Five

      Rebecca groaned and suppressed the urge to bang her head against the steering wheel at the labouring whine of the car’s motor.

      What a way to start a Friday morning. For nearly two days she’d successfully avoided Damon, ruthlessly using the wedding as an excuse to spend as much time away from his home as possible. She’d taken advantage of T.J.’s fascination with Demetra—and taken advantage of Demetra’s kindhearted offer to babysit T.J.—to get as much organised as she could.

      Even though her purpose had been to avoid Damon, Rebecca had been busy. She’d been back to the hospital to check the names of all the guests with Soula and had confirmed late additions with Demetra. A large number would be flying out from Greece, so she’d obtained quotes for their accommodation for Damon to approve. She’d visited the printers, where she’d been given samples of cards, colours and fonts for the embossing on the wedding invitations.

      For today she’d lined up appointments to view several venues for the wedding. But now the battery of the little run-around that Damon had organised for her to drive was flatter than a flopped soufflé. Her fault, of course. She’d failed to close the trunk properly yesterday when she’d returned from the hospital, which meant that the trunk’s interior light had been on all night.

      She dragged herself out the car and considered her options. Less than ten minutes ago Demetra had waved and driven away with T.J. safely strapped in the back of her sporty little SUV. Demetra planned to take T.J. to feed ducks in a park near her new home. On hearing about the pond, Rebecca had issued a dark warning about T.J.’s fondness of water. Demetra had promised to watch him like a hawk. Afterward she was taking T.J. to her new home for a light lunch and planned to keep him amused planting herbaceous borders in her fledgling garden.

      As much as she hated taking advantage of Demetra’s sweet nature, she could call and throw herself on Demetra’s mercy and beg a ride to town.

      Briefly Rebecca considered the other, less appealing option—cancelling her meetings.

      “Is there a problem?” The dark velvet voice caused her to stiffen.

      Damon.

      It would be, of course. After successfully avoiding him, he had to find her beside a car with a flat battery. She’d been rattled by how nearly she’d fallen apart in front of him outside the elevator at the hospital, had intended to be cool, composed, elegant the next time she saw him. More than ever she wanted to kick the capricious car.

      Heart sinking, she turned to face him. He looked fantastic in a dark, stylish suit with his usual white shirt and conservative narrow tie below that inscrutable face. Rebecca drew a steadying breath and tried to look more together than the jumble of chaotic emotions inside her allowed. If she told him what was wrong, perhaps he’d lend her another car—Soula’s even.

      A quick glance at her watch revealed that if she left now, she could still make her first appointment. So she told him. And waited for derisive male condemnation to follow.

      “I’ll take you,” he said abruptly. With a click the electronic-controlled garage door behind her started to rise, revealing his silver Mercedes.

      “No, no. That’s not necessary.”

      “Come. Or you will be late.” He already had his cell phone in his hand, and Rebecca could hear him instructing his PA to reschedule his appointments and organise someone to recharge Rebecca’s car battery as he shepherded her toward the Mercedes.

      When he asked where she was going, she told him in a small voice. Rebecca had expected Damon to leave her at the San Lorenzo hotel, but he stayed, striding tight-lipped into the lobby at her side. Rebecca found herself tensing. Of all the places in Auckland, this was the one that held the most painful memories. But it had the grandest ballroom in town. Her own distress was no reason to exclude it from the list of venues.

      Andre, a slim, dapper Frenchman who was made for the role of events manager, welcomed Rebecca like a long-lost friend. “You’re back in the business?”

      With a strained smile Rebecca replied that she was simply doing a favour for a friend. She heard Damon mutter something barely audible about favours being expensive these days. Her brows jerked together in puzzlement. A sideways glance revealed that his mouth was compressed into a hard, tight line.

      Rebecca was aware of the precise instant Andre recognised her companion, saw his visible double take. “Monsieur Asteriades, it is an honour to have you in our establishment. We are pleased to be of any service we can.” The Frenchman quivered like a delighted whippet.

      Not for the first time Rebecca’s stomach curdled at the ingratiating treatment Damon received wherever he went. He was just a man, for goodness’ sake, albeit a gorgeous, sexy man. Andre’s deference increased as they walked around the function rooms, the ballroom, until Rebecca wanted to scream.

      The tour wasn’t made any easier by the gut-churning knowledge that the last time she’d been here had been on the night of Damon’s wedding. She couldn’t help wondering how often Damon had been here since.

      Often, she concluded. What did he care? Of course Damon wouldn’t share her despairing memories of the place. He’d only remember Fliss, their wedding.

      What the hell did it matter? What she felt about the place was insignificant. Everything had happened nearly four years ago. It no longer had any bearing on the present. Even the decor had changed. Yet the ballroom still retained that rich ambience she remembered, making it the perfect place for a high-society wedding.

      “You’re not seriously considering this place, are you?” Damon muttered through gritted teeth when Andre whisked away to fetch some sample wine lists.

      One look into his stormy eyes and Rebecca knew he hadn’t forgotten one minute of that night. She stopped. This was about where she and Damon had parted company after that abortive dance. Even now, a lifetime later, she could recall the burning hurt, the utter misery that had filled her.

      But she didn’t allow any of the old turmoil to show. Keeping her voice absolutely composed, she said, “It’s Auckland’s premier venue, the ballroom holds a thousand guests comfortably.”