style="font-size:15px;"> It was a beautiful city, with a picturesque harbour and buildings of varied architecture. Possessed of a relatively mild climate, the clear blue skies and sparkling waters of Port Jackson, with cliff-top mansions and numerous small craft anchored in the many bays and inlets, provided an endearing sense of familiarity evident as Nicos traversed the inner-city streets before easing the car to a halt adjacent the hotel’s main entrance for valet parking.
Guests mingled in the large lobby adjoining the grand ballroom. Uniformed waiters circled the area proffering trays of drinks, and the buzz of conversational chatter abounded.
The social élite, Katrina mused, dressed in their finest, with the women collectively displaying sufficient jewellery to fund a year’s aid to a Third-World country.
There were many guests present who would have sighted the photo of Katrina and Nicos Kasoulis and its teasing caption in the morning’s newspaper gossip column. Circumspect interest was expected, and she forced herself to ignore the telling glances, the quiet asides as she stood at Nicos’s side and sipped a mix of champagne and orange juice.
A few acquaintances made a point of extending their condolences for the loss of her father, others conveyed silent hand signals indicating they’d catch up through the evening.
Katrina sighted both of her stepmothers standing at opposite ends of the lobby, a presence that issued a silent statement of their individual importance on the social scene. Andrea had her man-of-the-moment in tow, while Chloe was partnered by none other than her son, Enrique.
It was a blessing that Siobhan, at least, didn’t try to compete on any level, much preferring a less fashionably social existence.
Three of Kevin’s ex-wives at one gathering would be too much to handle. It had been bad enough keeping the peace at her father’s funeral, where a farce worthy of Hollywood had been played out for the benefit of those sufficiently intrigued to observe it. Of whom there had been several, Katrina reflected grimly.
Nicos watched the fleeting expressions chase across his wife’s features, and caught the determined resolve evident as she mentally braced herself for an inevitable confrontation.
Andrea and Chloe’s interest in Kevin’s daughter could only be termed superficial, yet each woman painstakingly observed social etiquette. Enrique, on the other hand, was something else.
‘You don’t have to handle it alone.’
Katrina met Nicos’s dark gaze, and forced her lips into a faint smile. ‘Is that meant to be reassuring?’
‘Count on it.’
‘My bodyguard,’ she stated with an attempt at cynicism.
‘That, too,’ he responded with light mockery.
‘Katrina, darling.’
She turned at the sound of that soft, purring voice, and went into the air-kiss routine Andrea favoured.
‘Nicos.’ There was a degree of wariness beneath the superficial greeting before Andrea turned back to her stepdaughter. ‘Kevin would be proud you made the effort to be here so soon after his passing.’
A compliment or condemnation? Katrina chose to take the words at face value. ‘Thank you, Andrea.’
Five minutes after Andrea moved away, Chloe crossed the lobby to Katrina’s side.
‘We weren’t sure you’d attend tonight.’ Sleek, polished, and very self-assured, Kevin’s third wife possessed the practised aloofness of a catwalk model.
‘It’s what Kevin would have wanted,’ Katrina responded evenly before acknowledging her stepbrother. ‘Enrique.’
A young man whose pretty-boy attractiveness was deceptive, during Chloe’s marriage to Kevin he’d imagined that seducing Kevin’s daughter would be a shoe-in…only to discover Katrina wasn’t about to play. It hadn’t stopped him from trying, and he’d never quite forgiven her for spoiling his plans of a dream ride through life on the Macbride fortunes.
His eyes gleamed briefly with something akin to bitter resignation as they raked her slender form. ‘You look divine, sweetheart.’
‘Doesn’t she?’ Nicos caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, his eyes dark and unfathomable as he silently dared her to pull her fingers free from his grasp.
Her reaction to his touch was immediate and damning, for her pulse jumped to a quickened beat as warmth coursed through her veins. It felt as if her heart was working overtime, and it took considerable effort to appear unaffected.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Katrina demanded quietly the instant Chloe and Enrique moved out of earshot.
‘Damage control.’
‘For whose benefit?’ she queried with skepticism.
‘Yours,’ Nicos said silkily.
‘I doubt playing charades will work.’
A hovering waiter took her empty glass and offered her another, which she declined.
It was something of a relief when the ballroom doors opened minutes later and the guests were instructed to take their seats.
The food had to be delectable, given the price per ticket, but Katrina merely forked a few mouthfuls from each course, sipped a glass of excellent Chardonnay, and conversed politely with fellow guests seated at their table.
The evening’s entertainment was varied, and during a break she excused herself and threaded her way towards the powder room.
A headache was niggling away above her temple, and she’d have given anything to be able to leave and go home.
Except home was no longer her apartment, and the term of her enforced sojourn with Nicos had only just begun.
There was a queue, and she had to wait to gain space in front of the long mirror in order to freshen her lipstick.
Was it design or coincidence that seconds after emerging the first person she saw was Enrique? Considering her stepbrother inevitably had a plan, she opted for the former, acknowledged his presence, and made to bypass him en route to the ballroom.
One glance at his expression determined he had a mission in mind and, unless she was mistaken, he was bent on ill intent.
‘I wanted to see you alone,’ he began without preamble.
She could almost pre-empt what he was going to say, but she remained silent, willing to admit she might be wrong.
‘I need some money.’
‘I don’t have any on me.’
‘But you can get it.’
They’d been this route before. In the beginning, she’d thought she could help, and had. Until she’d realised she was only feeding his habit. ‘No.’
‘Tomorrow. Meet me for lunch. Bring it then.’
She was past feeling
