“Oh, Ana—I am so delighted you’re going to be family,” Grace gushes. “The change in

Christian . . . He’s . . . happy. I am so thankful to you.” I blush, embarrassed by her exuber-

ance but secretly delighted, too.

“Where is the ring?” exclaims Mia as she embraces me.

“Um . . .” A ring! Jeez.I hadn’t even thought about a ring. I glance anxiously up at

Christian.

“We’re going to choose one together.” Christian glowers at her.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Grey!” she scolds him, then wraps her arms around

him. “I’m so thrilled for you, Christian,” she says. She’s the only person I know who is not

intimidated by the Grey glower. It has me quailing . . . Well, it certainly used to.

“When will you get married? Have you set a date?” She beams up at Christian.

He shakes his head, his exasperation palpable. “No idea, and no we haven’t. Ana and I

need to discuss all that,” he says irritably.

“I hope you have a big wedding—here,” she beams enthusiastically, ignoring his caus-

tic tone.

“We’ll probably fly to Vegas tomorrow,” he growls at her, and he’s rewarded with a

full-on Mia Grey pouty grimace. Rolling his eyes, he turns to Elliot, who gives him his

second bear hug in as many days.

“Way to go, bro.” He claps Christian’s back.

The response from the room is overwhelming, and it’s a few minutes before I find my-

self back beside Christian with Dr. Flynn. Elena seems to have disappeared, and Gretchen

is sullenly refilling champagne glasses.

Beside Dr. Flynn is a striking young woman with long, dark, almost black hair, cleav-

age, and lovely hazel eyes.

“Christian,” says Flynn, holding out his hand. Christian shakes it gladly.

“John. Rhian.” He kisses the dark-haired woman on her cheek. She’s petite and pretty.

“Glad you’re still with us, Christian. My life would be most dull—and penurious—

without you.”

Christian smirks.

“John!” Rhian scolds, much to Christian’s amusement.

“Rhian, this is Anastasia, my fiancée. Ana, this is John’s wife.”

“Delighted to meet the woman who has finally captured Christian’s heart.” Rhian

smiles kindly at me.

“Thank you,” I mutter, embarrassed again.

“That was one googly you bowled there, Christian,” Dr. Flynn shakes his head in

amused disbelief. Christian frowns at him.

“John—you and your cricket metaphors.” Rhian rolls her eyes. “Congratulations to the

pair of you and happy birthday, Christian. What a wonderful birthday present.” She smiles

broadly at me.

I had no idea Dr. Flynn would be here, or Elena. It’s a shock, and I rack my brains to

see if I have anything to ask him, but a birthday party hardly seems the appropriate venue

for a psychiatric consult.

For a few minutes, we make small talk. Rhian is a stay-at-home mom with two young

boys. I deduce that she is the reason Dr. Flynn practices in the US.

“She’s good, Christian, responding well to treatment. Another couple of weeks and

we can consider an out-patient program.” Dr. Flynn’s and Christian’s voices are low, but I

can’t help listening in, rather rudely tuning out Rhian.

“So it’s all play-dates and diapers at the moment . . .”

“That must take up your time.” I flush, turning my attention back to Rhian, who laughs

sweetly. I know Christian and Flynn are discussing Leila.

“Ask her something for me,” Christian murmurs.

“So what do you do, Anastasia?”

“Ana, please. I work in publishing.”

Christian and Dr. Flynn lower their voices further; it’s so frustrating. But they stop

when we’re joined by the two women I didn’t recognize earlier—Ros and the bubbly

blonde whom Christian introduces as her partner, Gwen.

Ros is charming, and I soon discover they live almost opposite Escala. She is full of

praise for Christian’s piloting skills. It was her first time in Charlie Tango, and she says she

wouldn’t hesitate to go again. She’s one of the few women I’ve met who isn’t dazzled by

him . . . well, the reason is obvious.

Gwen is giggly with a wry sense of humor, and Christian seems extraordinarily at ease

with both of them. He knows them well. They don’t discuss work, but I can tell that Ros

is one smart woman who can easily keep up with him. She also has a great, throaty, too-

many-cigarettes laugh.

Grace interrupts our leisurely conversation to inform everyone that dinner is being

served buffet-style in the Grey kitchen. Slowly the guests make their way toward the back

of the house.

Mia collars me in the hallway. In her pale pink, frothy babydoll dress and killer heels,

she towers over me like a Christmas tree fairy. She’s holding two cocktail glasses.

“Ana,” she hisses conspiratorially. I glance up at Christian, who releases me with a

best-of-luck-I-find-her-impossible-to-deal-with-too look, and I sneak into the dining room

with her.

“Here,” she says mischievously. “This is one of my dad’s special lemon martinis—

much nicer than champagne.” She hands me a glass and watches anxiously while I take a

tentative sip.

“Hmm . . . delicious. But strong.” What does she want? Is she trying to get me drunk?

“Ana, I need some advice. And I can’t ask Lily—she’s so judgmental about every-

thing.” Mia rolls her eyes then grins at me. “She is so jealous of you. I think she was hoping

one day that she and Christian might get together.” Mia bursts out laughing at the absurdity,

and I quail inside.

This is something I will have to contend with for a long time—other women wanting

my man. I push the unwelcome thought out of my head and distract myself with the matter

in hand. I take another sip of my martini.

“I’ll try and help. Fire away.”

“As you know, Ethan and I met recently, thanks to you.” She beams at me.

“Yes.” Where the hell is she going with this?

“Ana—he doesn’t want to date me.” She pouts.

“Oh.” I blink at her, stunned, and I think, Maybe he’s just not that into you.

“Look, that sounded all wrong. He doesn’t want to date because his sister is going out

with my brother. You know—he thinks it’s all kind of incestuous. But I know he likes me.

What can I do?”

“Oh, I see,” I mutter, trying to buy myself some time. What can I say? “Can you agree

to be friends and give it some time? I mean you’ve only just met him.”

She cocks her eyebrow and I flush.

“Look, I know I’ve only really just met Christian but . . .” I scowl at her not sure what

I want to say. “Mia, this is something you and Ethan have to work out together. I would try

the friendship route.”

Mia grins.

“You’ve learned that look from Christian.”

I flush. “If you want advice, ask Kate. She may have some insight as to how her brother

feels.”

“You think?” Mia asks.

“Yes.” I smile encouragingly.

“Cool. Thanks, Ana.” She gives me another hug and scuttles excitedly—and impres-

sively, given her high heels—to the door, no doubt off to bother Kate. I take another sip of

my martini, and I’m about to follow her when I am stopped in my tracks.

Elena breezes into the room, her face taut, set in grim, angry determination. She closes

the door quietly behind her and scowls at me.

Oh crap.

“Ana,” she sneers.

I summon all my self-possession, slightly fuzzy from two glasses of champagne and

the lethal cocktail I hold in my hand. I think the blood has drained from my face, but I

marshal both my subconscious and my inner goddess in order to appear as calm and as

unflappable as I can.

“Elena.” My voice is small, but steady—despite my dry mouth. Why does this woman