Page 70 of Beautiful Vows

Has he got an agenda?

But why does that involve Amara?

Did Mateo Conti try to kill my sister? Because there is no way in this life they are dating.

I swallow back the lump that has made its way into my throat.

"Dinner is ready," I say to her. "Xander and Cole are here, too."

"Cole?"

"Xander's friend from college."

I know she's trying to place him. I take her hand and lead her from her bedroom. "We should go to the beach. You, me, Milly, some of your friends. What do you think?"

"Dominic takes me for walks along the beach. He thinks the fresh air will help with my memories," she breathes. "I like it. But Mom freaked when she found out."

"Why?"

"She thinks I was targeted and someone actually tried to kill me." She turns to me with unshed tears. "Did I upset someone?"

Amara is at least four inches taller than me, but when I pull her to me and hold her tightly, it feels like she’s so much smaller. "Nobody would ever want to hurt you. You're funny. You're perfect. And you've hurt no one in your life." I glance around us, making sure nobody is listening and say, "But I will find out who knocked you over and if I find out it was intentional, they'll pay."

She smiles. "I like you."

"You love me, Amara, and I love you."

Her face lights up as she gives me one of her beautiful grins. "Thank you."

I take her hand. “Let’s get dinner.”

"Ah, there you are," Dominic says when we reach the bottom of the staircase. "Dinner is being served."

We're ushered into the formal dining room. Everyone is already seated around the impossibly long, polished table set with fine china and glittering crystal stemware.

"Can I sit with you?" Amara asks.

"Of course." I sit on the chair next to Dante and ask Cole if it's okay if he takes the seat Amara wants to sit in. He begrudgingly moves along one chair, allowing Amara to sit next to me.

Throughout the starter, I watch as Amara picks at her food. It's like she's forgotten how much she likes prawns and Moreton Bay bugs. And this food is delicious. Dominic hires the best chef in the world.

Scents of rosemary and garlic waft into the air as the next course is about to be served. And when the lids are removed, revealing thick grilled steaks, roasted potatoes, and asparagus drizzled with browned butter, my mouth waters.

Amara sits quietly during dinner, her eyes flickering around the table as if trying to take everyone in.

My stepmother rises from her chair, makes her apologies, strides around the table in her usual overbearing way before she disappears into the kitchen and I overhear her asking for more champagne, telling the staff off because her guests have empty glasses.

I'd like to say she is playing the role of a doting hostess. But one, I know better than to believe her act because I know that woman couldn't be warm and welcoming if she tried. The other is I know she is a secret alcoholic.

I really need to tell Milly our stepmother is not our mother, but I know Amara is not in the right state of mind for the conversation.

Heels click sharply on the marble floor as she returns to the table.

"You okay?" I whisper to Amara as I rub my palm over her hand as she squeezes my forearm.

"Sorry."

After the glasses are filled, we're served an elegant chocolate and vanilla torte drizzled with raspberry coulis for dessert. But I can't help feeling this dinner is about something else.

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