stiffen. A few months ago, while stuck overnight together at a sales expo in Europe, she and Lilah had discussed the subject of relationships. At age twenty-nine, despite possessing the kind of sensual dark-haired, white-skinned beauty that riveted male attention, Lilah was determinedly single.
She had told Carla a little of her background, which included a single mother, a solo grandmother and ongoing financial hardship. Born illegitimate, Lilah had early on given herself a rule. No sex before marriage. There was no way she was going to be left holding a baby.
While Carla had stressed about finding Mr. Right, Lilah was calmly focused on marrying him, her approach methodical and systematic. She had moved on a step from Carla’s idea of a spreadsheet and had developed a list of qualifying attributes as precise and unwavering as an employment contract. Also, unlike Carla, Lilah had saved herself for marriage. She was that twenty-first century paragon: a virgin.
The simple fact that she was on Medinos with Lucas, thousands of miles from her Sydney apartment and rigorous work schedule, spoke volumes.
Lilah did not date. Carla knew that she occasionally accompanied a gay neighbor to his professional dinners and had him escort her to charity functions she supported. But their relationship was purely friendship, which suited them both. That was all.
Carla took another gulp of champagne. Her stomach clenched because the situation was suddenly blindingly obvious.
Lilah was dating Lucas because she had chosen him. He was her intended husband.
Anger churned in Carla’s stomach and stiffened her spine. She and Lucas had conducted their relationship based on a set of rules that was the complete opposite of everything that Lilah was holding out for: no strings, strictly casual and, because of the family feud, in secrecy.
An enticing, convenient arrangement for a man who clearly had never had any intention of offering her marriage.
Waiters served more chilled champagne and trays of tiny, exquisite canapés. Carla forced herself to eat a tiny pastry case filled with a delicate seafood mousse. She continued to sip her way through the champagne, which loosened the tightness of her throat but couldn’t wash away the deepening sense of hurt.
Lilah Cole was beautiful, elegant and likable, but nothing could change the fact that Lilah’s easy acceptance into the Atraeus fold should have been her moment.
The party swelled as more family and friends arrived. Abandoning her champagne flute on a nearby sideboard, Carla joined the movement out onto a large stone balcony overlooking the sea.
Feeling awkward and isolated amidst the crowd, she threaded her way through the revelers to the parapet and stared out at the expansive view. The breeze gusted, laced with the scent of the sea, sending coils of hair across her cheeks and teasing at the flimsy silk of her dress, briefly exposing more leg than she had planned.
Lucas’s gaze burned over her, filled with censure, not the desire that had sizzled between them for the past two years.
Cheeks burning, she snapped her dress back into place, her mood plummeting further as Lilah joined Lucas. Despite the breeze, Lilah’s hair was neat and perfect, her dress subtly sensual with a classic pureness of line that suddenly made Carla feel cheap and brassy, all sex and dazzle against Lilah’s demure elegance. Her cheeks grew hotter as she considered what she was wearing under the red silk. Again, nothing with any degree of subtlety. Every flimsy stitch was designed to entice.
She had taken a crazy risk in dressing so flamboyantly, practically begging for the continuation of their relationship. After the distance of the past two months she should have had more sense than to wear her heart on her sleeve. Jerking her gaze away, she tried to concentrate on the moon sliding up over the horizon, the churning floodlit water below the castello.
A cool gust of wind sent more hair whipping around her cheeks. Temporarily blinded, she snatched at her billowing hemline. Strong fingers gripped her elbow, steadying her. Heart-stoppingly familiar dark eyes clashed with hers. Not Lucas, Zane Atraeus.
“Steady. I’ve got you. Come over here, out of the wind before we lose you over the side.”
Zane’s voice was deep, mild and low-key, more American than Medinian, thanks to his Californian mother and upbringing. With his checkered, illegitimate past and lady-killer reputation, Zane was, of the three brothers, definitely the most approachable and she wondered a little desperately why she hadn’t been able to fall for him instead of Lucas. “Thanks for the rescue.”
He sent her an enigmatic look. “Damsels in distress are always my business.”
The warmth in her cheeks flared a little brighter. The suspicion that Zane wasn’t just talking about the wind, that he knew about her affair with Lucas, coalesced into certainty.
He positioned her in the lee of a stone wall festooned with ivy. “Can I get you a drink?”
A reckless impulse seized Carla as she glanced across at Lucas. “Why not?”
With his arm draped casually across the stone parapet behind Lilah, his stance was male and protective, openly claiming Lilah as his, although he wasn’t touching her in any way.
Unbidden, a small kernel of hope flared to life at that small, polite distance. Ten minutes ago, Carla had been certain they were an established couple; that to be here, at a family wedding, Lucas would have had to have slept with Lilah. Now she was abruptly certain they had not yet progressed to the bedroom. There was a definite air of restraint underpinning the glow on Lilah’s face, and despite his possessive stance, Lucas was preserving a definite distance.
A waiter swung by. Zane handed her a flute of champagne. “Do you think they’ve slept together?”
Carla’s hand jerked at the question. Champagne splashed over her fingers. She dragged her gaze from the clean line of Lucas’s profile and glanced at Zane. His expression was oddly grim, his jaw set. “I don’t know why you’re asking me that question.”
Zane, who hadn’t bothered with champagne, gave her a steady look, and humiliation curled through her. He knew.
Carla wondered a little wildly how he had found out and if everyone on the balcony knew that she was Lucas’s ditched ex.
Zane’s expression was dismissive. “Don’t worry, it was a lucky guess.”
Relief flooded her as she swallowed a mouthful of champagne. A few seconds later her head began to spin and she resolved not to drink any more.
Zane’s attention was no longer on her; it was riveted on Lilah and realization hit. She wasn’t the only one struggling here. “You want Lilah.”
The grim anger she had glimpsed winked out of existence. “If I was in the market for marriage, maybe.”
“Which, I take it, you’re not.”
Zane’s dark gaze zeroed in on hers, but Carla realized he still barely logged her presence. “No. Are you interested in art?”
Carla blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Yes.”
“If you want out of this wind, I’ll be happy to show you the rogue’s gallery.”
She had glimpsed the broad gallery that housed the Atraeus family portraits, some painted by acknowledged
