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‘Is Nicolas flying out to join you?’ René asked, his voice neutral. ‘I’ll add his flights to your diary if so.’

Camille took a fortifying sip of champagne before she answered. ‘I don’t know what his plans are yet.’

‘But he’s not going to miss the launch, surely?’

Camille hesitated. ‘You know, René, I’m rather tired after that long flight from New York. I’m going to rest for a while.’

‘Of course,’ René replied smoothly, but Camille knew he understood that she didn’t want to talk about it.

She pulled down her sunglasses and leaned back against her seat, letting her head roll to the side, taking in the view from the window. They were over central France now, and below lay a patchwork of fields, dotted with medieval towns and sprawling chateaux.

What Camille had said to René was true – she was tired. She had barely slept the previous night, going over and over the conversation she’d had with Nicolas before she left New York.

Nicolas Martin had been part of Camille’s life for more than thirty years now. He was one of her closest friends, her trusted confidant, and the person she’d turned to after the death of her husband, a shoulder to lean on following the accident that had claimed Andre’s life.

How has it come to this?

Camille exhaled sadly, closing her eyes as she recalled every word Nicolas had said to her barely twenty-four hours ago …

The two of them were having a late dinner in Nicolas’s New York apartment, where Camille had been countless times before. It was a sleek, modern bachelor pad, a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue, with a stunning view over the treetops of Central Park to the Upper West Side beyond. Earlier, they’d sat out on Nicolas’s glass-walled terrace and watched as the sun set over the Hudson, lighting up the sky in vibrant shades of purple and orange as the rolling clouds streaked away towards New Jersey. Now, the city lights blazed below them, the familiar skyline illuminated against the blackness, with a crescent moon hanging high above. Looking out at that view, it felt to Camille as though they were on top of the world – that they’d achieved everything it was possible to achieve in life.

Nicolas had ordered takeout from Mr Chow, and they were sharing a very expensive bottle of Montrachet. Sade was playing on the state-of-the-art Bang & Olufsen stereo system, and the dimmed lighting flattered Nicolas’s features. He was tall and well built, with light brown hair peppered with the odd grey, and deep green eyes the colour of fir trees. Despite his corporate lifestyle, Nicolas’s body was in excellent shape, and he was undoubtedly an attractive man, with a steely determination and quiet confidence that Camille had always found seductive.

They’d been discussing the upcoming collaboration between Camille Andre and the American Athletics brand, which would launch in Mallorca the following week. It would be the first time Camille Andre had ever undertaken a venture like this, working with a high-street line to offer a diffusion range, and Camille was nervous about the new direction. Nicolas had been encouraging and reassuring, as always, assuring her that companies had to move forward and take risks, or else they would stagnate. She trusted his instincts – his business acumen was second to none and had made him a very rich man over the years, with shrewd investments and perfectly timed exits. His words chimed with something more fundamental within her too – that she needed to move forward and take risks.

Since her husband’s death, Camille had closed herself off, unwilling or unable to commit herself fully to anyone else. Nicolas had stepped into the void left by Andre’s departure – he’d become her best friend, her confidant, her lover – but although she knew he adored her, something held her back from giving her whole heart to him. In recent months, she’d sensed his frustration with the situation, and she could feel his emotions had been rising to the surface in recent weeks. Now, as they finished their meal and drained their wine glasses, Camille sensed a shift in the air that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Nicolas looked at her for a long moment, before standing up from the black lacquer dining table and pushing back his chair.

Camille’s pulse began to race, her sixth sense telling her that something significant was happening, as he walked over to the high gloss cabinet and slid open the top drawer, taking out a small box.

Time seemed to speed up as the next moment Nicolas was on one knee in front of her, an antique ring with an enormous diamond winking at her from where it sat nestled on a bed of black velvet.

‘Camille …’ Nicolas began, gazing at her intently. Camille found she could hardly bear to look in his deep green eyes, at the hope and trepidation and love contained within them.

‘Nicolas—’

‘Marry me,’ he said, his words spilling out in a rush. ‘You know I adore you, and—’

‘Nicolas, please get up,’ Camille murmured.

‘Just listen to me,’ he insisted, his face resolute with intention. ‘You know there’s never been anyone else but you. I love you, Camille. I’m crazy about you. It should always have been us, and you know it.’

‘Please …’ Camille closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. This can’t be happening. She would have given anything to rewind time by five minutes and put a stop to this passionate declaration. But Nicolas was still speaking.

‘I’ve asked you before, but I’m deadly serious this time. I know you love me too.’

Camille opened her eyes and looked down at him, a stricken expression on her face. She loved him, undoubtedly, but marriage? She’d known deep inside her she’d have to make this decision one day, that Nicolas would want to seal the deal and put their relationship on a permanent footing. But she had always pushed away the notion, preferring to exist in the moment and continue as they were.

‘But aren’t we happy as we are?’ she pleaded. ‘Why do we need to change things? Who cares about a piece of paper?’

‘I care. I want the world to see us together – I don’t want to be kept in the background like some dirty little secret.’

‘Nicolas—’

‘I’ve loved you for thirty years, Camille. We should never have waited so long. This is our moment. Let’s seize it.’

Camille swallowed. She didn’t want to do this; he was putting her in an impossible position. ‘You’re right,’ she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. ‘We have waited too long … And now it’s too late. Our time has passed.’

‘What are you saying?’