Her words to him were those of a Crown Princess, a woman who knew her place in the world and assumed the respect of her birthright.

He’d be proud of her if he wasn’t so bewildered.

If he wasn’t so angry.

For there was still anger, simmering underneath. There was still Nicky’s birth to sort. But now wasn’t the time. Not when she was holding out her hand.

There was nothing to do but to take it.

‘I’d be honoured, Your Highness,’ he told her, and her control ended. It was he who led her back onto the dance floor. It was he who took her into his arms and led her into a waltz.

They could do this.

One wet winter when school was out and Athena was a constant presence, Annia had declared enough with the television and the card games.

‘One day, if the gods look favourably on us, you may eventually rule this island,’ she’d told Athena. ‘And Nikos may well help you. So you need to learn to act as royals.’

So his mother had taught them their royal history, taught them their ancient rights, taught them protocol-and she’d also taught them to dance.

He stepped onto the dance floor, he took Athena into his arms and the years disappeared. They might as well be back in his mother’s sitting room, with her complaining on the sidelines…‘Smooth, Nikos, smooth, hold her as if she’s precious, not a sack of potatoes…’

Hold her as if she’s precious…

How could he help but do that? She was exquisite. Her skirts were swirling around him as she melted into his arms, and he let the dance take them where they willed.

The smell of her…The feel of her…

It felt as if it was yesterday that they’d walked hand in hand over every inch of this island, swearing eternal love, swearing they could never look at another.

She was the most beautiful woman…the most beautiful princess…