soon-to-be Princess—into his arms. She went as if she belonged there, their bodies moving as one to the music, their eyes on each other, their love a palpable thing.
To love someone so much and to have that love returned… how must that feel? Marietta sighed as she watched them effortlessly glide around the dance floor as one. Now, with the eyes of everyone in the room on them, was her chance to escape. She pushed her chair back, reaching for her purse in the same motion.
‘You look different,’ came a deep voice from beside her, the words innocent enough yet the tone accusatory. She looked around, surprised that anyone in the room had eyes for anyone but the couple on the dance floor, but then Yannis didn’t possess eyes so much as pointed barbs that launched out and impaled her, arresting her escape mid-flight. She swallowed, her back straightening, refusing to be cowed even if her ability to stand had once again deserted her.
‘You mean with my clothes on?’
His expression grew darker and harder, and she bit down hard on her bottom lip, wishing she’d managed to form the words in her brain before she’d allowed herself to utter the retort. The look on his face was enough to tell her that the last thing either of them needed was a reminder of that night.
But what did he expect? His attitude had hardly been conciliatory from the moment he’d walked into the room and his gaze had first connected with hers. Why shouldn’t she go on the attack when he obviously needed to realise how ridiculous his petty grudge really was?
‘I meant you looked older,’ he growled once he’d recovered.
Of course that was what he’d meant.
She forced a smile to her lips, but there was no forcing it any further than that. ‘Did you? That sounds so much better, thank you.’
‘You know what I meant,’ he snarled.
‘It has been thirteen years. Is it any surprise I’ve grown up a bit since then?’ Out on the dance floor the Prince and his bride-to-be spun together, two halves of a whole, totally absorbed in each other, totally oblivious to whatever tension existed beyond their world. Marietta watched their effortless glide with an envious eye.
‘Have you?’
She looked back at him, the vision of her brother and his wife making her lose her train of thought. ‘Have I what?’
‘Grown up.’
She dragged in a breath, oxygen destined to fuel the fire already burning inside her. ‘People change with time, Yannis. Maybe you should try it one day.’ There was no point staying any longer. She stood, determined this time to leave. It would be easier this way. She wouldn’t have to plead a headache. Yannis wouldn’t require any explanation at all. He’d just be happy she was gone.
But Yannis was standing, too, and blocking her way. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘You can’t leave yet.’
He had to be kidding. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ll do whatever I damn well like. So if you wouldn’t mind getting out of my way?’
‘It’s Rafe and Sienna’s rehearsal dinner.’
Now her breathing was more impatient than ever. ‘Don’t you think I know that? I was here for it, remember? I’m not the one who blew in late.’
A muscle tightened in his jaw. His eyes grew hard and even colder. ‘Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean you can avoid your responsibilities now.’ He gestured towards the dance floor. ‘Your brother clearly expects us to join them.’ He extended a reluctant arm to her. ‘Shall we?’
She blinked up at him, her head already moving into a shake. ‘You must be mad.’
And then he nodded in the direction of the dancing couple, and she followed his gaze to where Rafe was spinning his wife-to-be around the dance floor. ‘We are expected to join them.’
A lump lodged in her throat, and she swallowed, trying to shift it. He expected her to dance with him? To be escorted around the dance floor in those arms tonight? No way. It was one thing to be expected to do it at the formal reception, but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that she would do it tonight. She didn’t have the stomach for it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, clutching at her earlier excuse. ‘I’m afraid I have a blinder of a headache. I really have to go.’
One dark eyebrow arched as he frowned, disapproval and something else skating across his eyes. ‘You’re afraid.’
She stiffened at the accusation, resenting the challenge, resenting even more the glimmer of truth his words contained. ‘Afraid you’ll make my headache worse?’ she answered, twisting his words to her own purposes. ‘Oh, I’ll admit there’s every chance of that.’
A muscle in his jaw twitched. ‘I’m sure you can tolerate the inconvenience if I can.’ His words sounded like gravel on gravel, scraping away at the scars left all those years ago until the flesh was raw and tender and she could almost taste the blood seeping fresh from the wound. ‘And don’t think I would ask you if I didn’t have to, but others are waiting for us before they can dance, so tell me, are you coming willingly, or do I have to drag you to the dance floor?’
So he wanted to dance with her as much as she wanted to dance with him. She wanted the time to roll that thought around her mind, to find out why the concept wasn’t as satisfying as it should be. But there was no time because he was right—heads were turned, people were watching them expectantly, waiting for them to join the happy couple. She looked back at him, to the dark-as-night eyes that now held an ‘I told you so’ glimmer of triumph and she didn’t answer, couldn’t bring herself to. Instead she just strode past him, her chin held high, not caring if he chose to follow her or not, half wishing he wouldn’t so that in spite of the audience waiting, she could just keep walking.
He followed her. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was right behind her. She could sense his proximity, feel the heat generated by the man just as surely as she could feel the tide of her sapphire silk gown swirling around her ankles as she strode purposefully towards the dance floor.
She’d barely reached it when he captured one hand and swung her around so firmly that she collided hard against the wall of his chest, knocking the air from her lungs and the sense from her mind. He held onto her with a vice-like grip as if certain she would flee at any moment. ‘Dance,’ he ordered when she’d stood rigid too long, his legs forcing hers to follow suit, though protesting and awkward.
She didn’t want him so close, didn’t want to feel the press of his thigh or the heat of his chest. Didn’t want her hand wrapped so securely in his long, warm fingers, fingers that had come so close to taking her to paradise so many years ago…
Lost in the echo of sensations long gone, she stumbled, only to be abruptly righted by the man in front of her. And it occurred to her how different a picture their entrance on to the dance floor must look, forced and stiff and unnatural after Rafe and Sienna’s silken-smooth coupling.
She mangled still more steps before they managed to find some kind of uncomfortable rhythm. Uncomfortable to Marietta, anyway. There was no telling what Yannis thought or felt beyond his overwhelming aura of resentment.
‘Well, this is fun,’ she blurted,
