the last thing you need. Tell me that you’re not, even for a moment, thinking of taking her back.’
Cristiano watched Laurel from the terrace, arm in arm with his sister. She moved with the grace of a dancer and the strength of an athlete, the subtle sway of her hips unconsciously sensual. Her knowledge of sports physiology was encyclopaedic and as for how she was in bed—
He clenched his jaw. ‘I’m not thinking of taking her back.’
‘No?’ Santo’s eyes followed a pretty blonde as she walked past and waved at him. ‘Some men wouldn’t blame you if you did. Laurel is undeniably hot.’
‘If you don’t want to give our sister away with a black eye,’ Cristiano growled, ‘don’t describe my wife as “hot”.’
‘She isn’t your wife. She’s your soon-to-be ex-wife. The sooner the better.’
‘I thought you liked Laurel?’
‘That was before she left you.’ Santo was still looking at the blonde. ‘My advice? She isn’t worth the effort. Let some other man have her.’
A red mist rose up from nowhere and the next minute Cristiano had smashed his fist into his brother’s jaw and had him pinned against the wall.
It took Santo a moment to recover from the shock and then he hurled his weight against his brother and switched positions. This time it was Cristiano who found himself slammed against the wall. Hard stone pressed through the thin silk of his shirt and he felt the iron strength in his brother’s hands holding him trapped. Trapped, along with all that anger.
‘Basta! Stop, the pair of you.’ It was Carlo, a lifelong friend of Cristiano’s who was also the family lawyer handling the divorce. He wrenched the two men apart and stood between them as Santo touched his fingers to his bruised jaw, his eyes on Cristiano.
Slowly, Carlo released his grip on Santo’s shoulder. ‘Calma.
Calm down. I haven’t seen the two of you fight since you were sixteen. What is going on here?’
Santo’s eyes were fixed on his brother. ‘I suggested he should let another man have Laurel.’
Cristiano stepped forward again but Carlo’s hand planted itself in the centre of his chest.
Surprisingly calm, Santo stepped back and adjusted his bow tie. ‘Help yourself to champagne, Carlo. We’re good.’
The lawyer glanced towards the terrace but mercifully no one seemed to have noticed the disturbance. ‘Are you sure? A moment ago you were out of control.’
‘I was never out of control—’ Santo licked his split lip ‘—but I wanted an answer to a question and now I have it.’ As Carlo reluctantly left them alone, Santo gave Cristiano a long, steady look. ‘If this is love I’m glad I’ve managed to avoid it for so long because it looks like hell from where I’m standing.’
Cristiano felt the back of his neck tingle. ‘It isn’t love.’
‘No?’ Blotting blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, Santo lifted an eyebrow. ‘If it’s not, you might want to ask yourself why you knocked me in the dirt for the first time in almost two decades.’
‘You suggested—’ He couldn’t even bring himself to say the words and Santo gave an unapologetic shrug.
‘It was a test of how far you’ve come in the last two years. The answer is not far.’ He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waitress and handed one to his brother. ‘Drink. You’re going to need it. I thought you were in trouble before, but you’re in bigger trouble than even I imagined.’
‘Cristiano just punched Santo. Which is a nightmare actually because now he’ll have a bruised jaw in my wedding photos.’ Hitching up her dress so that she wouldn’t crease it, Dani knelt on the window seat so that she could get a better look at the courtyard below. ‘And now Santo’s got him pinned against the wall. I haven’t seen them fight since they were teenagers. My money’s on Cristiano but it could be a close run thing.’
Imagining Cristiano still and lifeless, Laurel flew to the window in a panic. ‘Is he hurt? Oh, God, someone should pull Santo off—’
‘Cristiano is fine. He’s still the stronger of the two.’ Dani shot her a look. ‘I thought you didn’t care about him any more?’
‘Just because I don’t love him any more doesn’t mean I want to see him hurt.’ Laurel licked her lips. ‘What do you think they’re fighting about?’
‘You, of course. What else?’ Dani glanced enviously at Laurel’s waist. ‘You look good for someone in the middle of a relationship trauma. I’d do anything for your abs.’
‘Anything except exercise,’ Laurel said drily and Dani grinned.
‘You know me so well. I lift my wine glass. Doesn’t that count?’
Laurel turned her head to look out of the window again. ‘I don’t want them fighting over me.’ The thought of Cristiano injured made her feel physically sick. Telling herself that was a perfectly normal reaction, she sank down onto the window seat next to Dani. ‘Go down there and stop them.’
‘No way. I might get blood on my dress. Do you like it? It’s by that Italian designer that everyone is wearing.’ Dani smoothed the fabric. ‘It’s traditional to wear green the night before the wedding. But you know that, of course, because you wore that gorgeous green dress the night before you married Cristiano.’
Laurel’s chest felt ominously tight. The feeling had grown gradually worse since that awful car journey from the airport. Nothing she did could calm it down.
Recognising the warning signs of an impending asthma attack, she discreetly opened her bag and checked that she had her inhaler. For her the trigger had always been stress and her stress levels had been steadily rising since she’d arrived in Sicily. ‘I don’t want to talk about my wedding.’
‘You chose a better shade of green than me. In the end I went for emerald but I’m wondering if forest would have been better. Because my hair is so dark, I decided I needed the brightness of colour.’
‘How can you even think about clothes when your brothers are fighting?’
‘I grew up watching my brothers fight so it’s not a big deal, although I must admit it’s much more fun now they’re both more muscular. You only need to worry when their shirts come off.’ Dani craned her neck to take another look. ‘You should be flattered. It’s pretty cool having men fighting over you. Romantic.’
‘It isn’t cool and there’s nothing romantic about two men who can’t control their tempers.’ Laurel wished she could just stay here. Hide away for the whole evening. ‘I don’t want them fighting.’
‘Physically they’re evenly matched, but a man defending the woman he loves is probably stronger, which is why Cristiano has the advantage. I love those shoes you’re wearing. Did you get those in London?’
Laurel sprang from the window seat and walked the shoes to the far side of the room where she couldn’t be tempted to look down into
