‘Careful, Simone.’ His eyes had narrowed. A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Swearing doesn’t become a lady.’

‘If you had any kind of memory left you’d remember that I often take exquisite pleasure in not behaving like a lady. Would you like a demonstration?’

‘What are you going to do, Princess?’ They were toe to toe. Tension radiated from him in waves. ‘Hit me?’

‘Oh, no.’ Tempting as it was. ‘I was thinking of something a whole lot more subtle by way of a demonstration.’ She put her hand to his chest, to his heart, before finally curving it round the back of his neck and pressing her lips to the strong curve of his jaw. Gently.

‘You think I didn’t love you,’ she murmured. Another kiss for that stubborn jaw, followed by the slow slide of her lips across to the edge of his mouth. ‘You think your feelings were the stronger.’

She gave him time to move away. She did give him that.

His chest heaved and he drew a ragged breath. But he stayed right where he was.

‘You’re wrong,’ she whispered, and set her lips to his.

His lips were warm and firm. And closed. She touched the tip of her tongue to the crease in them and tasted salt. She felt the shudder that ripped through him but his mouth stayed stubbornly closed to her. She started to pull away. Experiment over. Experiment failed.

And then his hand came up to cup her face, his lips opened beneath hers, a dam broke somewhere, and the world around her simply disappeared.

REVEALED: A PRINCE AND A PREGNANCY
BY KELLY HUNTER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Maytoners.

And Puppies.

Dear Reader

In my last book, EXPOSED: MISBEHAVING WITH THE MAGNATE, I wrote Gabrielle and Lucien’s story, and fought hard to keep Gabrielle’s brother Rafael off the page. Not because he was bad, but because if I’d given him any leeway whatsoever he’d have dominated the story and captured my heart—and I couldn’t have that. It wasn’t his story.

In REVEALED: A PRINCE AND A PREGNANCY Rafe’s been allowed full rein—and reign he does. Emerging from a cold and traumatic childhood, Rafael is an enigmatic, driven man with a clear moral compass, a closely guarded heart, and a steely determination to protect those few people he loves.

The last person he wants to see at his sister’s wedding is bridesmaid Simone Duvalier, who witnessed so much of his childhood humiliation and broke his heart as a young man. But Simone brings acceptance and understanding with her, along with revelations guaranteed to turn Rafael’s world upside down.

Simone and I gave Rafael a very hard time. There’s no denying that. We shattered his present. We forced him to re-examine his past. We forced upon him a future he wasn’t ready for. But we also lost our hearts to him in the process, and I hope you will too.

Warm wishes

Kelly Hunter

Chapter One

THE moment she saw the elegant two-storey guest house nestled in the heart of one of Australia’s premier wine-growing regions, Simone Duvalier approved of it. Granted, it was no seventeenth-century French chateau, but if one had to attend a wedding halfway around the world then this picturesque venue gave at least some consolation. Someone here had an eye for detail, reflected in the immaculately kept gardens and gleaming house. Someone here had a penchant for whimsy. The strutting metal flamingos cobbled together from nuts and bolts and what looked like spare engine parts telegraphed that.

As for the scenery…The big sky and the eucalypt-clad hills on the horizon. The tidy rows of grapevines flanking the drive…She’d been expecting a hint of wildness about the Australian landscape and it did not disappoint her, but there was order here too and that surprised her. Simone liked surprises. Surprise was an emotion that could almost compete with the nervousness that clawed through her whenever she thought about seeing Rafael Alexander again.

Rafael, her childhood playmate. Rafael, the housekeeper’s son.

Rafe the ambitious, the driven, the brilliant.

Rafael, the man she’d spurned.

Would he hold a grudge? Still? After almost nine years?

Would her soon-to-be brother-in-law be in any way pleased to see her? Probably not, but the one thing she’d made sure he could not do was throw her out. The land surrounding the guest house might have belonged to Rafael, but the guest house itself did not. And as adamant as Gabrielle had been about the wedding taking place in Australia rather than France, she’d also chosen to hold both the ceremony and the reception here at the guest house rather than at Rafe’s vineyard.

Neutral ground, and a concession for which Simone was supremely grateful.

Smiling grimly, Simone negotiated the narrow drive-way and parked her hired Audi in the car park behind the guest house before finally cutting the engine. At least she had a day to compose herself before meeting him again. Time enough to recover from her flight and the harrowing drive to the valley. Time enough for her to put on her happy face and work her way in to the moment.

‘One step at a time,’ she murmured. That was how she’d made it this far. By forcing one foot in front of the other, painting a smile on her face and making herself move towards the moment she dreaded.

Courage, mon ami, Gabrielle had whispered when she’d told Simone that the wedding would be held in Australia and that Rafael had agreed to stand as Luc’s best man.

Courage, when every instinct screamed at Simone to forgo her bridesmaid duties and run.

But Gabrielle had been adamant. It’s time you faced him again. It’s time he faced you.

Courage.

So here she was. Finally setting foot in Australia. Finally about to confront the ghosts of her past, for better or for worse. But not quite yet. Tomorrow would be plenty soon enough. For now, all she needed was her overnight bag, her car keys, Gabrielle’s gown and a room. Lord, let there be room at the inn. Simone had deliberately neglected to notify anyone of her early arrival and that included the guest-house staff.

The entrance foyer to the guest house was decorated in the French provincial style, albeit with some strikingly Australian floral arrangements. The young receptionist behind the desk smiled cheerfully, her eyes widening as she took in the garment bag draped over Simone’s arm. ‘Uh oh,’ she muttered as she hurried around the counter to take, not the garment bag, but Simone’s overnight case and car keys. ‘You’re Simone Duvalier. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.’

‘I know. But there was a slight change of flight plans. I come in heartfelt hope that you might have a room available for me tonight.’

‘You’ve just flown in from Paris and driven here?’ asked the girl, and at her nod, ‘No wonder you look exhausted! But you’re in luck. I prepped your room earlier this morning, though I haven’t cut your flowers yet.’ She motioned for Simone to follow her along a hallway leading off from the foyer. ‘I’ll get you some later this afternoon, once the sun’s gone off them.’

‘You cut flowers from the garden outside?’ asked Simone, intrigued, as she followed the young woman along the wide hallway with its polished wooden floors and pressed metal ceilings.

‘As often as we can, yes. Want to come with me later? A lot of our guests enjoy picking out the flowers they’d like.’

‘I’m sure they do,’ said Simone, charmed. ‘How do you stop guests from choosing blooms that you don’t want cut?’

‘Easy,’ said the girl and glanced back at Simone with a dimpled smile. ‘I say “No, not that one.” Works a treat.’

‘I’m sure it does.’ Simone smiled her bemusement. She’d heard these Australians were a sunny people, given to irreverence and informality. She just hadn’t realised quite how unselfconsciously they served it up.

The room the receptionist took her to was feminine and airy, with a secluded courtyard and a separate dining area. The receptionist set Simone’s overnight case on the luggage rack, peeled back curtains and crossed to a large set of white louvre doors, opening them wide to reveal a walk-in wardrobe. Lemon-scented white linen sheets had been laid over gleaming wooden floorboards and a dressmaker’s dummy stood in the centre of the sheets, naked and waiting.

‘Gaby mentioned that you’d be bringing her wedding dress with you. Will this do for somewhere to put it?’

‘Perfect,’ said Simone. ‘The couturiers at Yves St Laurent would most definitely approve.’

‘Yves St Laurent?’ The girl eyed the garment bag in Simone’s arms with unabashed curiosity. ‘Gaby didn’t mention that. She’s wearing an Yves St Laurent wedding dress?’

‘Oui. And as soon as I shower and change into clean clothes I will call for you and we shall set the gown in place on the dressmaker’s bodice. Then we shall call the bride-to-be over to see what she thinks of it, yes?’

‘Yes,’ said the girl with another dimpled smile as Simone carefully laid the gown on the bed for now. ‘Ask for Sarah. Sarah who loves her job.’ With one last glance towards the garment bag, the girl collected herself and dangled Simone’s rental car keys from her fingers. ‘I’ll bring the rest of your luggage in.’

‘Thank you. Oh, and there are half a dozen cases of champagne in the rear of the car.’ She’d hauled them all the way from Caverness—thank heaven for porters—and the sooner she was free of them, the better. ‘Could you see that they come in as well?’

‘No problem. Where do you want them?’

‘I don’t suppose you have a dedicated drinks cool room operating at four degrees Celsius on hand?’

‘You’re in the heart of vineyard country. Of course we do.’

Of course they did. Simone was well on her way to falling in love with this fine establishment.

Sarah, who loved her job, jiggled the car keys and headed for the door. ‘I’ll send one of the cellar staff over with a receipt for your champagne. The receipt tells you exactly where we’ve stored it. When you want the champagne back just hand someone the receipt.’

‘It’s for Gabrielle’s wedding toasts. I believe the reception is to be held at the restaurant here on Sunday?’

Sarah nodded.

‘Then perhaps you could notify the maître d’ of the champagne’s arrival and location as well?’

‘Will do.’ Sarah left.

Simone waited until Sarah had closed the door behind her before crossing to her overnight case, retrieving her toiletries and heading for the bathroom, a white-on-grey marble affair with plush towels and stage-mirror lighting. ‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured. This place was just full of surprises. ‘I could get very fond of you.’

She’d been born into wealth, lots of it, and the family fortune had only risen over the years, but that didn’t mean Simone took her wealth or the benefits that came with it for granted. It was her duty to appreciate the finer things in life, and appreciate them she did.

Long minutes later, Simone emerged from the steamy shower cubicle and reached for a fluffy white towel. She’d barely finished drying her hair before a hammering noise started up at the door to her suite.

Cellar staff, Sarah had said. Impatient cellar staff.

‘Wait,’ she muttered, tucking the towel around her body and heading for the door, making sure she stood well behind it before opening it a fraction and peering out.

Not cellar staff, though he looked the part in his battered boots and well-worn work trousers. His grey T-shirt had seen better days too and could have been shapeless if not for the aid of the superbly muscled chest beneath it. His face was one she saw in her dreams, a strong and impossibly handsome face. Beloved once. Beautiful still. In her dreams those vivid blue eyes were always laughing, inviting her to share the joke and the moment with him. They weren’t laughing now.

‘Your receipt,’ he said quietly, and held it up between long strong fingers. ‘I was delivering the red wine for the wedding when the champagne came in.’

She opened the door a fraction wider and took the slip of paper from him. Their fingers did not touch. Rafael’s eyes did not warm. Not a dream then, but awkward, uncomfortable reality. ‘Merci.’

‘You’re early,’ he said next.

‘Yes.’ What could she say? That she’d arrived a day early so as to avoid having Gabrielle—or him—meet her at the airport? That she’d taken that extra time deliberately in order to armour herself against seeing him again? ‘Yes. A little early.’

Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he searched her face. ‘May I come in?’

‘No!’ Too breathless. Far too hasty. ‘No,’ she said again, trying for more composure. ‘Now’s not a good time.’

His eyed hardened. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you had company.’

Company? Company? As if she would attend this particular wedding with a lover in tow. Cursing herself for a fool, she moved out from behind the door and swung it wide open so that he could see for himself the kind of company she kept. Rafe’s hard gaze swept the room before returning to clash with hers.

Day, the household staff had named him back when they were children and Rafe had called Caverness home. Day, because of the sunshine in his nature and the brightness of his smile, never mind that he’d been the housekeeper’s unloved and unwanted son. And Lucien—her brother and Rafe’s partner in crime—Lucien with his watchful ways and inky-black hair had been Night. Somehow, it seemed as if their roles had been reversed.

‘I’m a little underdressed at the moment.’ Meeting him bereft of make-up and clad only in a towel had not been part of her master plan. ‘So if you would be so good as to leave…’

‘Being good isn’t something I excel at,’ he murmured silkily and leaned against the doorway, all raw and powerful male. His eyes made a leisurely study of her person. ‘Nice towel.’

He was fabulous when he was bad. She hadn’t forgotten. ‘Still out to defy the world, I see? How…predictable.’

‘No, I’ve given up defying the world. The reasoning was flawed.’ He sent her a devil’s smile. ‘Now I just want to rule it.’

‘Mmm.’ She sent him as cool a stare as she could manage for a woman dressed in a towel. ‘Wouldn’t a psychiatrist have fun with you.’

‘Well, she could,’ he murmured. ‘But only if she were naked and willing to be a very bad girl.’

Simone’s breath hitched in her throat and she could have sworn a flush started in the vicinity of her toes and shot straight to her scalp.

‘She could analyse herself afterwards,’ he continued in that dark, delicious rumble. ‘Give her something to do with her time because there certainly wouldn’t be any challenge in analysing me. I’m a simple soul, really.’

Not from where she was standing. Simone could feel herself being drawn towards him, moth to flame and perfectly willing to burn for just one more taste of all that barely contained heat.

Her luggage and car keys stood just inside the door. Simone reached for the suitcase handle, determined to stay calm. ‘I only arrived a few minutes ago. It’ll be ten more before I’m ready to see you,’ she murmured, and wished that her voice sounded steadier. She headed for the bathroom fast, grateful that the suitcase she towed behind her had wheels. ‘Close the door behind you if you decide not to wait,’ she added over her shoulder.

‘I’m not your servant, princess.’ There was no ignoring the bite in his words. ‘And you’ve never been ready for me.’

Finally, she thought with grim satisfaction. Finally, an honest reaction from him. ‘Yes, well…’ She reached down deep and called for calm in the face of his simmering, seething resentment. ‘I’ll be ten minutes.’

She shut herself in the bathroom, sinking back against the wall as reaction set in. She held her hands out in front of her, palms down to the floor. Shaking hands and a heavy heart at what he could still make her feel, even after all these years. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing strength to her limbs and resolve to her trembling heart.

Time to get dressed. Time to find clothes in her suitcase that lent confidence and poise. Clothes that armed a woman against a man such as Rafael.

Beige trousers and her favourite sleeveless shirt in rich plum colours. Add a pair of vertiginous strappy leather sandals, a Cartier watch and a gauzy rainforest-green silk scarf; run a brush through her hair, emphasise her lips and eyes with a touch of make-up and maybe, just maybe, this time she’d be ready for him.

Not that she ever had been before.

Rafael brooded in silence as he made his way from the guest room into the tiny private courtyard attached to it. Simone Duvalier wasn’t meant to be here. Not today. Not ever, if Rafael had any say in the matter. Not that he seemed to have much say in anything of late. His sister’s upcoming wedding to Luc Duvalier had seen to that. Why they weren’t getting married in France where there was a perfectly serviceable seventeenth-century chateau at their disposal was anyone’s guess, but no, Gabrielle had insisted on holding the ceremony in Australia. Which meant that the wedding party entourage—which, granted, consisted only of Luc and Simone—were coming here.

He didn’t want them here.

Not Luc, for all that they had retained some semblance of friendship over the years.

Not Simone, looking flustered and fetching and far too vulnerable for his liking.

Rafe scowled at the jasmine climbing its way up the stone courtyard wall. Hadn’t he taught her never to appear weak in the face of one’s enemies? Hadn’t she remembered any of the lessons growing up at Caverness had taught them?

Never show fear, especially when your hands were slick with it.

Never let on how much something means to you lest someone take it away.

Never back down. Never give in.

Never look back.

Simone hadn’t had to learn that last lesson, only Rafael, but he’d never forgotten it. Indeed, he’d got royally drunk on one of his first nights in Australia and had those exact three words cut into his back. Not that he’d ever seen the tattoo, mind, although more than one woman had professed herself captivated by its beauty. Not once, in all the years it had graced his skin, had he ever sought its image.

He never looked back.

What the hell was taking her so long?

He had a million things to do today. Laying down the law on exactly how Simone Duvalier would conduct herself during her stay here hadn’t been one of them. That task had been on his list of things to do tomorrow.

Not that that bothered him. Rafael was an opportunist in the purest sense of the word. Today would do just as well. ‘Here’s how it’s going to be,’ he would say. ‘You’re going to stay out of my way. I’m going to stay out of yours. And you will not set foot in my house or on my land during your time here because I don’t want you there. Ever. Clear?’ And she would say, ‘Yes, crystal clear,’ with her eyes downcast, at which point he would get the hell out of there before he changed his mind.

Rafe paced the courtyard—he figured this took all of three seconds. He considered he might just probably be climbing the courtyard walls by the time Simone deigned to put in an appearance. How could it possibly take her ten minutes to throw on some clothes and run a comb through her hair?

Exactly ten minutes later Simone emerged from the bathroom, a vision of elegant sophistication and poise. She didn’t look towards the still open door, no, she turned her head towards the courtyard and looked straight at him, as if she’d known all along that he would be waiting for her there. He felt the impact of that quiet assessing gaze hit him like a silken fist.

She stepped out into the courtyard, one elegantly sandal-clad and perfectly pedicured foot in front of the other. ‘I thought we might perhaps manage a greeting this time round, but I can see you’re not in the mood,’ she said quietly.

He wasn’t. And it rankled him mightily that she knew it.

‘Would you care for a drink?’ she said next. ‘I was about to call for some coffee.’

‘No.’

‘Or, there’s probably juice or cola in the fridge if you’d prefer something cold. Come to think of it, I’d prefer something cold. Are you sure I can’t get you something?’

She disappeared back inside, leaving Rafe to either follow her, which he would never do, or stay where he was and seethe in silence, which he accomplished effortlessly.

She returned a minute or so later with a tall glass of clear liquid. ‘They only had water,’ she said. ‘I guess you order what you want from room service. That or Sarah will restock the fridge when she does the flowers.’

‘We need to set some ground rules,’ he told her curtly.

‘Not a social visit, then? Who would have guessed?’

Rafael watched in silence as Simone sipped her drink, soft, lush lips to cool, smooth glass. Rafe hadn’t been thirsty a moment ago. Now he was parched.

‘Am I going to like these ground rules?’ she asked next.

‘You might,’ he offered, dragging his gaze from her lips. Not that he gave a damn whether she liked them or not. ‘You might find that they make your stay here easier for all concerned.’

‘Ah, yes. The easy road.’ She looked around the courtyard, her gaze following the trail of jasmine up and over the wall. ‘Why is it, do you think, that the easy road so rarely takes a person where they want to go?’

‘It can,’ he said. ‘It depends where you want to go.’

‘Call it a wild hunch, but I don’t think we’re heading for the same place.’ She slanted him a glance, heavy on the doe-eyed innocence. Warning klaxons rang in his brain. Childhood memories surfaced. The ingénue look had usually signalled Simone at her devious best. And Simone at her devious best had been very wily indeed.

‘So…about these rules…’ she said. ‘Am I to stay out of your way as much as possible? Refuse all invitations from Gabrielle to show me the vineyard you restored and made your own? Am I to pretend that our shared history does not exist?’

She knew him too well. He glared at her, but he didn’t contradict her. ‘It’s a start.’

‘It’s a mistake,’ she countered lightly. ‘Funny things, boundaries. All they ever seem to do is make a person want to push against them.’ Her gaze turned dark and knowing. ‘But then…you already know that.’

Just like that, effortlessly and with surgical precision, she cut the ground from beneath him.

‘I will not cower in the shadows during my stay here, Rafael.’ She stepped closer, too close. ‘I will not pretend polite indifference towards you. I reject your rules of engagement. Mine is a different road.’

He could smell the scent on her skin, something delicate and floral and quintessentially French. He was close enough to touch her if he wanted to. And he did want to. Not lovingly or gently but in desperation and in need. Slowly, deliberately, he jammed his hands in his pockets and stepped back. ‘Yours is a dangerous road.’

‘We played together as children,’ she said quietly. ‘I knew you then. I knew your soul and it wasn’t a simple one, but I knew it nonetheless. We loved together in our youth and I felt your dreams and breathed your fears, but duty prevented me from following where you led. Sometimes, when I look back, I regret the choices I’ve made. And sometimes I don’t.’

She looked away then, as if the sight of him hurt her eyes. ‘I cannot change our past, Rafael. It happened. It’s done. But I can influence the present and I would have us leave the past behind if we could. I want new memories to replace the old. Even bittersweet ones would be better than the ones I carry now.’

She took a shuddering breath. There was fear here; he felt it as if it were his own. Maybe it was. Run, he pleaded silently. Dear God, Simone, don’t do this. Don’t even try.

‘Do you know what I would take from you this visit?’ she said quietly. ‘Friendship.’

‘Don’t,’ he muttered. ‘Simone, don’t.’

‘Guarded if you like. Conditional if need be. But I would very much like to get to know the man you’ve become.’

‘No.’ She asked too much of him. She always had. He headed for the door, knowing it for retreat. Knowing that whatever ground he’d thought to protect, he’d somehow just lost. ‘I can’t walk that road with you,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Not now, not ever.’ He let his anger surface, he let it fan his pain and she flinched away from what she saw in his eyes and well she should have. He headed for the door, fast, before he hauled her in his arms and showed her exactly why he could never be her friend. ‘I just can’t.’

Simone stood her ground as he strode from the court-yard and then from the room without a backward glance. She knew he wouldn’t look back, he never had, even as a boy. Forward was the only way for Rafael and she had hoped to appeal to that need in him. Confront the past head on in order to move on.

So much for that particular notion.

Simone closed her eyes and let the twin blades of weariness and abandonment overtake her.

She’d come here for a wedding because she had to. She’d come here, out of her element and out of her league, to try and broker some sort of peace with her past and with Rafael.

She was trying, dammit!

Coffee would be good. Coffee, and then she and Sarah would fit the bridal gown to the dressmaker’s dummy and then she would make that call to Gabrielle. There were jobs to do. Steps to take. She would take pleasure in helping to make Luc and Gabrielle’s wedding day a perfect one. She would find joy in the little things. She would not give way to despair.

As for Rafael, with his smouldering gaze and his barely concealed anger…

Courage.

Chapter Two

‘IT’S exquisite,’ said Gabrielle in a hushed and reverent whisper as she fingered the pearl edging of the neckline. ‘I knew when they took my measurements and we agreed on a basic design that it’d be lovely, but never in a million years did I imagine a gown as beautiful as this. It’s like something from a fairy tale. A very sophisticated French fairy tale,’ she added with a grin. ‘Wait ‘til Lucien sees it!’

‘Exactly,’ said Simone. ‘I trust you’ve organised hair and make-up assistance for Sunday?’

‘Done,’ said Gabrielle. ‘Oh, Simone, thank you. Thank you for bringing all this with you, and for coming. I know you have your reservations, but I’m so glad you’re here.’

‘Yes, well…well-founded reservations notwithstanding, I’m glad I’m here too.’ She sat back and smiled at Gabrielle’s continued fascination with her wedding gown. ‘I think we need to get better acquainted with the room service hereabouts. How does a plate full of salmon and black caviar canapés sound? It seems it’s on the menu.’

‘Do they come with a chilled Semillon Blanc?’

‘I’m sure they could…’ Simone grinned and reached for the phone. ‘Let me see.’

Simone added a selection of local cheese and biscuits to the order and replaced the phone in the receiver, well satisfied with her efforts. ‘Food and beverage is on the way. What else do bridesmaids usually do?’

‘They show the bride their bridesmaid gown.’ Gabrielle dragged her gaze away from her wedding dress long enough to spear Simone with a narrow-eyed glance. ‘And what do you mean by “well-founded” reservations? You haven’t even seen Rafe yet.’

‘Not true. He happened by this afternoon.’ Simone headed for the outer hanging cupboard and pulled a strapless floor-length gown in coffee cream with slightly darker pearl beading across the bodice from its depths. ‘Voila! It suits me very well and offsets your gown to perfection. I told you the couturier knew what he was doing.’

‘And so he should, considering what he charges. But you’re right, he does know clothes. You’re going to look divine.’ Gabrielle sent her a questioning smile. ‘Ordinarily I would wax lyrical over the gown a little longer, but my curiosity’s killing me. Rafe was here earlier?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ Simone slid the dress back into the cupboard and shut the door.

‘And?’ Gabrielle sounded impatient.

Simone turned to face her. ‘And what?’

‘Stop stalling. Was he civil?’

‘After a fashion.’

‘Were you civil?’

‘But of course,’ she said lightly.

‘It was a disaster, wasn’t it?’ asked Gabrielle darkly.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you still have feelings for him?’

‘We grew up together, Gabrielle. I’ll always have feelings for him. Nothing can change that.’

‘Okay, fair enough, let me rephrase. Do you still desire him?’

Trust Gabrielle to get straight to the heart of the matter. ‘It’s hard to say.’

‘Say it anyway,’ muttered Gabrielle. ‘Let me rephrase again. Does he still want you?’

‘He couldn’t get away quickly enough,’ muttered Simone. ‘Does that answer your question?’

‘Not in the slightest,’ said a disgruntled Gabrielle. ‘I knew you’d be an unreliable witness. Why do you think I wanted to be there?’

A discreet knocking sounded on the door. Simone flinched, and stilled, but the knocking did not get louder or more insistent. It had to be room service knocking. The door would not open to reveal Rafael this time. She hoped. Releasing her breath slowly, Simone forced tense muscles to relax and turned towards the door.

‘Allow me.’ Gabrielle shot her a curious glance before heading for the door and opening it to reveal a smiling Sarah bearing a trolley laden with food, elegant crystal wine glasses and white wine on ice.

‘Sarah, you’re just in time,’ said Gabrielle as she helped Sarah wheel the trolley into the room. ‘Did you see Rafe earlier?’

‘Yep.’

‘How did he look?’

‘Bothered.’

‘What about hot?’ asked Gaby the shameless.

‘He always looks hot,’ said Sarah, putting a hand to her heart. ‘Hot and bothered was a new look for him, but frankly, he wore it well. Shall I pour wine for two?’

‘Double over here,’ murmured Simone.

Gabrielle snickered. ‘You do still want him.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Simone said indignantly. ‘Sarah, did I say that?’

Sarah dimpled and handed her a wine glass filled perilously close to overflowing. ‘So you’re the one.’

‘Pardon?’

‘The one who’s got him all riled. The one who got away. The one who ruined him for all other women,’ offered Sarah expansively.

‘Oh, that’s harsh,’ said Gabrielle, accepting a much smaller glass of wine from Sarah. ‘Harsh, yet disturbingly accurate.’

‘I did not ruin him for all other women.’ ‘Not knowingly,’ conceded Gabrielle. ‘If you had I couldn’t love you the way I do.’

‘Anyway, define “ruined”,’ argued Simone. ‘He didn’t look particularly ruined to me.’ He’d looked dangerously, broodingly desirable. ‘I’ll bet plenty of other women have found his attentions more than adequate.’

‘I’m sure they have,’ murmured Gabrielle soothingly. ‘The point being that he never attends them for very long. More wine?’

Simone had forgotten all about the wine. She sipped, and sipped again. They were big sips. Fortifying sips. It was very good wine.

‘You need a plan,’ said Gabrielle.

‘I have a plan. It’s called stay for your wedding and then leave.’

‘You need a better plan,’ said Gabrielle, sipping her own wine thoughtfully. ‘Sarah, can you ask Inigo if we can bring forward the menu planning to this afternoon? Say 5:00 p.m.?’

‘I can,’ said Sarah. ‘And he will. But he won’t be happy about it.’

‘Tell him there’s a bottle of Angels Tears in it for him. That ought to cheer him up.’

‘It’d cheer me up,’ said Sarah as she headed for the door.

‘Who’s Inigo?’ asked Simone.

‘The restaurant manager,’ murmured Gabrielle. ‘He’s very fussy about food choice. Anyone would think he was French.’

‘Most of us just think he’s mad,’ said Sarah from the door. ‘But he does run a fine restaurant service. He’s been trying to nail Gabrielle down to a meal plan for the reception for weeks.’

‘I was waiting for you to arrive,’ said Gabrielle to Simone as Sarah closed the door behind her on her way out. ‘My decision-making powers have temporarily deserted me. Mind you, if you prefer one thing and I prefer another we’ll still be without a decision. I’d better call Rafe. He can meet us there.’ She offered up an encouraging smile. ‘You don’t mind if he joins us, do you?’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Simone carefully. ‘But Rafael might not be enamoured of the notion.’

‘He doesn’t have to be enamoured,’ replied Gabrielle blithely as she fished her mobile from her handbag. ‘Although I’m not ruling it out.’ She pressed a couple of buttons and put the phone to her ear. ‘He just has to be there.’

Which was how, at exactly five past five that afternoon, Simone came to be examining plateware patterns in a sumptuously appointed private dining room with Gabrielle the indecisive and Inigo the sorely put upon. Rafael had not yet arrived, but the spectre of him doing so made concentrating difficult.

‘What about the pink and ivory Limoges design?’ asked Gabrielle.

‘Very elegant,’ murmured Simone.

‘Or just the plain white Limoges with the silver trim,’ said Inigo, pointing to it in the cabinet. ‘Food sits well on that plate too.’

‘Safe choice,’ agreed Simone.

‘Not helping,’ said Gabrielle.

Simone sighed. ‘Inigo, do you mind if we take some plates from the cabinet and set a few table places for comparison? We’ll need silverware, napkins and glassware as well.’

Inigo did not mind. Inigo was all for a decision. Any decision. He opened half a dozen sideboard drawers and indicated the silverware choices. Opened sideboard cupboards to reveal the glassware.

‘Is the restaurant décor similar to this?’ Simone gestured around the antique-filled room with its dark wooden floors and tables and fireplace filled with fresh flowers. Inigo assured her it was. Simone glanced at Gabrielle next. Gabrielle looked overwhelmed. ‘You’ve seen all this before?’

Gabrielle nodded. ‘As far as I’m concerned it’s all beautiful.’

Yes, it was. Fortunately, some of it was more beautiful than the rest. ‘And you really want my input? You do realise that the only opinion that counts in all of this is yours?’

‘I do,’ said Gabrielle. ‘And I have no idea what I want. Apart from Lucien beside me on my wedding day. The rest could be sawdust.’

‘Yes, well, it could be,’ murmured Simone, grinning at Inigo’s aghast expression. ‘But spare a thought for the rest of us.’ Simone stood and surveyed the tableware on offer. ‘Inigo, we’ll need the Swarovski glassware—no, not the large red wine glass, the medium-sized one, and the glasses for the white wine and the champagne too, merci. Then the silverware with the cutaway groove.Yes, please. Then the pink and ivory plates, the café-au-lait coloured napkins and we’ll finish with the pewter hedgehog napkin rings for whimsy.’ She surveyed the flowers in the fireplace with an eye to colour and form and finally plucked half a dozen old roses in creams, palest pink, and apricot and placed them above the setting.

‘What about tablecloths?’ asked Inigo.

‘No tablecloths on this woodgrain,’ murmured Simone, sliding her hand along the gleaming woodwork. ‘Let’s set another place. This time I’d like the white Hermès plates with the red and gold swirl, and to go with them the plain-edged silverware and white napkins.’

‘Very nice,’ said Inigo as the second place setting took shape with gratifying speed. ‘What else?’ Inigo held up a crystal champagne flute with a fine gold swirl running through it, and at Simone’s nod added it to the setting along with plainer wine glasses for the red and white wine. Simone chose another handful of the old roses from the basket in the fireplace, bolder hues this time, and added them to the table. Finally, she stood back and surveyed the two settings critically.

‘The Hermès gets my vote,’ she murmured, for it was gorgeous and vibrant and the room could take it. ‘Gaby? What do you think?’

‘This better not be your emergency, Gabrielle.’

Dark-edged, softly spoken words, threaded through with impatience. Simone felt the slide of them across her body as if a whip had lashed lightly across the skin on her back. Not to inflict pain, not yet, but the threat was there, and with that threat came the deeper knowledge that there was pleasure to be had in pain and that Rafael was more than capable of helping her find it.

Her pulse would triple, her heart would ache, and her eyes would be greedy once she’d turned to face him, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

She took her time turning to face him, knowing as she did so that she would find no welcome in his eyes. Knowing too that she would force him to acknowledge her and that she would pay for her boldness with pleasure and with pain. Oh, yes. There was a sweet, aching pleasure to be taken here and take it she would.

‘Bonjour, Rafael.’ He was still wearing his work clothes. He still looked dangerously out of sorts. Her heartbeat thudded its approval. ‘Big day in the field?’

‘Evening, princess,’ he murmured, those brilliant blue eyes shaded with no small measure of mockery. ‘This your idea?’

‘Mine? No.’ Simone waved a hand in Gabrielle’s direction. Gabrielle waved languidly back, amusement writ plain across her features. ‘I’m just trying to be a good bridesmaid and get through the day as best I can. But seeing you’re here, pick a place setting, any setting. As long as it’s one of the two on the table.’

Rafael surveyed the table settings, but not for long. ‘The one with the red.’

‘Decisive,’ murmured Gabrielle.

‘Isn’t he?’ agreed Simone, never mind that his opinion echoed hers.

‘Isn’t that what you want?’ said Rafael.

‘It’s what I want,’ said Inigo with a flirtatious leer in Rafe’s direction.

The look Rafael sent the maître d’ was darkly amused. ‘Inigo, you know I don’t play ball.’

‘Oh, I know.’ Inigo’s smile came swift and undaunted. ‘It’s just so hard to find that kind of authoritarian streak amongst the ladies.’

‘Give him time,’ Gabrielle murmured to Simone. ‘He’s only just seen you. He’ll figure it out.’

‘Well, while he does, tell me which table setting you prefer,’ said Simone. ‘The red is the bolder choice of the two, but then, you’re not exactly a wallflower. You probably don’t need reminding that neither is Luc.’

Gabrielle’s smile was that of a satisfied woman. ‘The red is gorgeous.’

‘Inigo, if I can interrupt the courtship process for a moment, we have a decision on the table décor,’ Simone said smoothly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Rafe’s eyes narrow in silent warning. She acknowledged his warning with the tilt of her lips. She’d seen many a woman flirt with Rafael over the years. She’d never seen a man attempt to until now. It was enough to make a woman start humming a little YMCA ditty to help set the mood.

‘Ooh, my favourite song,’ declared Inigo.

‘Mine too,’ she said.

‘Stay,’ she heard Gabrielle mutter from somewhere to her left.

‘So help me, Gabrielle, you’ll owe me for this,’ came Rafe’s muttered reply and Simone’s smile widened.

‘Will a thousand thank-yous be sufficient payment?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll clean your house,’ whispered Gabrielle next. ‘Twice.’

‘Who cares?’

‘Please, Rafael.’

The please was the clincher. When Rafael loved, it was all or nothing. It was his greatest weakness or his most beloved strength and Simone knew before he spoke that he would have no defence against Gabrielle’s pleading.

‘What do you need?’ he said gruffly.

‘You. Here,’ said Gabrielle.

The quietly spoken words echoed Simone’s deepest yearnings. The humming stopped. ‘Inigo, we’ll use the setting on the left,’ she said with a tired smile and tried to quell the desire to reach out and capture some of Rafe’s tenderness for herself. She wouldn’t know what to do with it if he gave it, and that was God’s truth. ‘What’s next?’

‘The menu,’ said Inigo, effortlessly following her train of thought, which was no mean feat all things considered. ‘Unless you’d rather start with the table wine choices and work back to the menu from there? I won’t tell the chef if you don’t.’

‘At the risk of sounding decisive, I’m all for choosing the wine first,’ said Simone. ‘Gaby?’

‘All we need is some still white wine for the tables,’ said Gabrielle as Inigo placed a leather-bound folder on the table in front of her. ‘We have the cabernet sauvignon and the champagne sorted.’

‘We certainly do,’ said Inigo. ‘The chef keeps sneaking into the cool room to look at the champagne and genuflect. Would you like a tasting bottle brought up?’

‘Yes,’ said Simone and Gabrielle in unison, never mind the half-empty bottle of white wine back in Simone’s room.

‘And for the red I’ve set aside the Angels Tears,’ continued Inigo as he headed for the doorway. ‘I’ll bring a bottle of that up for you too.’

‘I thought your wine was called Angels Landing,’ said Simone, harking back to an earlier thought.

‘Most of it is,’ said Gabrielle. ‘This is private stock. Rafe and I bottled it years ago, just after I arrived on his doorstep. He let me name it.’

‘That’s quite a name.’ Simone sought Rafael’s gaze. He stared back at her impassively, as if determined to give her nothing to work with. No words. No emotion. Nothing. Surely, he could give her something to work with. It didn’t have to be tenderness. Civility would do.

‘It’s possible I may have been a little morose at the time,’ confessed Gabrielle. ‘What can I say? I was sweet sixteen and I’d just been kissed. I’d also just been banished to what felt a lot like the end of the earth. It wasn’t one of my better years, but it had its blessings,’ she added, with a quiet smile in Rafe’s direction. ‘The wine is good,’ she said, turning her attention back to Simone. ‘It’s very good.’

Simone believed her. ‘I look forward to tasting it. Meanwhile, shall we take a look at the table whites they have on offer?’ Ignoring Rafe, she tried to get on with the task at hand. What had Gabrielle chosen to go with the finger food earlier? ‘A Semillon Blanc?’

Gabrielle nodded and flipped the pages over until she reached the required section. Simone perused the list over Gabrielle’s shoulder. It was a big list. Most of the wines were Australian. She knew nothing of Australian white wines. ‘Something regional?’

‘Not this region,’ said Rafael, finally offering input. ‘Red wine rules here, not white. And if it has to complement the Caverness, I suggest you start at the bottom of the list and stay there. This one.’ He pointed to one of the labels. ‘Or these two.’

‘Decisiveness is quite appealing in a man at times, isn’t it?’ murmured Gabrielle.

‘Oh, quite,’ agreed Simone, while her gaze clashed with Rafael’s in a battle that had nothing to do with the words and everything to do with establishing which of them was better at controlling the raw and powerful need that ran between them. ‘Such a pity Inigo isn’t here to witness it. We could have watched him swoon.’

‘You can watch me swoon instead,’ said Gabrielle. ‘I’ve just found the rack price for those wines.’ She looked to her brother. ‘I can’t ask Harrison to pay that price for wine.’

Harrison was Rafael and Gabrielle’s father, remembered Simone. Josien had refused him access to his children in their younger years, but Rafe had gone to him when he’d left Caverness. Harrison had welcomed him. He’d welcomed Gabrielle too, when she’d been unceremoniously bundled off to Australia. A generous man, thought Simone. And a patient one. What was it that he farmed again? Some sort of beef cattle. Lots of ups and downs in the beef-cattle market. ‘Ask Luc to pay for the wine,’ she suggested.

‘Ask me,’ said Rafael with a lopsided smile that tugged at Simone’s heart. ‘How many times are you planning on getting married, angel?’

‘Once,’ said Gabrielle with quiet conviction.

‘Then do it right,’ he said gently. ‘Harrison will pay. Try stopping him. And so will I.’ He spared a lightning glance for Simone. ‘We don’t need Duvalier money.’

‘Isn’t pride a sin?’ murmured Simone, goaded into retaliation. ‘I thought it was.’

‘Stick around,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ll give you a taste of all seven.’

‘If you say so.’ Simone allowed herself a brief fantasy interlude. Rafael’s mouth on hers, hot and devouring. Her hands on him, desperate and racing. Desire bit deep and flared beneath her skin, overwhelming caution and reason and straining her control. How far could she stretch his seemingly iron control? ‘Can lust be next?’

‘Oh, boy,’ muttered Gabrielle. ‘Just pretend I’m not here. Come to think of it, I’ve just remembered a very important meeting I should be at.’

‘Stay,’ said Simone and Rafael in unison.

‘This was your idea, remember?’ added Simone.

‘What the hell was I thinking?’ said Gabrielle. ‘Oh, yeah. I remember now. I was trying to help the two of you arrive at some sort of truce before my wedding. Silly me.’

Simone felt a stab of contrition. It joined the lust and mingled surprisingly well. Probably the latent Catholic in her. ‘I’m sorry, dear heart. I will behave.’

Inigo reappeared, bearing champagne in an ice bucket in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. ‘Do I hear the satisfied silence that comes of having made a swift decision?’ he asked hopefully as he set the wines on the table.

‘Not quite,’ said Gabrielle. ‘But we’ve narrowed it down to three.’

‘Which ones?’

Gabrielle told him.

Inigo beamed. Inigo preened. ‘You won’t be disappointed. Mind you, the thought of how long it’s going to take you to pick a favourite from that selection fills me with terror,’ he said, presenting the champagne to Simone for approval, and, at her nod, popping the cork and deftly filling three glasses in rapid succession.

‘Take the rest of the bottle through to the kitchen, please, Inigo,’ said Simone. ‘Tell the chef it’s his for the tasting and that we’d like his thoughts on what sort of canapés he thinks might best accompany it.’

‘Are you serious?’ Inigo glanced towards Rafael as if for confirmation. ‘Is she serious?’

Rafael nodded. ‘She likes to delegate from on high.’

‘Well, that’s one interpretation,’ said Simone sweetly. How could she be expected to behave in the face of Rafael’s constant baiting? ‘I like to think of it as letting the experts do their job.’ She picked up the ice bucket and handed it to Inigo. ‘Kitchen,’ she said.

‘Kitchen,’ murmured Inigo. ‘I’m on my way. I’m seeing the princess’s master plan unfold and I’m loving it. I’ll just pour a glass for myself as well as one for the chef and wax lyrical over the bouquet for a moment or two before suggesting that we call his apprentice and my offsider in to work tonight so that we can concentrate more fully on the weighty issue of planning a menu around such wines. Then I’ll go and get the whites you requested. Right after I uncork the red for you.’ Which he did. ‘There we go. Breathe, little cry baby, breathe. I have a hunch I’ll be seeing you later.’ Humming cheerfully, Inigo made his exit.

‘Congratulations,’ murmured Rafael. ‘You’ve made a conquest.’

‘Haven’t we all,’ countered Simone with the tilt of an eyebrow.

‘Simone,’ said Gabrielle sternly, ‘don’t tease. I can’t be held responsible for the consequences if you do. Rafe’s not twelve any more. He’s unlikely to put a frog in your shoe in reply.’

‘Pity,’ said Simone with wistful sigh. ‘I like frogs.’

As a child she’d built homes for them in the shady nooks in the gardens of Caverness, and Rafael knew it. The frogs he’d put in her shoes had been gifts for her, not retaliation for her teasing, and she knew it. ‘To frogs,’ she said, and reached for the champagne.

‘To the children of Caverness,’ said Gabrielle, picking up another glass of the gently bubbling liquid. ‘May they never weep again.’

‘Lovely,’ said Simone approvingly. ‘Although possibly a little optimistic.’

‘Just how much wine have you two already had?’ asked Rafael.

‘He had to go and spoil it,’ said Gabrielle, eyeing her brother darkly.

‘No sense of occasion at all,’ agreed Simone, sipping her champagne. ‘Oh, this is good. Rafael, try some.’ She wasn’t inebriated. She didn’t think for one minute that a glass of champagne, even if it was a superb vintage, would change Rafael’s opinion of her. She just wanted Rafe to be able to relax around her, just a little, so that she could relax, so that maybe, just maybe, they could get through this evening without bloodshed.

Rafael’s lips tightened as he reached for the only glass of champagne still left on the table. Half of it went in one long swallow. The man was obviously thirsty and royally out of sorts. Maybe she’d been a bit hasty in sending the rest of the bottle to the kitchen.

‘It’s Luc’s favourite vintage,’ she told him. ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s superb,’ he said curtly. ‘Not that you need my opinion.’

‘Just checking,’ she said. ‘I do that a lot. Occupational hazard.’

‘And what exactly is it that you do these days, princess? Besides delegate, that is.’

Ooh, he was asking for trouble. She didn’t care how big and beautiful he was. ‘Oh, nothing much,’ she said airily. ‘I spend a bit of time pottering around the gardens of Caverness. I oversee the running and maintenance of the chateau. I run the European marketing arm of the Duvalier winemaking dynasty. That sort of thing.’

‘Don’t forget all the hiring and firing,’ injected Gabrielle. ‘You do that too.’

Simone shook her head. ‘Luc usually does all that.’

‘But you were the one to suggest that Josien find work elsewhere,’ said Gabrielle quietly.

‘Oh.’ She took a deep breath. ‘That. So I was.’

Rafael’s sudden stillness unnerved her. The intensity of his gaze unnerved her more.

‘You fired Josien?’ Rafe’s voice was mild. Too mild. ‘You?’

‘Yes.’ Simone tried hard not to quail beneath the onslaught of that searching blue gaze. She’d fired his mother from a position Josien had held for almost thirty years, but not without good reason. Rafe hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen for himself how untenable Gabrielle’s position as Luc’s wife would have been had Josien stayed in residence as housekeeper to Caverness. ‘Me.’

‘Why?’

Now there was a question in need of a careful answer. Never mind that Rafe had been baiting her and she him ever since he’d stepped into the room. Never mind that he’d been estranged from Josien for years. Criticising a man’s mother was never a sensible thing to do. ‘Because I wanted her gone from Caverness.’

‘Why?’

‘Can we please not have this conversation?’ she said.

‘Too late,’ he said. ‘We’re already having it. Why did you fire Josien?’

‘Because it was time she left Caverness,’ she said curtly, and cursed him for pushing her for answers she didn’t want to give. ‘Because I refused to sit back and watch her poison the happiness Gabrielle and Luc had found.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Because I could.’

Rafael drained the rest of his champagne. He looked as if he were swallowing the bitterest of pills rather than vintage champagne. ‘Good,’ he said gruffly.

‘Pardon?’ squeaked Simone.

‘I’d have done the same,’ he said.

He…‘What?’

‘You heard.’

‘Well, yes, but…’ Had he really just given his approval? ‘Was that a compliment?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said with a twist of his lips. ‘It could have been. It was hellishly hard to say aloud.’

‘I think it might have been,’ she said, and with a swift and challenging smile, ‘Does this mean we’re friends?’

‘No, it means we have a common foe and I’m impressed by your ruthlessness.’

Was that the shadow of a smile in his eyes? Hard to tell, but she thought it might be. ‘I had a good teacher,’ she said with a shrug. ‘He taught me how to protect the people I love. I was a little slow on the uptake, but I got there eventually.’

‘Josien’s not coming to the wedding, by the way,’ said Gabrielle with a lightness that didn’t quite mask her disappointment. ‘She says she’s not yet recovered enough from her pneumonia to attempt the travel.’

‘But surely you expected as much?’ said Simone. ‘I thought you held the wedding here so as to keep her away?’

‘Well, yes, that was one of the reasons for holding it here,’ acknowledged Gabrielle. ‘But not the only one. I’m having second thoughts.’

‘Don’t,’ said Rafael, and the hardness was back in his eyes. He loved hard, did Rafael. Simone didn’t need to be reminded that he hated hard too.

‘Maybe you’ll pay her a quick visit on the way back from your honeymoon,’ said Simone gently. ‘Maybe given time and happiness of her own she’ll come to accept who and what you are.’

‘Didn’t the person who showed you how to protect the ones you love teach you not to believe in fairy tales?’ murmured Rafael.

‘Yes, but it never stuck,’ said Simone. ‘Unlike him, I believe in forgiveness and redemption. I believe that with a little effort from both parties, a failed relationship can be rebuilt. Maybe not to what people hope for, but something. Something worthwhile.’

‘Optimist,’ he said.

‘Coward.’

‘Oh, boy,’ said Gabrielle as the maître d’bustled back into the room.

‘More wine,’ said Inigo cheerfully. ‘Lots and lots of wine.’ He glanced at Rafael’s empty champagne flute. ‘Who’s a thirsty boy, then?’ And in a whispered undertone to Simone, ‘The chef wishes to propose to you. When’s a good time?’

‘Maybe later,’ said Simone as Inigo opened the three white wines and organised glassware.

‘I’d stay,’ said Inigo flashing her a wide white smile, ‘but I know you need no guidance when it comes to tasting wine and I have to return to the kitchen and guard my champagne.’ He pointed towards a little brass bell on the sideboard. ‘Tinkle when you’re done.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Gabrielle hurriedly. ‘I need to have a word with the chef about a duck dish for the menu.’

‘And here I thought your decision-making abilities had deserted you,’ said Simone dryly.

‘They’re back,’ said Gabrielle emphatically. ‘But feel free to choose a white wine in my absence. Just don’t…’ she seemed at a loss for words ‘…fight, okay? Play nice.’ Shooting her brother a dark glare, Gabrielle followed Inigo from the room.

Silence followed their departure, and hot on the heels of that silence came the prickling awareness that she was alone with a man she’d once lost her heart to, and that most of her bravado had left the room with Gabrielle.

‘Shall we attempt conversation?’ she said, finally meeting his fathomless blue gaze. ‘Or shall we just drink?’

Wordlessly he picked up a bottle of wine and poured for them both. Good answer.

She sipped and tasted, giving the wine her utmost attention. So did Rafael.

While the silence grew.

‘Too light?’ she said finally.

‘Yes,’ he said, and poured the next.

This one had more body and a delicate fruity finish. ‘Nice,’ she murmured. Rafael said nothing, just moved on to the next.

They sipped. They tasted. As far as Simone was concerned, this was another very fine wine. A little more robust than the second one. A peppery low note in there somewhere. Smooth clean finish. But the second wine had her vote.

‘Which one, princess?’

‘I quite like it when you call me princess,’ she said reflectively. ‘It feels a lot like an endearment and a challenge all rolled into one.’ She sipped her wine and risked a glance in his direction. ‘I thought you should know.’

‘Which wine?’ he repeated tightly. No princesses present.

‘The second one.’

He nodded and set the bottle aside. Whether he agreed with her choice was open to speculation. Maybe he simply wanted to get the wine choosing over with so he could leave. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

He reached for the red wine and poured for them both. Angels Tears. Evocative name. Beautifully coloured wine. She sipped, and sipped again. It was divine. ‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured. ‘Luc’s going to love this.’

‘And you?’ Rafael had yet to touch his own glass. His eyes were on her, searching for her reaction to his wine. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Do you care?’

He looked away, towards the fireplace with the flowers. ‘No.’

No. Heaviness descended, and with it regret for what could have been and wasn’t. It didn’t have to be like this. It really didn’t. ‘It’s brilliant,’ she said quietly. ‘But then, so are you. You always were.’

He flinched as if she’d hit him.

Simone bowed her head and cupped her hands around her wine goblet.

‘Tell Gabrielle I had to leave.’ Rafe’s voice sounded strained and husky, as if he’d already shouted himself hoarse. ‘Tell her I’m sorry, and that everything will be okay on her wedding day.’

‘I will.’ She gazed at the dark and shimmering liquid in the goblet. The image blurred. More tears were coming. Her tears.

‘Simone?’ he said next, and she closed her eyes and let the pain of her name on his lips slice through her because with it came pleasure and take it she would.

‘Rafael.’

‘I’m glad you liked the wine.’

She waited until his footsteps had receded before she finally let her tears fall. ‘Me too.’

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