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‘I know, and I apologise for that, but I had hoped Christmas in Vienna would make up for it.’
Etta screeched to a halt. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because it will beat spending Christmas by yourself, missing Cathy and hiding from Tommy.’
Etta narrowed her eyes. ‘I didn’t even know you were going to Vienna.’
Neither had he until a few days ago, when he’d discovered that Matteas Coleridge lived in Vienna and played the cello in a renowned Viennese orchestra. The knowledge had triggered a visceral need to see the man who might one day step into his shoes. Just see him—Gabe had no intent of making contact. Not yet. But he wanted to see him in his own environment.
‘It seemed like a good idea. Rather than rattling around here on my own.’
‘Why take me? What’s in it for you? I can understand why you’d take a real girlfriend, but why me?’
Because taking a girlfriend would effectively take the spotlight well and truly away from his real motivation. He had a lot of respect for April’s tenacity and instinct for a story. If she got wind of the new family tree there was a chance she’d pull the real story together.
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.
