www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To Carol Marinelli—

      not just a fellow author

      but also a fabulous and fun friend. XX

      CHAPTER ONE

      EMILIO was sitting in a café in Rome not far from his office when he finally found out the truth. His chest seized as he read the article about twin girls who had been separated at birth due to an illegal adoption. The article was journalism at its best: an intriguing and poignant account of how identical twins had finally been reunited, quite by chance, after a shop attendant mistook one for the other in a Sydney department store.

       One mistaken for the other …

      Emilio ignored his coffee and sat back in his chair and looked out at the bustling city crowds wandering past. Tourists and workers, young and old, married and single—everyone going about their business, totally unaware of the shock that was consuming him until he could scarcely breathe.

       It hadn’t been Gisele in the sex tape.

      His throat felt as if a spanner were going down sideways. He had been so adamant about it, so stubborn. He had not listened to Gisele’s protestations of innocence. He had refused to listen. She had begged and pleaded with him to believe in her, but he had not.

       He had got it wrong.

      She had cried. She had screamed. She had pummelled at his chest with tears pouring down her face, and yet he had walked away. He had cut all contact with her. He had sworn on his life he would never see or speak to her again.

       He had got it wrong.

      Emilio’s company had almost folded over the scandal. He’d had to work so hard to get back to where he was today. Eighteen-hour, sometimes twenty-four-hour days, sleepless nights, endless travel, jet lag so bad he didn’t sleep properly any more, no matter how utterly exhausted he was. He went from project to project like an automaton, putting in the hours, signing up the deals, paying off the debts and then finally banking the millions, his drive to succeed knowing no bounds.

      And for all this time he had blamed Gisele.

      He had fuelled his hatred of her every day since. It had festered inside him like a gangrenous wound. He had felt it in every pore of his body. Every time he had thought of her the temperature of his wrath had risen. It had burned like a roaring furnace deep inside him. It had blazed like wild flames through his veins. Some days it had almost consumed him. It had been like a fever he could not control.

      His gut clenched with a fist of guilt. He had always prided himself on never making an error of judgement. He aimed—some would say ruthlessly—for perfection in every area of his life. Failure was anathema to him.

       And yet with Gisele he had got it wrong.

      Emilio looked at his phone. He still had her number in his contacts. He had left it there as a reminder to trust no one, to let no one under his guard. He had never thought of himself as the sentimental type, but when he brought her details to the screen his fingers shook slightly as they hovered over her name. Somehow calling out of the blue to say sorry didn’t seem the right way to handle things. He owed her a face-to-face apology. It was the least he could do. He wanted to erase that mistake, to draw a line through it and move on with his life.

      He clicked on his phone’s rapid dial instead and called his secretary. ‘Carla, cancel all of my appointments for the next week and get me a flight to Sydney as soon as you can,’ he said. ‘I have some urgent business to see to there.’

      Gisele was showing a first time mother the handmade christening gown she had embroidered when Emilio Andreoni came in. Seeing him standing there, so tall, so out of place in her baby clothes boutique made her heart leap to her throat like a gymnast on an overused trampoline.

      She had practised