She closed her eyes, regret and relief bubbling in her like an internal hot tub.

Regret at not kissing Abby. Relief she hadn’t.

A beep on her phone.

Jordan rolled over and grabbed it. It was a text from Karen.

How’s it going in Cannes? I hope you’ve put that killer red bikini to good use.’

Karen had no idea.

It’s going well. Interesting. I nearly kissed the bride last night.

Her finger hovered over the send button. Should she press it? She did, before she could second-guess herself.

An instant reply. Whaaaaaat!? How? Why?

Jordan would love to answer those questions in a clear, honest manner. She couldn’t.

She told me she has feelings for me. It’s a mess. We were alone in a hot tub. But we didn’t kiss. I have to put things right today. Wish me luck.

A few seconds went by before she got a reply.

Good luck. Just remember, she’s not who you should be with. Go to a bar, snog a random. Get it out of your system. Just don’t snog her.

Jordan’s cheeks flushed as she thought about how close she’d come to doing exactly that. How far the barriers came down in the heat of the night, with nobody around.

Millimetres is how close they’d come. She could still feel the touch of Abby’s breath on her lips.

I won’t. Gotta go. Jordan flung her phone on the bed, then swung her legs onto the parquet floor. Thank god for air conditioning. Between the Cannes heat and her own issues, she’d have been toast by now.

Operation Damage Limitation would start in half an hour. She glanced out at the pool. There was nobody there. Being an early riser had its plus points.

She grabbed her red bikini from the drying rack in her bathroom, and pulled it on. Half an hour in the pool and then she’d be ready to face the day.

As ready as she’d ever be.

Jordan’s muscles ached as she strolled into the kitchen and got the fruit platter George the chef had left before leaving yesterday. The large ticking clock on the spotless kitchen wall told her it was an hour until their big breakfast was going to turn up, enough time to let the fruit come to room temperature, and for her to have a shower, and put the coffee on. She set ten white mugs out on the counter by the coffee machine, placed the cutlery and hen party napkins in neat lines, then stacked the bone china white plates beside that. Satisfied she’d done as much as she could, Jordan gave a nod and walked out of the kitchen.

And straight into an oncoming Abby. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts and a white T-shirt that left little to the imagination. Was she even wearing a bra?