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“I was hoping you would. I would come get it myself, but I was hoping to squeeze in a visit to my sister before Christmas.”
Torkel’s sister lived in Vienna. “Of course.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, why?”
“You sound... off.”
“I—”
He almost told Torkel the truth:I’m falling for the American management consultant, and I don’t know what to do about it.But that was ridiculous. He wasn’t falling for her. He simply wasn’t accustomed to this type of affair. He was disconcerted by the intensity of their lovemaking. It had been so... satiating. He felt wrung out. Happy, even, when he thought about the fact that he was apparently rather good at making Cara come. And even if hewerefalling for her—which he wasn’t—nothing could be done about it, least of all by Torkel. “I’m fine. Send me the jeweler’s address, and I’ll fetch the ring in the next day or so.”
“If you have time. I’m sure you and Kai are quite busy with the Christmas baskets.”
He would be up all night the next three nights with those blasted baskets—and of course the night after that, Christmas Eve, delivering them. And that was after making an appearance at the ball.
“Everything is under control,” he said to Torkel. He was lying. Matteo had never fallen in love before, but he had a sinking feeling this was what it felt like. It didn’t feel like being in control whatsoever.
Matteo was gone when Cara woke up. She fumbled for her phone to see how long she’d been out. It was only five o’clock. There was no text from him, or—she looked around the room—a physical note. Though had she expected one?
Well, yes. She had. Matteo was usually so thorough, and sneaking out didn’t seem like him.
Though why was she so pressed? She was getting exactly what she wanted, what she’d been after since she got here: a tidy little travel fling. No mess, no strings.
No notes.
She got dressed and headed downstairs for dinner. The bar was remarkably empty.
“Where is everyone?” she asked Imogen.
“Outside. The ice slide is up.”
“Ice slide? What is that?”
“It is a slide. Made of ice.” Imogen shook her head in mock incredulity, but her eyes twinkled. “And here I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
“An ice slide. This country is too much.”
“Isn’t it, though?” Imogen asked cheerfully. “You should go try the slide.” When Cara didn’t reply—she must have looked skeptical—Imogen added, “Come on. Didn’t you tell me this was your weekend for all the Christmas things? What else do you have to do right now?”
“I can think of about a hundred things that are higher on my list than an ice slide.”
“Really?”
“I went for a sleigh ride today, and—”
Her body shivered from the memory—of both the chilly ride and the warm conversation they’d had about her high school ski trip. The juxtaposition was confusing.Hewas confusing. She’d never imagined tellinganyonethat story.
“You did? With who?”
Cara ignored the question. “That was enough hurtling through space on ice. And I note that it involved an intimate object between my body and said ice. Putting my butt directly on a death-chute made of ice and voluntarily plunging down it? No thank you.”
“Well, you’re no fun.”
“That’s right. I’m not fun. I’m sensible. I’m a New Yorker.”
Chapter Fifteen
