CHAPTER ONE

      ROSA GRAY TIED her dinghy up on the jetty and looked out across the water behind her, back towards the mainland. It would be so easy to just hop back in the boat and set sail again for mainland Spain. And, actually, it was entirely possible that no one would even miss her. Especially her sister, Anna.

      Except that her mother had sounded panicked when she called. Sancia Garcia never panicked. Not when she decided to leave her husband when Rosa was sixteen, not when Rosa’s grandfather died three years ago and left Sancia in sole charge of the luxury island resort of La Isla Marina. Not even when Rosa was eight and had tried a flying dive off the highest point of the island coastline, and almost brained herself on the rocks below.

      No, Rosa’s mama was the epitome of laid-back grace. Of letting things work themselves out in time, and trusting the universe to provide.

      Until, it seemed, she was faced with the wedding of a New York socialite, and the realisation that the luxury island resort was no longer quite so luxurious.

      Rosa stared up the wide, open path that led to the main villa at the centre of the island. Dotted on either side were a few of the low, white bungalows that made up the island’s accommodation, all shining bright in the fading afternoon sun.

      It still looked pretty good to her. But then, maybe she had a slightly skewed view of luxury, after a month spent deep in a South American jungle for a job. Or, more likely, St Anna had already fixed whatever she believed was wrong with La Isla Marina.

      Anna always believed she could fix anything, if she just made enough lists, worked hard enough, or nagged often enough. But she hadn’t been able to fix their family, had she? Rosa was almost hoping she’d given up trying by now. If she’d learned anything from her mother it was that, at a certain point, the only thing to do was to cut and run. No point flogging a dead horse and all that.

      Or, in Rosa’s case, no point dreaming that her family would ever be the sort of Christmas-advert perfect family where everyone was equally respected and listened to. So why hang around and wait for the impossible?

      Which didn’t explain why she was on the damn island in the first place. The only thing Rosa could put that down to was that thin thread, the one that started deep down inside her, connecting her to her mother, her sister, even her father. The one she’d never been able to sever, no matter how far or how fast she ran.

      Maybe Anna felt the same. Why else would Rosa’s big sister be here fixing everything for the mother who’d run off and left her in charge when she was only eighteen? Unless it was just to prove she could.

      Either way, Rosa was about to find out.

      Shouldering her rucksack, Rosa set off for the central villa at a steady pace. No point putting it off now she was here: it was time for the grand family reunion.

      La Isla Marina was less than a mile across, so it didn’t take her very long to reach the villa that housed the family and staff accommodation, as well as the administrative offices for the island. On the way, Rosa searched for changes that had taken place since she was last there, for her grandfather’s funeral, three years ago. Surely there must be some? But she was hard pressed to find them.

      Pausing on the path, Rosa drank in the view of the central villa, surrounded by lush greenery and bright flowers. The large white building, with its graceful arches and turrets, and tiled courtyards within, looked more like a Moorish palace than a Spanish villa, but to Rosa it had always felt like home in a way that nowhere else in the world did. Its twin turrets, housing two bedrooms—one for her and one for Anna—had seemed like the most magical places ever, when she was small. In some ways they still did.

      How strange to be back again, without her grandparents there to welcome her home. Three years since her abuelo had died, and another year before that without her grandmother, and Rosa knew that she’d never grow used to it. It was almost as if the soul had left the island when theirs had.

      Another reason she hadn’t made it back for so long.

      Her fingers itched for her camera, packed safely in her bag, to capture this perfect moment—the villa almost glowing in the sunshine, the azure sky behind it—before any people intruded on the picture and the calm was broken.

      She wondered what sort of a welcome would be waiting for her. Sancia would be pleased to see her, as always. Rosa was her baby girl, and for ever would be. She might not be the academic success her sister was, or be the useful, sensible sort of daughter that parents wanted, but Rosa knew her mother would always adore her all the same. And, unlike her father, respect her life choices, which meant a lot.

      Of course, it was probably easier for Sancia to let Rosa be Rosa from afar, wasn’t it? When she only saw her for holidays and high days, even before she left to explore the world, as soon as she turned eighteen? That was what Anna would say, anyway. Anna who had taken over to deal with Rosa’s ‘difficult teenage years,’ as their father referred to them.

      She needed to stop channelling Anna’s thoughts, or she was going to drive herself mad. Except Sancia wasn’t the only family member waiting on the island. She might have called Rosa for help, but Rosa knew she wasn’t Sancia’s first call. That had gone to Anna, the useful, sensible daughter. As always.

      And St Anna wouldn’t have made their mother wait two weeks, as Rosa had. Whatever their differences—and there were plenty—Anna would have dropped everything to help Sancia. In her defence, Rosa had been stuck in the middle of a South American rainforest at the time, and contractually bound to stay there until she had the full story and photos she needed for the magazine hiring her. But that didn’t mean that Anna wouldn’t have something to say about that delay. Or, knowing her sister, many somethings.

      And nothing at all to say about Rosa’s career successes. Anna probably didn’t even know that Rosa was booked up months in advance, when she wanted to be, by publications looking for her particular style of photo journalism. Rosa was making quite a name for herself in her industry, not that it would mean anything to Anna and their father. Anything that happened outside the dreaming spires of Oxford’s academic elite simply didn’t matter to either of them.

      Oh, well. La Isla Marina might not be huge, in island terms, but it had plenty of hidden corners and secret places—and Rosa had discovered all of them over the years. From secret coves for skinny-dipping to secluded bars and ‘relaxation zones’ dotted between the bungalows, Rosa could always disappear when she needed to. And if the worst came to the worst, she could pick up one of the island’s boats and head across to the mainland and Cala del Mar for some truly excellent tapas and views.

      And she didn’t have to stay long. She never did. Her modus operandi was get in, get what she needed, and move on again. Always had been. It served her well in her work, and she had a feeling it would serve her just as well on La Isla Marina this week. She loved her mother dearly, but it was generally better for everyone if they didn’t spend more than a couple of weeks in each other’s company. They were just too alike—in the same way that she and Anna were just too different—to get along all the time.

      It was all about identifying objectives. On assignments, she knew which shots she needed to tell the story that was playing out before her. Here, it was about reassuring her mother, making sure that everything was stable on the island again, then moving on guilt free.

      Chances