At least Stefan and Zayed were coming to the wedding. He would need his friends there. But not as much as Alessandra needed her brother.

If he had to get on his bended knee and beg, he would get Rocco to their wedding.

‘I sent a bridesmaid dress to Olivia,’ Alessandra blurted out, her cheeks staining with colour.

‘Have you heard back from her?’ he asked hopefully. If anyone could get through to Rocco, it would be his wife.

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t expect to. Her loyalty is with Rocco, not me.’

Conversation paused when a waiter arrived at their table laden with plates of steaming food.

Once they had helped themselves to a little of each meze, Alessandra said, ‘Are many of your family coming?’

‘I don’t have any family.’

She looked confused. ‘What about your mother?’

‘I haven’t invited her.’

‘Why not?’

want my mother at

‘Why not?’ she repeated.

some pitta bread into the hummus and popped it into his mouth, leaving her in no doubt that, as far as he

as if to say, trust

conversation to innocuous small talk about music they liked and films they had both seen and enjoyed. Their tastes were surprisingly

eyes on him and making him feel he was the

know he was the only man to have tasted her delights and to imagine tasting them again made him feel as if he had heated syrup running

of their wedding couldn’t

* * *

first time Christian regretted having the entire complex to themselves. There was no one—other than

His fiancée.

for information on his past, although something in her eyes had warned him not to expect her silence to last for long. Instead, they had relaxed into easy conversation, just as they had on their one real date together. As on that night in Milan, he’d found his eyes drawn to her lips.

off the charts. His body reacted to everything, from the way her mouth moved to her husky laugh, to the way she smoothed her hair back to keep it from

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