With her chestnut hair gleaming under the lights, Bianca stood, preparing to meet the guests, her close friends, who made up her comfort zone.

The Masters had wanted a small, intimate dinner to celebrate the fact that she was carrying their second child.

Noa, as Bianca stood before the mirror, the evening light slipping through gauzy curtains, brushing her reflection with gold, she had studied her figure critically.

O’Grady swore that there was a small baby bump, but St Just had smiled, that smile which sent shivers down her spine, making her wet, as he drawled,

“Irish, you’re exaggerating. But then, what’s new?”

The gown Bianca had selected for the...