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He couldn’t help his satisfaction as she flushed bright red. ‘In your dreams.’
‘Oh, I have very interesting dreams,’ he drawled in a voice like warm honey.
‘I am not interested in your dreams, thank you,’ she retorted haughtily. ‘Or your suggestive comments.’
The lights went out again with no warning flicker and in the blackness there was the sound of a glass breaking and several giggles and shouts.
In the darkness Maya felt a whisper of sensation on her lips, light as a butterfly’s wings. She sighed and shivered, and began to stretch upwards towards the touch, but just as suddenly it was gone, making her wonder if she’d imagined it.
The lights came back on.
He’d disappeared.
She blinked as the young artist handed her the sketch he had done with an admiring look. ‘Man, you are fierce!’
‘You bet you she is!’
It was Beatrice who’d rushed over and enfolded her in a hug. ‘I am so, so sorry what I said before. I know you were only trying to help me and I was a monster.’
‘No...no...’
‘Utter and total. Really, Maya, I think you have it right; you never want to feel as rotten as this. So, who was that hunk you were just yelling at?’
‘I have no idea.’
CHAPTER ONE
MAYAPUTDOWNthe phone and eased her bottom on the edge of the table where she had perched for the duration of the call. She pushed a section of hair that had escaped her casual topknot back from her face with her forearm and yawned. If she hadn’t been waiting for the call she would have already been in bed, which, given it was a Friday night, she was twenty-six, single and living in London, probably made her what most people would call sad.
She knew she was going to have to do something about her social life, or rather the lack of it, although the irony was she’d actually had an invite tonight: a group from work had been going out for cocktails to celebrate someone’s engagement. She had had to refuse, explaining her mum was travelling overseas to stay with her sister and had promised to contact her the moment she arrived.
‘A long trip?’ someone had asked.
‘San Macizo.’
She didn’t have to elaborate further. The exotic island had been the location of a recent blockbuster movie and had been very much in the news, as well as the subject of numerous articles. Like the articles the conversation had swiftly moved on from the stunning scenery to Maya’s brother-in-law, with his film-star looks, bemoaning the fact that the hot heir to the throne of San Macizo, the delicious Dante, was no longer available; he’d married an English girl, who everyone wanted to be.
If Maya had contributed to this part of the conversation she could have explained that the English girl was her own sister Beatrice, who, after being reconciled with her husband, had now happily taken on the role of Princess and mother, making both roles her own.
Bea was pregnant again and suffering severe morning sickness, so Maya was glad their mum was there to offer support and also fuss over her delicious little granddaughter, Maya’s goddaughter.
But Maya had stayed quiet, not because she wasn’t proud of her royal connection, but because it was easy to predict the questions they might have asked, like,If your sister’s a princess, how come you’re working as a window dresser for a department store?
The answer, according to her sister, was that Maya was too damned proud, stubborn and stupid to take help when it was freely offered to her. Maya had really appreciated the offers of help, and she knew they were well meant and sincere, but, though it might take longer, when she finally got to where she wanted to be, it would mean so much more to know she had done it herself and not just used her connections and their bank balance.
She yawned, easing one fluffy mule back on her narrow foot, and caught herself thinking about making a mug of cocoa...Oh, God...cocoa...get a life, Maya!Would the wine she had opened last weekend still be drinkable?
Cocoa or last week’s wine? She had not completely decided when the doorbell rang.
This time of night the only person who rang her doorbell was the pizza delivery service and she had definitely not ordered one.
Puzzled but not alarmed, she went to the door.
She tightened the belt on her robe before she opened the door a crack—one of these days she really would get a safety chain.
It was not a pizza, it was a woman, and she was not alone. Before becoming a proud aunt, Maya wouldn’t have been able to guess the age of the dark-haired baby the woman carried, but if asked now she would have estimated him at somewhere between three and four months. But she wasn’t in any state to guess; behind the flickering of her silky, sooty dark lashes, the eyes they framed were blank with shock as she stared at her visitors.
She hardly noticed the door swinging wide as she took a tiny step back, but finally she breathed out a shakily incredulous, ‘V...Violetta...?’
