from London’s most prestigious ballroom. ‘Finn, give me a minute.’
Twenty-foot banners hung from the high ceiling in swathes of candyfloss-pink emblazoned with crystal love-hearts—the emblem for Breast Cancer United, the charity Eva and Finn supported. One night a year, together, they launched the fund-raiser in honour of their mother.
Right now, the omission of togetherness was the sting of a needle sinking into her heart.
Palm flat, she pushed the heavy oak and swept into the vast reception of the Royal Assembly Rooms, wobbling on her five-inch heels as plush fawn carpet gave way to sleek graphite marble.
‘Okay. Talk to me. Where are you?’
‘Look, sis, I’m really sorry. Every airport is closed. I’ve even tried to pay some rookie half a mill to fly me there but he can’t get clearance.’
Pain exploded behind Eva’s eyes and her hand shot up to her temple. ‘Oh, God.’
‘You can do this, Eva.’
Eyes darting this way and that, she spotted an alcove and slunk into the small space, swallowing past the wretched knot in her throat. ‘Finn. They’re expecting both of us. How can I possibly...?’ She stopped herself short. Inhaled long and deep, then pursed her lips, releasing the warm air in one soft stream. Knowing full well she could do it on her own; she just didn’t relish the thought. Speaking in front of hundreds of people who were no doubt waiting for the ‘Diva’ to nosedive wasn’t the nicest prospect in the world. Not only that, in a strange sort of way it felt as if they were letting their mother down. And, since her death, Eva had let her down enough. But the last thing she wanted was for Finn to worry or feel guilty.
‘Don’t worry, okay? I can handle this.’
‘Of course you can,’ he said with an encouraging bluster that said he wasn’t entirely convinced. ‘We’re talking about the woman who has just won the admiration of Prudence West, the soon-to-be Duchess of Wiltshire. Congrats, by the way.’
Eva rubbed her temple, waiting for her brain to catch on to the change of subject amidst the escalating throb, as she mentally altered a speech for two speakers. Problem was, it was taking a while and, by the time she realised what she was doing, her fingers wore more make-up than her face.
Scrambling in her vintage clutch for a tissue before she ruined her best dress, she said, ‘Thanks, Finny. Prudence West is lovely. She adored my gown designs.’
‘So she should—anyone with an ounce of taste can recognise a star in the making. Westminster Abbey, huh?’ His deep voice paused as if he were relishing every word. ‘My little sister under the royal spotlight. I’m so proud of you.’
Eva smiled and thought, not for the first time, how much she missed him. Finn was the only sane person in the family. Well, as sane as any jet-setting racing driver could be.
Tissue-hunting abandoned, Eva slipped her fingers from her clutch and leaned against the narrow ochre wall. ‘I can see perfectly well what you’re doing and I love you for it. And by all means give me an Abbey full of duchesses and I’ll collude in the art of dazzling every one. Then sit me behind my machine or in my design studio and I’ll make their every dream come true. But when it comes to this...’ A heavy sigh gushed from her mouth, making her lips tingle with dryness. ‘Dad’s here too, playing devil’s advocate over his flurry of ex-wives as they hurl daggers at each other. Honestly, Finn, the man would give Henry the Eighth a run for his money. He’s half cut, making an utter fool of himself. Why can’t he have more respect, especially tonight?’
‘Head high, turn a blind eye.’
‘Good in theory, lousy in practice.’ With her free hand she rubbed her bare shoulder to ward off a sudden ominous chill. ‘I’ve worked so hard for this, Finn. If something goes wrong tonight my face will be splashed on every tabloid in the country.’
‘Nothing is going to go wrong. Listen...’ she heard him inhale; the fact that her stoic-under-pressure sibling felt the need inched her tension levels as high as the opulent chandelier filling the reception ‘...I was worried about you. I know how much today means to you. So I sent...’
A group of guests hustled past and she turned her back to them to face a mural of the Angel Gabriel filling the inside wall of the alcove. She just hoped it was a good omen. ‘Sent? Sent what?’
‘He won’t crowd you but he’ll be there if you need him.’
Need? She didn’t need anyone. To be continually let down? No, thanks.
Hold on... He? A thread of unease tightened around her chest, then unravelled so fast her heart began to whirl. ‘He? Who’s he? You keep breaking up.’
‘I’ve...asked Vitale...come in my place.’
Before her eyes the Angel Gabriel morphed into Lucifer, horns and all, while Eva went up in flames. ‘Dante? No way—call him off.’
‘Call him off?’ A dark chuckle hummed down the line. ‘Despite his bloodthirsty reputation, he isn’t a Rottweiler, Eva.’
‘Oh, yes, he is.’ Voice feathery, her hormones went on a rampage, tearing through her body, piping her ve180ins with more heat. ‘He’s...he’s a snarling, arrogant brute.’
‘Hey, he’s a good guy. I’d trust him with my life. He won’t let me down.’ That was exactly what she was afraid of. ‘Dante wouldn’t be the global success he is today if he purred like a pussycat. You don’t know him, Eva.’ She knew enough but she had no intention of telling Finn that. He’d ask why and then she would be in trouble.
Air whipped in and out of her lungs. Her breasts threatened to escape from the ruched bands of cerise satin and she pressed the flat of her hand to her stomach, begging the tremulous churn to subside. Except her fingers shook so badly her tummy began to swirl like a washing machine on full spin.
‘I thought he was staying in Singapore, setting up his precious department store. Not that the man hasn’t got enough of them.’ That was another thing Finn was good for—dropping information on Dante Vitale without her having to ask questions. She liked to know when he honoured London with his presence so she could go into hiding. Ridiculous. How old was she? Too old. She thanked heaven Finn was trying to speak again before that line of thought took hold.
‘He’s back to get...’ The line hissed. His voice faded in and out. ‘I was speechl...’
‘Finn! Are you there?’ Oh, God. ‘I’m going to kill you, Finn, you hear me? With my bare hands. I’ll never forgive you for this.’ A total lie. She’d forgive him anything. But Dante? Her nerves were already fraying like torn taffeta.
The line’s-gone-dead tone resounded through her head like a death blow and her eyes shuttered. Trust Finn to pour petrol on the blaze without even realising it.
Breathe, Eva, breathe.
Okay. She had two choices. Stand. Or topple off her brand-new stilettos. And wouldn’t the vultures love that!
No choice really. Standing tall, spine pin-straight, she sucked in air. Get a hold of yourself. Remember why you’re here.
Of course she could face the upper echelons of society and make her annual speech. So she didn’t have Finn by her
