PARTI
PROLOGUE
Twenty-five years earlier, deep in the deserts of The Kingdom of Al Medina.
“Race you to the top!”
Samir regarded his brother with a look that was far too cynical for any seven-year-old, his eyes, darker than the night, flashing with barely concealed amusement.
“Why? Have you a taste for losing?”
Adan grinned. “Repeated success has made you cocky.” Four years older than Samir, Adan was a king amongst boys, born to rule, destined to inherit the throne of this great kingdom one day.
But that didn’t mean he could beat Samir.
“Okay, you’re on,” Samir said with a nod, no hint of a smile now as he turned his gaze to the sand dunes before them. While he had the advantage of being fast and nimble, and strong, too, it was his determination that meant he won, every single time. It was the same determination that had seen him climb the highest, oldest tree in the royal park surrounding the palace, and had seen him find a hidden corridor to the kitchens from the nursery, meaning the boys could feast each night on whatever delicacies Samir chose.
Adan began to run, taller with longer legs courtesy of his greater time on the earth. “Go!” He called over his shoulder, the same grin on his lips as he tore across the crystalline sand, glinting in the early afternoon sun.
Samir cursed, a word he’d learned from one of the stable grooms, then set his gaze on the top of a distant dune and tore after him, the balls of his feet sinking into the soft white sand and kicking up plumes of dust in his wake.
He looked to his brother, and felt, as always a jolt of gladness. Glad that he had been born second. Glad that he could run freely, live life in his own way. Even as a child, Samir was cognizant of the different expectations and pressures that they bore. At public events, Samir was not the focus. He could stand and observe, without being critiqued from every angle. Adan was a future king, which meant he was owned by the people. That life was not for Samir.
Samir was young and couldn’t yet explain the yin and yang nature of their relationship, but he knew they needed each other. That Adan could only stand in his heavy, oppressive shoes because Samir was at his back, his champion and supporter. That Samir could only live his life because Adan was his older brother, shielding him from the burden of being the first born. They were brothers, and the best of friends. Samir couldn’t imagine a life without Adan, and at seven, it never occurred to him that he’d have to.
Best friends or not, they could also be bitter rivals, both competitive and determined.
With a head start, Adan could conceivably have won, had his opposition been anyone else. But for Samir, losing was not, and would never be an option. He narrowed his gaze and ran faster, harder, never doubting that the sweet taste of victory would be his.
1
Valentina Gallery, Opening Night, Athens, Present Day.
CORA WEAVED AMONGST THE well-heeled guests and felt something tighten in the centre of her chest. How was it possible she felt lonely in the midst of family?
Because she was alone, she thought wistfully, looking down at her empty ring finger, frowning. Divorce was hard, but marriage had been harder. She was free, and she was glad, but that didn’t mean there weren’t times when she regretted, when she wished…but she’d never make that mistake again. Her marriage had been a disaster, just as her parents and cousins had warned her it would be. Who met their life partner at seventeen? In a typical rush of spontaneity and over-confidence, she’d married in haste on her eighteenth birthday, the enormous party at Ibiza a deliberate snub to her family and an invitation to the world.
She groaned softly, forcing her attention back to the room, her eyes landing quite naturally on Anastasios and Phoebe. Their backs were to her, as they spoke to one of Greece’s most well-known politicians, but their hands were clasped behind Phoebe’s back, and even from this angle, their love was palpable. Cora turned away quickly, surprised by the tears of longing that stung her eyes.
Her marriage hadnotbeen like their relationship. The mutual support and affection had been missing from the start, and whatever physical attraction had been there at the beginning had begun to wane until the dislike overtook everything else. It was a miracle she’d managed to keep it together for as long as she had.
She jostled through the room, needing fresh air, needing to be able to breathe properly, the familiar sense of panic gripping her, so she knew that if she didn’t get out of there, she’d have an episode in front of all those people. She cut through the room quickly, not looking, not concentrating, when her shoulder connected with something so hard and firm that she almost spun out of control. A hand reached out, curving around her upper arm, steadying her, and holding her, so she blinked up into a face that was vaguely familiar and completely overpowering for how compellingly handsome it was.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her words raspy, skin pale courtesy of the adrenaline that was flooding her body. Panic attacks weren’t uncommon for Cora, after the divorce. “I wasn’t looking—,”
“No, you weren’t.” The voice was accented and gruff. Her stomach twisted, and panic shuttled through her, replaced by other emotions, equally powerful but somehow less menacing. “You were in a hell of a hurry.”
“I just needed some air.”She gestured to the door that led to a side alley, away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi photographers camped out at the main entrance of the gallery.
“Dressed like that?” His eyes travelled the length of her body and suddenly, the stunning couture gown she’d chosen for the occasion felt as though it might as well have been a string bikini. A thousand lights fired to life inside her bloodstream. She tilted her chin with a defiance she didn’t feel, as her nipples tingled against the expensive silk.
“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”
“It’s snowing.”
“Oh.” She’d forgotten all about the fact it was mid-winter. Cora looked outside, her inability to breathe now had nothing to do with memories of her ex-husband and everything to do with the powerfully attractive man staring down at her.
“But if you insist, at least wear this.” He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. She took it on autopilot, frowning a little.