He could watch her for hours.
His heart seemed to stutter when she scooped up little Ava, Valeria's two-year-old niece who lived on the island with her parents, who also worked for him.
He couldn't hear Ava's squeals of delight but he could feel them. They hit him deep in his guts.
Emily would be a fantastic mother, fierce and loving, just as his mother had been to him before he'd thrown all her love back in her face.
He could still see the ashen hue of her skin when he'd walked out that final time.
'Pascha,' she'd said. 'Andrei loves you. He would never put Marat above you, only equal to you.'
'You weren't there,' he'd sneered, his anger and hurt turning outward. 'He thinks Marat is deserving of a place on the board by virtue of his Plushenko blood.'
'He didn't mean it like that...'
He hadn't let her finish. 'So now you're taking his side? I thought I could expect support from my own mother.'
'It isn't a case of taking sides...'
'From where I'm standing it is. And I can see you have made your choice. I might have wished for your support but I certainly do not need it. I'm finished with this excuse for a family and its obsession with bloodlines. This cuckoo is leaving the nest.'
He could still see the confusion in her eyes at his parting comment.
Would he have reacted differently if he hadn't received the test results mere days before, if his dream of having his own blood family hadn't been crushed?
He didn't know. All he remembered feeling was hopelessness as he realised that his life meant nothing. That he meant nothing. The woman who had borne him, the one person in the world he shared a bloodline with, had failed to take his side. He was alone. Isolated. So he'd forced Yana to stay, desperate to hold onto something to validate his life.
It had taken almost two years of misery, as he threw himself into work, determined to make a success of himself on his own, before he'd seen what he was doing to her and set her free.
Luis joined him, forcing him to switch his attention away from memories that speared his heart and onto easy talk of boats and island life. By the time Luis had slapped his back and wished him goodnight, Emily was no longer dancing.
Automatically he looked out to the lagoon, his lips curving into a smile to see her paddling out to calf height.
He got to his feet.
At the water's edge, he removed his footwear and rolled his jeans up.
'I knew that was you,' Emily said, turning her head to smile at him. There hadn't been an atom of doubt in her mind that the person wading into the lagoon behind her was Pascha.
'I'm just making sure you're not planning on going for a swim.'
'I was thinking about it,' she admitted. 'Maybe later when everyone's gone to bed. You should join me.'
She'd come out for a paddle because she'd needed space. She'd needed to put a little distance between her and Pascha before she ran over and dragged him onto the makeshift sandy dance floor.
She'd felt his eyes on her as she danced. Whenever she could no longer resist, she'd peeked back, her heart tugging to see him alone nursing his beer, setting himself apart while the party he'd instigated went on around him.
'Wading to my calves is enough for me,' he said. 'Not all the marine life in the lagoon is friendly, especially at night.'
'Is that your way of telling me not to go for a midnight swim?'
'It's my way of asking you to consider the dangers of doing it.'
She laughed softly. 'I've probably had too much to drink to swim.' Not that she was drunk. A little merry, maybe, but probably more than was safe to go swimming alone.
Pascha standing beside her made her feel giddy in a completely different way; her blood fizzed at his closeness.
'I'm glad to hear it,' he said, his voice dry.
'I'll save my swimming for the waterfall tomorrow,' she couldn't resist saying before laughing. 'Do you have any idea how lucky you are, owning this island? You've got your own lagoon and your own waterfall!'
'I do know how lucky I am.'
Something in his tone made her stare at him, made her realise that up to that point she'd avoided his gaze.
With the darkness of the sky enveloping them it was impossible to read his eyes; she knew only that something glittered there that made her heart double over.
In the distance, Oliver was singing a Bob Marley classic, the remaining partygoers singing along, the music blurring with the gentle lapping of the waves around them.
Pascha's chest rose and he looked up to the stars before staring back down at her. He reached out a hand and caught a ringlet.
All the breath rushed out of her body as he leaned his head forward.
She had no idea what profound comment he would say next, and certainly didn't expect the mirth that spread over his face. 'You smell like a bonfire.'
His fingers still played with her curl. He'd moved closer to her, near enough for her to feel the heat of his body.
The amusement left his face. He dropped her curl and dragged his fingers down the mane of her hair to her shoulders, then brushed up her neck to gently cup her throat.
His breath was hot on her skin. She closed her eyes. Her lips tingled, anticipating his kiss...
'You could make a man lose himself, Emily Richardson,' he murmured into her ear, before releasing his hold.
She snapped her eyes back open to find him striding through the water back to shore.
She spent the night in her cabin alone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMILY SAT ON the ledge watching the sun make its ascent, the moonlit silver slowly vanishing, shades of blues and greens emerging. The only sound was the steady rush of the waterfall opposite. It glistened in a multitude of colours.
At best she'd managed a few hours of sleep. Every time she'd closed her eyes all she'd been able to see was Pascha's face. He'd been there when she'd opened them too. He was everywhere.
She'd been so sure he was going to kiss her. When he'd walked away she'd felt such rejection despite the strange words he'd uttered. Those feelings were still there but also in the mix was the euphoria of a whole evening with no worries. The impromptu party had been exactly what she had needed. Pascha had made it happen. It hadn't been for her, it had been for his staff, but it was all down to him. All the anxiety that had held her in a noose for the best part of a year had slipped away.
But now, here at the waterfall, her head felt crammed.
Her father was going to be all right. She could feel it. Such a small thing, getting out of bed. Given the state he'd been in, though, it was a huge thing. It showed willingness.
The road ahead wouldn't be easy but for the first time she allowed herself to believe the road ahead would have him travelling on it.
The relief was indescribable.
But mingled with the relief was something else. It shamed her. As childish and selfish as she knew it to be, she couldn't help feeling despondent that it was for James that he'd made that first step. Not for her. It didn't matter what she did or how hard she tried, it was never for her.
It shouldn't matter. It really shouldn't matter. That he was treading the first steps on the path to recovery was enough. She'd done everything she could to help him, given up so much. Surely now...
Surely now it was time for her to start living again?
And she knew just the way to start.
She got to her feet and peered over the edge. A thrill of anticipation rushed through her. She unwrapped her sarong and placed it on the grass, then slipped her flip-flops off.
Another image of Pascha came into her mind. If he knew what she was about to do, he would probably tie her to a chair for the rest of her stay. It was one of the reasons she'd started the trail before the sun had come up.
She forced his image away.
Adrenaline pumping, she took a few paces backwards and then ran, jumping high into the air right at the very last second.
Those few moments of weightlessness were indescribable, exhilarating: the heady rush of flying combining with the hint of danger at what lay beneath the clear water.
Keeping the presence of mind to point her toes and hold onto her neck, she entered the cool water at incredible speed. Down she went, lower and lower into the pool, waiting to hit the bottom.
* * *
The sun had not long risen when Pascha awoke with a start.
He'd slept well enough but his dreams had been fitful. He'd woken to the vivid image of Emily jumping off the ledge and into the waterfall.
He threw on a pair of shorts and raced to her hut.