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And then she saw the moment the Prince picked out Avery in the crowd and saw him go utterly still as the woman who loved him so deeply turned her head to look at him. Their eyes met and held.
Knowing that she was witnessing a private moment that shouldn’t be witnessed, Emma turned away quickly feeling a flash of deep empathy with the other woman. And also for Mal because in her own small way she understood about responsibility and duty.
And then she felt guilty even thinking that because although it was true that she had a responsibility towards Jamie, he was also her brother and she adored him.
And if she had put her own life on hold, that was her fault, wasn’t it? Not Jamie’s. He’d never asked her to do that.
But Angie had. I’ve had him all week and now he’s yours.
Emma frowned as she realised how much she’d allowed her sister’s attitude to affect her. How much she’d tried to compensate for Angie’s lack of warmth towards their brother. Angie expected her to take responsibility at weekends and Emma had gone along with that because she adored spending time with Jamie and because—she breathed deeply—and because she was afraid to stand up to her sister.
Jamie wouldn’t care if she occasionally booked a baby sitter and went out. But Angie would. Angie would ladle on the guilt.
She straightened her shoulders.
That had to change. And she had to be the one to change it.
She was standing here now, wearing a dress that made her feel incredible, because someone else had pressured her into it but she realised that she could have done this by herself if she’d made the effort. Not the party and the illustrious company—of course not that—but dressing up and meeting new people. She could have done more of that. She would do more of that. This holiday, she was going to sit her sister down and tell her that things needed to change for all of them.
And then Lucas drew her to his side and the next moment he was introducing her to someone and she was smiling, and talking, and making bright conversation even though the only coherent thought her brain could produce was I want him. They mingled, met what felt like a million people and Emma kept smiling until she felt her face would crack, until her cheek muscles were tired and her head throbbed with the effort of making polite conversation. She shook so many hands and kissed so many cheeks that faces and greetings blurred.
It seemed that everyone wanted a piece of him and she noticed people bunching close by, all waiting for the chance to talk to Lucas Jackson.
And then finally they moved towards the marquee, the magnificent tent lined in swathes of midnight-blue silk, studded with glittering jewels that shone like a million tiny stars in a night sky and the music slid into her and suddenly she wanted to dance and dance. She wanted to make up for all the times in her life she hadn’t danced and she turned to Lucas, eyes glowing.
‘Is it allowed? Can we?’
He narrowed his eyes as if he sensed the change in her but didn’t quite understand it. ‘It’s allowed, but I don’t dance.’
Emma was about to argue and persuade him when he turned to speak to yet another acquaintance—did he know everyone?—and she reminded herself that she could dance without him. That dancing without him might actually be a good thing. She was allowed to dance and have fun and the music was fast and infectious so she just walked away from him and onto the dance floor feeling ridiculously free. She never did this, did she? She so rarely did something just for her, because she wanted to. Sex, she thought as she closed her eyes and let the music take her. That was something she’d done just because she’d wanted to. Because it had felt right at the time, just as this did.
And now she danced because she couldn’t not dance with the music washing over her and the smiles of the people around her. And she was smiling too as she raised her arms like everyone else and threw her head back and let her body move to the rhythm.
‘Good to see you letting your hair down.’ It was Carlo, the Ferraras’ cool, enigmatic lawyer who she’d been introduced to at the meeting earlier in the day.
And she danced and worked hard to have fun, ignoring the small nagging part of her that wanted to be dancing with Lucas.
Dancing was personal.
It was a good job he’d refused her.
He’d brought this on himself.
He was the one who had insisted she join him at the party. He was the one who had sent her off shopping to buy something suitable so he had no one to blame but himself if she returned with a dress that made him think nothing but indecent thoughts.
He’d refused to dance with her because he knew it would make a difficult situation even more difficult and the result of that was that she’d danced anyway, and now she was with Carlo, the Ferraras’ smooth-talking, handsome lawyer and it required a superhuman effort not to stride through the crowd of dancers and drag her away from him.
