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complete isolation somehow got to her. Out there you were over one thousand five hundred kilometres from Perth, and not much closer to anything else.
    Ivy loved it—she’d married her new husband there, after all. And April did, too, regularly ‘glamping’ with her husband in remote Outback locations and posting dreamy, impossibly perfect photos on social media. But Mila always felt that she must be missing some essential Molyneux genes. The mining gene, or the iron ore gene, or even the red dust and boab tree gene.
    Because Mila was never going to follow in her big sisters’ footsteps. Regardless of her uninterest in her education for all of her childhood and the early part of her twenties, it just wasn’t who she was. The industry and the land—that was everything to the Molyneux empire... Mila just didn’t fit .
    Seb still hadn’t arrived, so Mila leant back against the driver’s side of her modest little hatchback, the door still warm from the day’s glorious spring sun. The two probable FIFO guys had become more serious, and their banter and laughter was now only between points. She vaguely watched the ball ping between them without really following what was going on.
    Mila had long believed that there was a lot more of her father in her than her mother. She even looked like Blaine Spencer—except without the blond hair. She definitely—or so she’d been told—had her father’s intense blue eyes. ‘Eyes that’ll make the world fall in love with him’ —that was what a film reviewer had said, in the ancient newspaper cutting that Mila had found in a book years after he’d walked out on them when she was only a toddler.
    She’d burnt that review—at an angry sixteen—when her father had once again let her down. Not that it mattered. She could still recall every word.
    A car slid into the parking spot directly beside her—a sleek, low, luxury vehicle in the darkest shade of grey. Seb climbed out, turning as he shut the car door to rest his forearms on its roof.
    He grinned as he looked at Mila across the gleaming paintwork. ‘Ready to be run off your feet?’ he asked.
    The lights in the car park were dim, leaving his face in both light and shadow. Even so, Mila could feel his gaze on her like a physical touch. She shivered as his gaze flicked downwards, taking in her outfit of pale pink tank top and black shorts, and then down again to her white ankle socks and sneakers.
    Did his gaze slow on her legs?
    She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Nope. It did not .
    Just as he’d definitely meant nothing when he’d said incredible and perfect yesterday.
    Mila forced a laugh. ‘Last time I checked I still lead in our head-to-head.’
    His laugh was genuine as he reached into his car for his tennis bag. He tossed it over his shoulder as he walked around the car to her. ‘That doesn’t sound right to me.’
    He was dressed casually, all in black: long baggy running shorts and a fitted T-shirt in some type of sporty material. It revealed all sorts of somehow unexpectedly generous muscles: biceps and triceps and trapeziums...
    The genius of her idea was now clearly questionable.
    â€˜Trust me—’ Her voice sounded high and unlike her own. She cleared her throat. ‘Trust me—you know how good I am with numbers.’
    He shrugged and smiled again, and the instant warmth that little quirk of his lips triggered was unbelievably frustrating.
    Mila strode towards the courts, opening the door within the tall cyclone fence and barely waiting for Seb to step through before walking briskly to the court they’d hired.
    To be honest, she didn’t remember the exact head-to-head score between them. When they’d started lessons together in primary school Mila had been the stronger player. She probably still was—it was just that eventually Seb had become actually stronger than her.