a bit sickening to watch, to be honest. But it gave the rest of us faith that love really does exist. Even cynical Santo was shocked by the change in Cristiano. We’d never heard him laugh so much.’

      Feeling like a fish on a hook, Laurel glared at her friend. ‘We barely knew each other when we got married.’ But she’d taken that chance. Allowed herself to live for the moment. ‘It’s no good you trying to turn this into a fairy tale, Dani. There is no fairy tale. I can’t help that you want it to be something different. Not every episode of hot sex ends in a happy ever after.’

      Daniela’s dark eyes brimmed with tears of distress and frustration. ‘You and Cristiano should be together.’

      ‘Is that why you refused to meet me at the airport? So that we’d be thrown together? You don’t know what you’re doing.’ Laurel felt cornered. ‘You have to stop meddling. A lot of people could end up hurt.’

      ‘People are hurt, Laurel! My brother is in agony and I have to stand by and watch him being all strong, and I know you’re hurting too—’ tears slid down her face and Dani swore softly as she wiped them away with the palm of her hand ‘—and now I’m going to ruin my make-up. We’re not going to be able to have photographs at the wedding at this rate. Laurel, for God’s sake, whatever the hell happened, just forgive each other and move on.’

      ‘I am moving on. I’ve moved on.’

      ‘I mean with him, not without him.’

      Laurel was tired of fighting. ‘It was wrong of you to interfere. Wrong of you to put us in the same villa—cruel—’

      ‘When you were together before, the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other—’ Dani blew her nose. ‘I thought maybe if you were trapped together you might be able to sort it out.’

      ‘Well, we can’t.’ She should have known this couldn’t work. The Ferrara family were like chain mail—all intertwined and linked together into a strong whole. ‘I’ll leave first thing tomorrow. I shouldn’t have come.’

      ‘You’re my maid of honour! I want you here for my wedding.’

      Laurel looked at her in frustration. ‘My being here is tearing this family apart.’ And it was tearing her apart. Being this close to Cristiano was far, far more painful than she ever could have imagined possible. The pain of it was a dull, throbbing ache that nothing would ease.

      ‘Don’t leave!’

      ‘We’re not eighteen any more. A lot has changed.’ Laurel stood rigidly, wondering when her friend had become so selfish that she only thought about her own needs. Being here was killing her. ‘You have your little cousins as attendants.’ Four dark-haired minxes who were running round creating havoc beneath them, enchanting everyone with their unselfconscious enjoyment of the party.

      ‘I want you, and I want you and Cristiano back together.’

      Some might have called Dani shallow, but Laurel envied the fact that her polished view of the world had never been tarnished. That she still believed good things happened to good people.

      ‘There’s a party in your honour going on downstairs. We should go down.’ She eased herself out of her friend’s embrace and this time Dani didn’t resist.

      Laurel remembered all the times they’d giggled together in their student rooms and had a sudden yearning for the simplicity of those days.

      Some people thought it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

      Laurel thought they were mad.

       CHAPTER THREE

      EXHAUSTED from the emotional bombardment, Laurel wondered whether she’d survive an entire evening within touching distance of Cristiano. It had been so long since she’d spent time with him she felt like an addict starved of a fix.

      From across the terrace she heard him laugh and she turned her head, drawn by the sound. She’d never laughed as much as she had when they were together. Life had felt light and full of hope. Now he was laughing with another woman.

      And she was beautiful.

      There was an intimacy in the way they communicated, an ease that suggested a relationship deeper than friendship.

      Torturing herself, Laurel was unable to drag her eyes away. As she watched, one of the little cousins dressed in a froth of blue danced across to him and tugged at his leg. With an indulgent smile, Cristiano scooped her up and gave her his full attention. Laurel couldn’t hear what he was saying but, judging from the child’s expression, it was something amusing.

      His interaction with the child was enough to unlock everything trapped inside her.

      Laurel turned away, wondering if anyone would notice if she slipped away.

      It didn’t matter where she stood, she was aware of him. Even with her back to him she could sense him. The feeling crept over her skin and took control of her mind, making it impossible to concentrate on a conversation. Her neck ached with the need to turn and look. For once she was grateful for the crowd of people and the constraints of social behaviour that prevented her from rushing across to his side and undoing everything she’d done.

      ‘You should eat something.’ He appeared by her side, cool and commanding as he gestured towards one of the waitresses circulating with a tray of canapés.

      ‘I’m not hungry.’

      Cristiano took a small piece of chicken from the plate. ‘Unless you’re trying to draw attention to yourself, I suggest you eat. It’s marinated in local lemon juice and herbs. Your favourite.’

      She wondered if he was doing it on purpose, conjuring up shared memories of the night they’d raided the kitchen like children and taken food down to the beach.

      That decadent moonlit picnic was one of her happiest memories of their time together.

      Feeling as if she might choke on the sadness, Laurel took the chicken because it seemed easier than arguing and it gave her something to do. Somehow she managed to chew and swallow, despite the lump in her throat and the fact he was watching her with those dark, velvety eyes that saw too much.

      She looked away from the cynical curve of his mouth, shaken by the impulse that washed over her. Standing as close as they were, it would take no effort to press her lips to his. She would melt into him and then his hands would be in her hair, his mouth devouring hers with a skill that would leave her head spinning. No one kissed like Cristiano. He had an innate understanding of what a woman needed and his repertoire ranged from hot and out of control to slow and sensuous. He’d introduced her to a whole world she’d never known about.

      The scent of the sea mingled with the sweetness of Mediterranean flowers and from all around them came the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation. The terrace was crowded with people and yet it might as well have been just the two of them.

      His eyes darkened under