Give Me a Day

by Zoe Ann Wood

  Lori’s breaths became short and labored; she dropped the papers, leaned her forearms on the table, and stuck her head down, trying not to pass out.

  What in the world was going on? Why did someone send these to Sebastian? Were they trying to break them apart? Some of these had to be illegally obtained.

  “Is it true?”

  At Sebastian’s voice, she looked up, the room tilting for a moment as blood rushed to her head. “What?”

  He was leaning on the doorjamb of his bedroom. She wondered how long he’d been standing there, watching her freak out over the contents of this file. His eyes were so cold. His posture looked relaxed, but there was a vein ticking madly in his neck.

  “Is. It. True.”

  Lori shook her head, still not comprehending. “What are you talking about?” She took up some of the papers and waved them at him. “What is this, Sebastian?”

  He walked over to her and calmly plucked the papers from her hand. Searching for one, he deposited the rest on the table.

  “Did you or did you not send photos of us to your grandmother’s lawyer in order to obtain your inheritance?”

  His voice was so level, so bleak, a painful weight lodged in Lori’s throat. “Yes, but I—”

  “So this list,” he said, interrupting her. “Is this why you went to that Ferris wheel? Why you…” He glanced at the list, reading from it. “Rode the Prater wheel. Visited the Butterfly House. Attended a show. Had schnitzel.”

  She noticed the paper trembled ever so slightly before he slapped it back on the table.

  “Yes, that was part of the reason why I did those things,” she said. “But I need you to let me—”

  “And then you sent them photos?” Sebastian’s voice cut her like an ice shard. He pointed toward the pile. “Was this all some sort of project to get more money?”

  “What?” Lori stood, not willing to keep looking up at him. “Yes, this is a requirement of the will, but this has nothing to do with us, Sebastian.” She reached out a hand to touch him, to comfort him when he was so clearly upset, but he jerked back as though her touch burned. Lori clenched her hands in front of her, waiting.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” he murmured, almost to himself. “All those photos you took…”

  “I took them because I wanted to have memories of these days,” she snapped, getting angry now. “And that money—that house—it’s all I have in the world.”

  “It’s nothing,” he growled. “You—you used me for this? I would have given you anything you wanted.”

  She flinched, moving back a step, and her leg bumped into a chair. She steadied herself against the table and tried taking a deep breath. It wouldn’t come. Her chest and throat were constricting, and she was so, so angry.

  “I didn’t want you to give me anything!” she cried. “And are you going to believe my word or some strange report? Where did you get these anyway?” she added. “How did they get all this information on me?” Some of these were surely considered private. Weren’t her school records stored somewhere? And that will…only her grandma’s lawyer and Lori had a copy.

  But Sebastian didn’t meet her eyes. “I had a background check done on you. This is what my investigators came up with.”

  Lori’s vision went foggy. For a moment, she couldn’t figure out whether she was about to pass out or if she was having an anxiety attack of some sort, but a moment later, she felt the moisture on her cheeks. She was crying, then. A numbness spread over her, washing away her fury.

  “You— What? I don’t understand.”

  She wanted him to take her into his arms, explain that it had all been a misunderstanding, and tell her they’d figure everything out together.

  Sebastian was still staring somewhere over her shoulder, his expression stony. “I couldn’t get more involved with you without knowing who you were. What secrets you were hiding. And now it seems like my paranoia has paid off. You’re just in it for the money.”

  Every word he uttered was a blow to her soul. Wiping her cheeks with her palms, Lori said, “You could have asked me. I told you who I am. I would have told you everything.” Her voice broke, a sob escaping, filling the ringing silence that settled between them. It was the sound of her heart shattering, and she rubbed at her chest where it hurt so much.

  She glanced down at the papers. “Instead you went behind my back and did this. Do you have any idea how this makes me feel? I don’t know the first thing about you, Sebastian Lynch. I didn’t even Google you. I’d hoped in time, you would tell me about yourself. But you violated my privacy so completely, I can’t even wrap my head around it. Does the report also include my bank statements, huh? Did it show you I barely paid off my student loans while working full time and taking care of my grandma, who couldn’t live on her own anymore?”

  She ran the sleeve of her t-shirt over her eyes. She was getting angry again, which was better than being numb. “This isn’t knowing me, Sebastian. These are numbers and bullet points. I’m more than that. And I thought you knew better.”

  He didn’t reply. Not a word passed his lips, and he still wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  Stifling another sob that threatened to escape through her pressed lips, she marched to her bedroom and threw the few items she’d unpacked into her suitcase. Then she slipped on her flats, not even caring that she was still wearing her leggings, and picked up her purse.

  She left without a word—because Sebastian didn’t say anything, either. He didn’t even look at her, as if he couldn’t stand being in the same room with her.

  Switching her regular glasses for her sunglasses, Lori sped through the lobby, wanting to get far away from this place before she broke down completely. On the street, a valet started toward her.

  “Do you need me to call you a car, miss?”

  “No!” Lori shouted. Then man jerked back in alarm, so she sighed and lifted her hand in apology. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. But no, I don’t need a car from your hotel.”

  She found a taxi just around the corner, letting the driver heave her big suitcase into the trunk while she hid in the back seat, half afraid Sebastian would come after her. She couldn’t talk to him right now. But she needn’t have worried. He was nowhere to be seen.

  The cab deposited her in front of her old hotel. Miserable at having to return there, she asked the receptionist whether her room was still available for the night. She only needed to hold out until tomorrow, and then she’d be leaving Vienna and returning home to lick her wounds.

  The clerk gave her the room key, which she counted as a blessing in this horrible situation. At least she didn’t have to go hotel hunting in peak tourist season. Eight hours ago, she’d checked out of this hotel feeling happier than she’d ever been. Now she had to lug the heavy suitcase up the stairs on her own. It banged her shin painfully, and that was the last straw.

  Barely making it through the door, she collapsed on her bed and sobbed.

  Thirteen

  Sebastian

  Lorelei had left, but a trace of her remained in the room. Whether it was her scent or the very essence of her, he couldn’t say. Sebastian opened the windows wide, even though rain splattered the parquet floor, and changed into his gym gear.

  Then he descended the stairs to the fourth floor, too impatient to wait for the elevator, and threw himself into a workout from hell. He didn’t even put on music, just ran and ran until his knees hurt and sweat was pouring down his back.

  Still, his thoughts revolved around Lorelei. Her guilty expression when he’d confronted her about the will. Her anger when it had hit her that he’d been the one to order the background check. What had she expected? That he’d blindly trust a stranger? But she doesn’t know how much you’re really worth. Or what’s at stake. Around and around, his mind replayed their conversation.

  After a while, his breathing hurt too much to keep moving, so he half collapsed on a bench and let the gym attendant bring him a towel and tray with a bottle
of the finest Austrian spring water. He considered pouring it over his head but drank it instead, knowing he’d need more than that to wash off all the sweat.

  It turned out that his attempt at removing Lorelei’s scent from his rooms didn’t work. The moment he stepped through the door, he inhaled, turned on his heels, and marched to the reception desk, where he demanded a different room.

  “Sir, we don’t have one with, um, the same level of luxury,” the receptionist stuttered, his eyes widening.

  Sebastian took a deep breath, reminded himself not to scare the staff by growling, and said, “I’ll take whatever room you have. Please have someone bring all my belongings to it.”

  “Yes, sir.” The clerk typed for a minute, then presented Sebastian with a new keycard. “It’s room two-oh-seven on the second floor. I’m afraid it doesn’t have the same view, but you’ll find—”

  Sebastian snatched the keycard from the man’s hand and headed to the elevator. Then he remembered the smaller elevator only went to the suites and changed direction mid-stride, opting for the main elevator in the center of the lobby. A pair of elderly ladies gave him an alarmed look and scurried away from him.

  Great. Now he was scaring old women.

  He was still wearing his sweaty gym clothes that were getting uncomfortably cool in the air-conditioned atmosphere of the lobby. Stalking to his room, he dropped his gear on the floor and took the world’s longest shower, stretching out his aching muscles beneath the hot spray.

  He felt reasonably human by the time he stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in the hotel bath robe. Someone had already brought his luggage downstairs, complete with his laptop case and the damning file containing the details of Lorelei’s life.

  Sebastian threw the offending thing in the trash, then got dressed. He ordered room service because he’d skipped lunch, but couldn’t eat anything, even though the food was superb. Then he flicked on the TV, browsing through channels without a clear aim.

  The sick feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. So he tried working, pulling up his company’s monthly reports and going through the figures his sales team had prepared. But everything looked good, so he couldn’t even complain and rail at someone.

  Groaning, he flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The image of Lorelei in tears haunted him, her words replaying on a loop in his head. I would have told you everything. This isn’t knowing me, Sebastian.

  The light dimmed beyond the curtains on his window, Vienna’s summer evening in full swing even though the raindrops still rattled against the windowpane. He imagined what their afternoon would have been like if he hadn’t received that envelope. They would have gone to that magnificent palace, wandered through the opulent halls, and laughed at the various Habsburg royals staring pompously from their gloomy portraits.

  Then they might have returned to his suite for a private dinner. He might have kissed her again, tasted those sweet lips of hers after she had more cake for dessert.

  Sebastian sighed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. This was getting him nowhere. Lorelei had kept a significant part of her story from him, even though he’d shared his worries over his father’s estate with her. Would she have told him on her own? Or would he have blindly believed she was attracted to him?

  He couldn’t believe their every interaction had been faked. It cast everything they did in such an ugly light.

  The worst thing was, he understood why she’d felt the need to follow the rules of her grandmother’s will. Grimacing in shame, he remembered yelling at her that her inheritance wasn’t important. She was right, of course—her bank statements were included in the report. And they showed him the picture of a prudent, hard-working woman who never spent more than she could afford and was even saving up for her own retirement.

  But why didn’t she tell him about it? He would have understood. He would have helped her.

  You could have asked me. I told you who I am. I would have told you everything.

  Sebastian rolled over and reached into the trash bin, feeling like a complete lunatic. But guilt coursed through him at the thought of how her face had crumpled despite her trying to stem the flow of tears. He opened her file and started at the beginning, trying to read with an impartial eye, not as a wounded lover.

  What he read this time rang far truer to his initial opinion of her. With growing horror, it dawned on Sebastian that he might have made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Fourteen

  Lori

  Lori went to bury her grandma the next morning. She put on her black dress and shoes, taking her cardigan and an umbrella because it was still pouring outside. The golden Vienna of the past couple of days had morphed into a sad, rain-slicked city where the natives hurried past her on the street, their shoulders raised high, and tourists disappeared into the various museums.

  She caught a cab at the end of her street and stared out the windows while they made their way through Friday morning traffic. The cabbie first tried talking to her, pointing out the sights as they passed them, but soon lapsed into silence at her lack of response. Lori felt a stab of guilt at that yet couldn’t bring herself to chit-chat with a stranger.

  Her night had been miserable, cold, and long. She’d slept fitfully, waking up over and over, until she’d given up at five and gone for a morning walk. Then she’d passed the café where she and Sebastian had eaten cake that first morning, burst out crying, and hurried back to her room, half blinded by tears.

  Now she paid the cab driver, who had stopped in front of a wrought-iron gate of the Achterns cemetery, and stepped out into the rain. She’d visited the cemetery on her arrival to make arrangements and deposit her grandmother’s urn at the funeral parlor. The cemetery had seemed beautiful—roses twined over the old stone walls that surrounded it, all the bushes were neatly trimmed, and birch trees cast pleasant shade over the gravel footpaths separating the graves.

  The scene was quite gothic today. The only light to be seen in the gloom was the yellow square of the funeral parlor window, so Lori hunched her shoulders against the cold and made her way there.

  Inside, she left her umbrella in the stand by the door and followed the sound of quiet voices down the hall. She was greeted by the funeral parlor attendant, a middle-aged woman who shook her hand and offered her condolences.

  “We have prepared everything like we discussed,” she told Lori, showing her into a small room. “Your flower wreath arrived this morning, so it is completely fresh.”

  Lori nodded mutely, her throat constricting at the sight of her grandma’s urn, surrounded by a pretty wreath of daisies. She would not be here to see the flowers wither, and it hit her for the first time how hard it would be to leave here, knowing grandma’s final resting place was an ocean away.

  Her grandma wouldn’t want her to think like that, she knew. ‘You remember people with your heart,’ she would have told her, tapping her own chest. ‘Then they’re always with you.’

  There was a second wreath propped up on a stand beside the table, so Lori stepped closer, curious to read the inscription on the ribbons that trailed from it.

  “With condolences, Marianne and Mathias Klug.”

  Lori burst into tears. It didn’t matter that the lovely couple still thought she and Sebastian were together—this was incredibly nice. They’d likely known that the funeral would be very small and had sent this beautiful gift, even though they’d only met her two days ago. And now she would never see them again.

  Someone cleared their throat behind her. Lori wiped her eyes and turned to find a young priest standing behind her. “I am Father Peter,” he said. “If you are ready, we can begin the ceremony.”

  Lori took several deep breaths, then nodded. “Yes, please. I’m ready.”

  It was true. She would visit Vienna again, she promised herself, and bring flowers to her grandma. She wouldn’t let Sebastian and their short-lived romance sour the experience of being in a beautiful foreign city.

 
; She followed the priest and the two attendants who carried the urn and the wreaths. The attendants wore hats and great black overcoats, but Father Peter came armed with a shockingly green umbrella that clashed with his purple stole.

  They passed the more modern-looking graves until they arrived at a row of stately nineteenth-century tombs with carved marble pillars and little wrought-iron fences. The Hirsch tomb had been cleaned recently, and a stone mason had stopped by to chisel the new name below a column of relatives: Luisa Marie Hirsch.

  There was no space for fancy inscriptions or epitaphs, and besides, Lori didn’t think grandma’s relative would have let her scribble on this historic tomb.

  The attendants had erected a tall tent in front of the tomb earlier, so she and the priest didn’t have to stand in the rain. Lori still shivered from the cold and imagined how grandma would have scolded her for not bringing a jacket. This brought a small smile to her lips; grandma had always been right about the weather.

  “I have written the sermon in English,” Father Peter announced proudly.

  Lorelei glanced up at him. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that. Grandma spoke German very well.”

  He looked at her kindly. “Yes, but funerals are as much for the living as they are for the dead, hmm?” Then he clapped his hands together. “Besides, this gives me a chance to practice my English. It is not often I get to do that!”

  He was entirely too cheerful for a priest, but Lori couldn’t hold it against him. Somebody had to keep their spirits up, and it absolutely wasn’t going to be her. The moment Father Peter started speaking, Lori’s eyes welled with tears again—and she let them fall. She mourned her grandmother, who had raised, loved, and supported her throughout her life. She mourned the loss of her former life, which had been quiet but happy. Everything would change now. And she mourned her broken heart. Having tasted real happiness with Sebastian, she would now never settle for anything less, and she didn’t know whether there was another man like him who would make her soul sing.