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Nicolas felt a kind of sweet agony at being in the same space as Camille. She looked every inch the international success story, in a pair of Camille black cat-eye sunglasses and a white full-length sun dress with a gold thread that shimmered in the sunlight. He could barely look at her, but found it hard to avert his gaze.

He would have to maintain his professionalism, he told himself, and his emotions. He meant what he had said to her in New York that last time, but sticking to his resolution was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. Well, one of the hardest, but it was taking every ounce of self-control not to take her to one side and tell her it was all a mistake, that they could carry on as they had before, no strings, not marriage. Just to be with her; just to take her in his arms again one more time.

He felt like a love-struck teenager, but that wouldn’t help either of them.

As the guests mingled, laughter and chatter drifted out across the sea. Nicolas leaned over the stern and his eyes caught sight of a dolphin in the distance, bobbing in and out of the water, until it disappeared into the waves. Mallorca was a beautiful place; if only he and Camille could have given themselves some more time, they could have come here and made new memories, not forever be stuck in the moments of the past.

‘A penny for them?’

He was momentarily startled, and turned to see Camille standing next to him, holding a glass of champagne out to him, holding another for herself.

‘What are we celebrating?’

‘Perhaps this is more for my nerves,’ she said ruefully.

‘What are you nervous about? You’re the queen of cool, aren’t you?’ he said, not unkindly.

‘Don’t joke, Nicolas, it’s not easy seeing you here. After the way we left things.’

‘After the way you left things?’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Look, now isn’t the time or the place. Anyway, we have said everything now, haven’t we? Unless you have changed your mind?’ He desperately hoped that was the case, but knew in his heart it was a forlorn hope.

Camille hesitated. ‘Nicolas, I just want to say … that I’m sorry. I know I’ve hurt you, but can’t we be friends …? I’m finding things hard without you.’

‘Camille, I’ve never abandoned you, and I won’t now, especially now, but as a caring colleague, a long-standing associate, that’s all I can offer.’

Camille lifted her hands to her glasses and took them off, revealing her amber eyes, which were wet with unspilled tears. Her hand fluttered to her dark lashes, to brush them away before they fell.

‘I understand, Nicolas. I’m hurting too.’

Nicolas felt an overwhelming convergence of emotions, Camille seemed so vulnerable, which was unlike her; all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and hold her. He fought the urge, but spoke gently. ‘I’ve been in the background for our whole lives together, Camille, and until recently I thought that was enough, but when you rejected my marriage offer, it opened my eyes.’

Camille turned her face away from him as he spoke, unable to meet his gaze.

‘I don’t want the bits of you that Andre left behind, the husk of your marriage to him. I want the whole of you, in every way, the good and the bad. I want us to have a future and not just be trapped by our past.’ There were tears in his own eyes now, but he ploughed on. ‘If you can’t love me fully, as my wife and as my life partner, then this way is best.’

He took his champagne glass and touched hers with it. ‘Here’s to Camille Andre, long may it reign.’ He kept his voice steady. ‘Today is about that; let’s just focus on it and get through the day, OK?’

Camille nodded, took a deep breath and nodded, ‘You’re right, we have achieved so much together – no one can ever take that away … but please, there is something I need to talk to you about, something important. Please come to see me later?’

She met his gaze now, and he nodded. In her eyes Nicolas could see unhappiness, but there was something else in her expression too; something he had never seen in her before.

Fear.

Later, they stopped at a beautiful, deserted island called Isla Blanca. The guests disembarked from the yacht onto a wide crescent of beach fringed by palm trees, the crystal-clear water lapping at the shore, as shoals of fish darted in the shallows. It was as though they’d been marooned in the most picture-perfect location, and by early evening the party was in full swing. Guests were frolicking in the water, and dancing on the soft white sand, as Lucas cooked a giant seafood paella over a roaring bonfire made from driftwood.

Stephanie had tried to put the uncomfortable scene with Paulo out of her mind, which had been made easier by the fact that he’d avoided her since their conversation. She’d spent time with Catherine and Michael, being introduced to their A-list Hollywood friends as an exciting new talent, and now she was reunited with Isobel, the two of them feeling a little tipsy from the delicious cocktails.

Isobel was explaining about the argument she’d overheard between Lucas and Elle.

‘She was very jealous of you,’ Isobel confided, arching a knowing eyebrow. ‘They were arguing in French, but I spent a few months living in Paris so I understood every word. I don’t think they realized.’

‘You’re a dark horse,’ Stephanie marvelled. ‘Why were you in Paris?’

‘In a past life, when I was pursuing a career in fashion – before I ran my own business – I interned for a few big names across Europe. One was in Paris.’