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Angie nodded. She had arrived at her sister’s Sydney home with a heavy heart but a determination not to talk about the cause of it. Because Riccardo was firmly in the past and, besides, it was far too painful a subject to pursue. Not when her sense of betrayal felt so raw and her self-esteem had taken such a battering.
Instead, she had concentrated on trying to see whether her sister’s marriage was really as doomed as she’d previously implied. She remembered the terrible atmosphere just before Floriana’s planned wedding and that had given her an idea. Because there was never any doubt about how besotted Sally and Brad had been about each other on the day they’d wed.
‘Try to remember just how much in love you were with Brad on the day you married him,’ she had suggested softly to Sally. ‘And take it from there.’
And, astonishingly, this simple tactic seemed to have set a reconciliation in motion. It seemed that Sally’s husband Brad been working too hard—so he felt hard done by, while Sally felt neglected. A gulf had formed between them, which time had only widened. And yet, deep down, they had always loved one another. Angie realised that maybe just having a third person—someone who cared—pointing out the obvious could be enough to make people look at their situation in a different way. And Sally had so many blessings in her life—she’d just got out of the habit of counting them.
In the meantime, Angie had got to know her little nephew—which had given Sally and Brad the space for some quality time alone together. And it seemed that their love had blossomed again.
‘And what about you?’ Sally had questioned eagerly one night, over a large glass of wine. ‘You’re looking so good these days, Lina—it must be a man.’
Well, it was—and it wasn’t. It had been a man. A man who had played with her—but who would never echo her love for him, despite their undeniable physical compatibility. But Angie had decided that she wasn’t going to prolong the agony by confiding in her sister. The sooner she let it fade from her mind, then the sooner she would get over it.
So she told her sister that it hadn’t been anyone special—and that was what she was still trying to convince herself.
She was just pulling a T-shirt over Todd’s damp curls when she heard Sally make a small whistling sound.
‘Oh, my—I think the gods have dropped a man straight from the heavens and he’s walking our way!’
‘You’re a married woman,’ teased Angie.
‘I’m allowed to look. And he is something else. And he’s…Lina, he’s heading our way!’
What instinct was it that made Angie quickly turn her head to see the man her sister was talking about? With a disbelieving lurch of her heart, she recognised him immediately. The jet-dark ruffle of his hair. The lean musculature of his tall body. Although there were plenty of beautiful people of Italian origin in Sydney—Riccardo Castellari was in a league of his own.
‘Who’s that man?’ demanded Todd, when he failed to get the attention of his mother or his auntie.
‘Yes,’ said Sally, turning slowly to her sister. ‘Who is that man?’
Angie couldn’t speak—the words she wanted to speak feeling like stones which were constricting her throat. What was he doing here? Why had he come to create more havoc in a life which she was trying very hard to live without him?
‘He’s my boss,’ she said slowly.
Sally gave her a funny look. ‘Your boss looks like that? Your boss who just happens to be walking along a beach towards you looking as if he’d like to shake you, or to…to…’
‘To what, Mummy?’
‘Nothing, darling,’ said Sally hastily. ‘Well, here he comes—and judging from the expression on his face, you’d better light the touchpaper and stand well back!’
Angie’s heart was thundering beneath the silky little triangles which comprised the emerald bikini which she’d bought in one of Sydney’s many beachside boutiques. She had known that inevitably she would run into him again—just not here and not now. Not when she hadn’t planned her defences or practised the cool and uncaring face she was going to present to him when that day finally arrived.
The glitter from his black eyes was not particularly friendly. He stopped in front of her, and for a moment—just looked at her. ‘Hello, Angie.’
Angie swallowed. ‘Hello, Riccardo.’
They stood facing one another.
‘Isn’t anyone going to introduce me?’ squeaked Sally. ‘I’m Sally, Angelina’s sister.’
‘My name is Riccardo Castellari and I’m very happy to meet you, Sally—but I need a private word with your sister, if you don’t mind.’
‘Sure. Sure.’ Sally started nodding persistently. ‘Come back to the house later. Come on, Todd.’
Todd was staring upwards. ‘Who’s that man, Mummy?’
‘He’s a friend of Auntie Lina’s. Come on—you’ll see him later. Or at least, I think you will.’
Angie watched her sister and nephew walk back up the beach and her mouth dried. Because even though the white sandy beach was peppered with other bathers it felt as if the world had telescoped into that moment, leaving the two of them alone together, staring at each other like combatants.
