start thinking about her future.
She watched him walk over to the open windows of their terrace, thinking how much she was going to miss this. And him. She could hear the chink of glasses from out on the lawn as waiters began loading up their trays and in the distance, could see a long line of approaching headlights travelling along the coastal road. Her eyes ran over Xan’s powerful physique, trying to commit it to memory. The snowy white dinner jacket which contrasted vividly with the close-fitting dark trousers. She loved the way those coal-black tendrils of hair brushed against the collar of his shirt, reminding her that he looked as much at home on a sailing boat as he did a boardroom. But as he turned around she quickly wiped her face clear of emotion—eradicating all the yearning, so she was able to meet his cobalt gaze with nothing more telling than a look of cool enquiry.
‘Let’s go,’ he said abruptly.
Xan felt the adrenalin pumping through his body as he took Tamsyn’s hand and led her out into the garden, where burning flames lined the paths and fairy-lights were strung from the trees. The huge swimming pool had been illuminated with floating lights, which gleamed in the turquoise water like surreal water lilies and the front of the house had been floodlit in soft colours of rose and blue. He told himself it was pride in his beautiful home which was making him feel so pumped-up tonight, but it was more than that. He looked at the woman by his side, thinking that Tamsyn had never looked lovelier. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Easily visible in her white gown, he watched men turning to stare at her, just as they had once done at Kulal’s palace. Back then he remembered feeling nothing but a destabilising lust but now that had been overridden by a primitive satisfaction that she belonged to him and only him. His mouth hardened. But she didn’t, did she? Not really. She was his only for a little while longer and he needed to accept that soon she would be free, because that was what the plan had always been. Free for other men to pursue and to benefit from all that shining sexual promise which he had awoken. A powerful surge of jealousy coursed through him, even though jealousy had never been his thing. He told himself that the feeling would soon pass. That he’d never relied on a woman before and didn’t intend to start now. His life had been fine before Tamsyn Wilson had fallen into it like some wayward star, and that state of affairs would resume once they’d split.
Slightly mollified by his own reasoning, he introduced her to a number of guests and she responded with a charm which was contagious. Everyone wanted to talk to her and she instantly hit it off with a European princess, herself a former wild-child, and he could hear the two of them giggling together. Soon she was deep in conversation with a sultan she’d met at her sister’s wedding, and several other desert princes moved to join in with the conversation, so that very quickly she was at the centre of a significant power hub. At one point she looked up at him and he raised his glass in mocking salute, as if to silently remind her that her fears of blending in had been groundless. But something in the gesture made her eyes grow dark. He saw her bite her lip and a few moments later she murmured to him that she needed to speak to Elena, and slipped away.
Xan accepted a glass of champagne and looked around. A group of musicians were playing traditional Greek music and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Salvatore di Luca had arrived, with the requisite glamorous blonde hanging from his arm like a glittering accessory. But there was still no sign of his father.
He took a sip of his drink. Was the old man worried that Sofia’s father would refuse to sell him the island after all—and would that be enough to make him cut Xan from his life for ever? His lips hardened into a humourless smile. What exquisite irony that would be—if an island coveted because of its precious links with his ancestors, should be the cause of alienating his father from his only son.
He looked around again, his eyes scanning the crowded lawn with dissatisfaction as he realised he was looking in vain for his wife. Xan scowled as he handed his half-drunk glass of champagne to a passing waiter, the memory of emerald eyes and fiery curls an image he couldn’t seem to shift from his mind.
It was all about sex, he reassured himself heatedly. Nothing but sex.
* * *
Tamsyn melted into the shadows, trying to gather her thoughts together. Yes, the party was loads easier than she’d imagined—but it was still stressful, which was why she had sought a moment of quiet refuge at the darkened side of the house, at the top of a gentle sloping incline, which gave a fabulous view of the glittering estate. Carefully smoothing down the rich silk of her dress, she sat down on a bench—tempted to kick off her silver sandals but knowing if she did so, she would be reluctant to put them on again. And tonight there would be no barefoot bride, looking like she’d wandered in from a nearby rock festival.
She sat back against the wooden bench and sighed. It had been strangely gratifying that Xan’s friends had seemed genuinely happy to meet her. Was that because she had taken charge of her own destiny, so that for once she actually felt as if she fitted in—in a way she’d never done before? Even at Hannah’s wedding she’d worn her fancy gowns with a distinct air of resentment—probably because she’d been forced to wear them. But tonight she was revelling in the fact that she looked like a bride her husband could be proud of. She’d felt like a grown up and sophisticated version of the newest member of the Constantinides family. And weren’t those thoughts dangerous?
A few times she’d found herself beguiled by the elusive possibility of something which could never happen, not in a million years. Of a life here, with Xan. A proper married life together—with a brood of babies and a golden future. And a shared love? Yes. Oh, yes. That was the ultimate dream. But Xan didn’t want that. He’d told her so enough times. He didn’t do love and he was okay with that. So she needed to be okay with it, too.
A sudden lump constricted her throat as she found herself thinking about her mother. About the paperwork which had been discovered after her death. Her mother had been a foolish dreamer, too—and where had it got her? All those stupid poems she’d written. And the letter addressed to her—the daughter she had abandoned. She mustn’t forget that. The letter which Hannah had only shown Tamsyn a long while afterwards, which had told her something it might have been better not to have known. Something which for a long time had made her feel rotten to the core—and still could, if she wasn’t careful.
She could see the powerful beam of headlights tracking along the road towards the house and from her secluded vantage point, could sense the excited bustle of the guests as a huge car drew to a halt and a man got out. Even from this distance, from the few photographs she’d seen of him, Tamsyn recognised the distinctive curved features of Andreas, Xan’s father. She watched as Xan moved purposefully towards the car, but you didn’t need to be a body language expert to notice the coolness between the two men. After a brief and business-like handshake, they began to walk towards the house, making no attempt to join the party.
Tamsyn sat on the bench, filled with indecision. She ought to go and meet him. Hadn’t that been part of the deal? Her heart was pounding as she moved through the shadows towards the back of the vast house, away from the main party which was mostly happening poolside. For a moment she stood in silence, until she located the sound of voices which were coming from behind the closed doors of Xan’s study. Tamsyn frowned. Xan and presumably Andreas were angrily talking over each other, the volume of their discussion getting louder and louder until she heard someone rasp out a curse. She meant to take a deep breath. To knock politely and walk in, but then she heard her own name and it halted her right in her tracks. Tamsyn froze. She almost wished they were speaking in Greek so she wouldn’t understand what they were saying, but Xan had told her that after winning his American scholarship, English had been the language he and his father had conversed in, the older man refusing to be outdone by his fluent son.
‘You know what kind of a woman she is?’ came the ragged accusation. ‘When you rang to tell
