by Nina Milne
There was also a chance Etta would do the same—hence his first choice of girlfriend wouldn’t have been Etta. But he’d had to move fast and he had decided to take the risk. Yes, she knew Matteas Coleridge’s name, but there must be lots of Matt Coleridges in the world, and with any luck she wouldn’t even realise that it was the name of a member of a twenty-piece orchestra. If she did, he’d deal with it.
‘I have my reasons.’
‘Now is not the time to be a man of mystery. I’m sure you do have your reasons—I want to know what they are.’
‘No.’
Hands slammed onto her hips. ‘No?’
‘No. This is the deal on offer. You let April run with this romance story until after the New Year. You come to Vienna with me. In return I extend your contract and pay you an additional fee. I’ll throw in the bodyguard service as well. An added bonus is that you’ll lead Tommy far away from Cathy. That’s the deal. If you don’t like it, don’t accept it. Feel free to call April. Tell her it’s off, that you’ve changed your mind. Tell her the truth—tell her I made it up.’
‘If I do that what would you do?’
‘Find another girlfriend and take her to Vienna.’
Even if the idea didn’t sit well with him, given his reason for going to Vienna it would be simpler to have a fake girlfriend rather than a real one.
‘So the ball’s back in your court.’
* * *
The following day Etta gazed around at the interior of the private jet. En route to Vienna. Disbelief sat alongside her consideration as to whether or not she had lost her mind.
How had Gabe manoeuvred her into a position where she had actually agreed to this hare-brained scheme? Well, firstly there had been the sheer impossibility of any explanation to April. How to clarify why she’d gone along with it all, posed for photos, agreed to everything? Plus the idea had filled her with discomfort—it reeked of snitching, and it would drop both Gabe and Kaitlin in it. Mind you, she had little doubt that Gabe would pull himself out, no problem, but still...
Then there had been the internal debate: Christmas in Vienna, versus Christmas holed up in her flat or at an anonymous motel? True, Vienna came with the price tag of Gabe, but if she didn’t go he’d take someone else. And she loathed the concept—her fingers had curled into fists at the thought. Not from jealousy. But from anticipated mortification. Everyone would think she’d been passed over for a newer model.
In addition, the element of curiosity had popped right up—every historian’s instinct inside her told her there was something off about all this. Why did Gabe want to go to Vienna? Why didn’t he want anyone to know about the new family tree?
And lastly her treacherous body had seen some definite potential benefits. Benefits endorsed by her conversation with Steph.
Her best friend had been thrilled for her. ‘Go for it,’ she’d instructed. ‘For once in your life, Etta, let your hair down, put on your dancing shoes, and do the Viennese waltz. Quit worrying and go with the flow.’
Cathy had advised much the same. ‘Mum, I am so happy for you. Now we can all enjoy Christmas because we know you won’t be alone. Enjoy yourself—and don’t worry.’
Easier said than done. Worry was paramount as she gazed round the luxurious interior—somehow the idea of a spacious airborne room, complete with sumptuous leather sofa, a boardroom table, reclining seats and a screen that might grace any home cinema, represented the utterly over-the-top level of her own emotions.
No, not her emotions. This was all about her physical reactions—the rapid rate of her heart and the acceleration of her pulse as she gazed at him now, completely at his ease, his blue-grey eyes on her as she curled her legs beneath her in a false posture of relaxation.
His mobile rang and he glanced at the screen. ‘Sorry, I need to take it.’ Phone to his ear, he said, ‘Cora, thanks for the callback. You need to call Kaitlin. I reckon she could do with some twin input—she actually asked for my advice.’
A pause.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I told her. To consider it an alliance, a merger.’
A longer pause, and Etta couldn’t help but hear the agitated squawk that emerged from Cora’s end.
Then Gabe shrugged. ‘I told it how I saw it. Kaitlin is cut out to be a princess. But I figure I’m not the authority on marriage—you’re the one who has walked that walk to the altar.’
More talk and then he raised a hand in a gesture of affectionate exasperation.
‘Spare me the lecture on love. Talk to Kaitlin.’
He disconnected with a shake of his head and Etta couldn’t help but grin.
‘You’re close to your sisters.’
The observation sent a thread of sadness through her veins as a sudden image of Rosa strobed through her brain. The adoptive sister she hadn’t seen for seventeen years.
Gabe shook his head. ‘Not really. They were only two when I went to boarding school, so we never got close. And now we’re adults we have pretty much gone our separate ways.’
‘Why don’t you do something about that? You’re lucky to have siblings. Plus it’s clear they care about you.’
His blue eyes held hers with an arrested look that bordered on startled. ‘It is...?’
‘Yes—it is. I don’t mean to pry, but it sounds like Kaitlin isn’t OK and that she came home to see you and ask your advice. And you do care about her—one of the reasons you stepped in with April was to help Kaitlin.’
‘One of the reasons.’ Gabe’s voice was hard. ‘Don’t read something that isn’t there. I stepped in with April to protect my own interests. Helping Kaitlin was a bonus.’
Why was he so resistant to the idea that he was close to his sisters? ‘So you wouldn’t have helped her if it hadn’t benefited you too?’
‘I didn’t say that. I’m just telling it as it is. We aren’t a close, touchy-feely family.’
‘You say that like it would be a bad thing if you were. I don’t get that at all.’
Because she would love to somehow turn the clock back and be part of Rosa’s life, and it made her mad that Gabe was bypassing something so important. The man was lucky enough to have family on tap and he didn’t seem to care.
‘It works for me.’ Gabe looked at her, his eyes still angry. ‘You said you were an only child “for years”. So presumably you now have a sibling?’
For a moment she was tempted to deny it. Not acceptable. Bad enough that she wasn’t part of her sister’s life—to deny her existence would be wrong. Even if her parents didn’t count her as being Rosa’s sister. After all she didn’t share the same bloodline—hadn’t been in Rosa’s life since Rosa was three.
‘Yes. A sister. We’ve lost touch.’
‘Then why not get back in touch?’
‘It’s complicated.’
And now she was regretting the whole conversation—Gabe’s relationship with his sisters was none of her business. But now she’d made it her business and she’d opened up a conversational bear pit.
‘Complicated how?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does. You’ve given me a hard time about my lack of brotherly support and now it turns out you’ve lost touch with your sister.’
Hmm... It seemed she’d touched a nerve, but Gabe had a point. What to do now?
Etta squared her shoulders—she would give him the facts. Or at least some of them.
‘My parents gave me an ultimatum when I was pregnant. Them or the baby. I couldn’t give my baby up and I haven’t seen them since. Rosa was three at the time.’
The scene was still etched on her memory banks, however many times she’d tried to erase it.
Rosa in her mother’s arms, the three-year-old’s chubby legs wrapped round her mum’s waist. The daughter her parents ha
d always craved—blood of their blood. Her dad standing behind them. A tableau of the perfect family; no need nor space for Etta.
Her adoptive mother’s voice. ‘You can come back, Etta, and we’ll do our duty by you. But not the baby. Give it up for adoption.’
‘I can’t do that.’ The taste of tears as they rolled down her cheeks, her hands outstretched in plea. ‘I know I’ve done wrong, messed up big-time with Tommy, but I can’t do that.’
There had been no relenting on her parents’ faces.
‘You have to. That baby has Tommy’s genes—how can you want to keep it?’
Black knowledge had dawned—a dark understanding of why her parents had been unable to love her—they had always seen her as tainted by her unknown genes.
‘I want to keep this baby because I already love him or her, and I don’t care whose genes she has. Please try to understand. This is your grandchild. A part of me.’
She’d waited, but her parents had just stood there, lips pressed together. Rosa had looked on, knowing something was wrong, her lower lip wobbling. So Etta had taken a deep breath, stepped forward and dropped a kiss on Rosa’s head, felt the little girl’s blond curls tickling her nose.
‘Goodbye, sweetheart.’
With that she’d left, one hand protectively cradling her tummy even as panic washed over her. All the time hoping, praying that they would call her back. But they hadn’t.
Etta blinked, emerged from the vivid clarity of the past and saw that Gabe was hunkered down in front of her chair. She realised a tear had escaped her eye and trickled a salty trail down her cheek.
He reached out and caught it on the tip of his thumb. ‘I’m sorry, Etta. I can’t imagine how that must have felt but I’m pretty sure it sucked.’
The temptation to throw herself on the breadth of his chest, inhale his scent, take reassurance and safety and comfort nigh on overwhelmed her.
Pull yourself together. She’d come to terms with her past long ago.
‘No need for you to be sorry. It is what it is and I’ve come to terms with it. I’ll never regret the choice I made.’
The idea of giving Cathy up had been an impossibility—her own birth parents had abandoned her, and maybe they’d had reason to, but she would not—could not—do that to her child.
‘But I do regret that Cathy has no grandparents. And I regret Rosa not being part of her life. That’s why I get mad when I see sibling relationships going to waste.’
He remained in front of her. His hand covered hers and awareness sparked.
‘So Rosa must be nineteen...twenty now?’
‘Yes. I send my parents a Christmas card every year. In case they ever want to meet their granddaughter.’
‘Maybe you need to try and get in touch with Rosa directly. Could be your parents haven’t told her about you or the Christmas cards.’
‘That wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Gabe, you don’t need to come up with a strategy. My parents and I—we made our choices and we need to live with them.’
‘Rosa didn’t make a choice. I’m not advocating a reunion with your parents—I think what they did was wrong—but Rosa is different. She should be given a choice.’
‘I won’t be responsible for causing complications in Rosa’s life. Or my parents’. That’s my choice. Just like it’s yours whether or not you build a closer relationship with Kaitlin and Cora. My point is that I envy you the opportunity to do so. I think you should build on what you have with Kaitlin and Cora.’
‘Cora doesn’t need me—she is incredibly happy.’
‘Closeness isn’t just about being there when someone needs you. You don’t always have to be Mr Fix It.’ Though now she came to think of it, that was what Gabe was—always looking for a solution, the optimum strategy.
‘Right now there’s nothing to fix. Cora’s marriage seems to be working out.’
‘Even though she has made a technically unsuitable alliance? With someone out of your social circle?’
‘Actually, no. She has married someone with immense wealth—that’s an asset. And it turns out Rafael also has connections with the elite of Spanish aristocracy, though the jury is out on whether that is a useful commodity or not.’
‘But that isn’t why Cora married him. She married him because she loves him. You can see how much they love each other.’ She’d seen it at the Cavershams’ Advent Ball—it was the same connection Ruby and Ethan had.
Gabe shrugged. ‘His money will endure and grow. Rafael Martinez is a billionaire, with an incredibly astute grasp of business opportunities. His connections are handy. I assume Cora thinks love is a bonus.’
‘No! You’re missing the point. Cora probably thinks the money and connections are a bonus. She loves him regardless of those and she would have married him if he were penniless.’
‘He wouldn’t be Rafael Martinez if he were penniless.’ He shrugged. ‘I see what you’re saying, Etta, but I think they’d have been wiser to leave love out of the equation.’
‘So you believe they’re kidding themselves? That in reality they have married each other for money and titles and connection but they won’t admit it?’
Why was he so anti-love? So sure every relationship was based on barter or an exchange of assets?
‘Yes. And I think one or both of them will be hurt when the bubble bursts.’
‘And you think it will be Cora?’
‘Yes.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
‘Ram Rafael Martinez’s teeth down his throat if he messes with my sister. Is that supportive enough for you?’
‘Actually, I was thinking you should spend some time with them, and then you’d see that they actually love each other.’
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, smooth and clear. ‘About to start the descent into Vienna.’
Relief touched Gabe’s face—clearly this conversation wasn’t something he felt comfortable with. Etta knew she should leave it—knew it was none of her business—but as she looked across at him she felt an urge to know why he was so resistant to closeness, what made him tick.
Stop, Etta. The old adage that curiosity killed the cat had some truth in it. Best she leave well alone and focus on Vienna and more immediate concerns. Such as how to face four days as Gabriel Derwent’s Christmas girlfriend.
Yup, she must have been insane to agree to this—and yet as she gazed out the window of the jet anticipation swirled within the tumult of panic.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HOLY MOLY, MACARONI! Etta gazed round the suite, sure that her eyes must have bugged out. ‘This is...’ Words failed her.
The suite was even more impressive than the hotel’s lobby—a vast, glittering golden parquet enclosure with stucco ceilings, enormous chandeliers and mirrored surfaces that refracted and shone.
But this... ‘You could fit my entire apartment in here three times over.’
‘Courtesy of April,’ Gabe said. ‘She pulled some strings and managed to get us this.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, but I have my suspicions. No doubt she’ll have a source here keeping an eye on us.’
‘Oh.’
Etta looked around the sumptuous room, decked out with renaissance lavishness. Gold curtains and tassels and brocade all combined to display elegance and luxury, and more chandeliers abounded. The panelled domed ceiling and intricate plaster cherubs spoke of the hotel’s origin as a Viennese palace, but the main feature of the suite, seen through two enormous mirrored sliding doors, was the bed. Ornate and splendid, its carved headboard was a work of art in itself, and thick, sumptuous bejewelled curtains were draped around the super-king-sized bed.
Bed. In the singular. Yes, it was big enough to house a family, but it was still one bed.
; As if he read her thoughts Gabe’s lips upturned in a mixture of amusement and rue. ‘We’ll need to share it. If April has a source the last thing we want is a story questioning why one of us is sleeping on the sofa.’
He had a point, so she needed to focus on the size of the bed... No, she needed to forget about the bed. Because all of a sudden the memory of The Kiss fermented in her brain, her pulse racked up a notch, and her skin heated.
Wrenching her gaze from the four-poster, she headed towards the window and gave a cry of delight. ‘Look, Gabe! It’s snowing.’
The white flakes swirled down lazily and landed among the shimmer of Christmas lights and crowds of Christmas shoppers.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered, and turned to find him right behind her.
Her breath caught at his proximity and an insane yearning hit her for this to be real. For them truly to be here on a romantic getaway. For a moment the possibility hovered in her brain. Hadn’t he said all those weeks ago that the ball was in her court?
No. Too dangerous, too risky, too much.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ she asked.
‘You tell me.’
‘This is what Cathy and I usually do—we take it in turns to choose something. Write it down on pieces of paper, put them all in a hat and then take turns picking them out.’
Gabe blinked, and instantly Etta felt foolish. ‘But obviously we don’t have to do that. It’s a tradition with me and Cathy, and this is my first holiday without her in sixteen years, so... Old habits die hard.’
‘It’s fine. Let’s write some things down. The only thing I have already done is book tickets for a Christmas Eve concert at the Schönbrunn Palace.’
‘That sounds magical. Which orchestra?’
His jaw tensed, but his voice was light as he named the ensemble.
‘Oh, I’ll research that...’
‘It’s two days away. How about we get on with this papers-in-a-hat thing? Have you even got a hat?’
‘Of course I have a hat. It’s December. I have a bobble hat! With a reindeer motif.’