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‘Unless you’re calling me from the living room, consider your entire accumulation of brownie points docked.’
‘I’m calling you from the emergency room,’ Draco replied, tersely.
She jerked upright, her heart slamming hard against her ribs. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, Arabella. Unfortunately, Carla isn’t. She’s in intensive care as we speak.’
‘No! What happened?’
‘She fell, hit her head. She hasn’t suffered any spinal injuries, but the doctors aren’t taking chances. The air ambulance brought her to Rome from Tuscany this morning.’
Rebel’s hand tightened around the phone. ‘How is Maria taking it?’
‘She’s being exceptionally strong,’ he responded, his voice reflecting a quiet pride. ‘I flew her down this afternoon.’
‘I’m glad she’s there with Carla.’
‘Yes. Arabella, I don’t know when I’ll be able to come to Verbier.’
Her stomach hollowed, bringing with it a tinge of shame for her selfishness. ‘It’s fine,’ she mustered with as much grace as she could. Then, remembering her vow this morning, she added, ‘When you do get here, though, we need to talk.’
Tense silence greeted her. Wondering whether the line had dropped, she glanced at her phone. She was still connected. ‘Draco?’
‘I’m here. We will talk as you wish.’ Voices murmured in the background. ‘I have to go.’
‘Umm...okay—’
He hung up before she could stumble through telling him she’d missed him. Or, even more, that she loved him.
Because she did.
She’d agreed to stage a flawless performance of make-believe love. Instead she’d fallen in love for real.
The irony didn’t escape her as the phone dropped from her numb fingers into her lap. Looking down, she caught sight of her engagement ring. Her heart cracked open at the real possibility that she might have to take it off in the very near future. After all, even if Draco saw past her role in her mother’s death and forgave her, she had no guarantee that he would want to be with her, never mind on a permanent basis.
Her heart shuddered at the phantom loss even as it contemplated the real one. Desperate to flee the bleakness snaking through her, she grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV.
Every channel carried the news of Carla Nardozzi’s accident, with the blame laid firmly at Tyson Blackwell’s feet. Footage of the moments before the accident had been leaked to the media, and the trainer had been arrested.
Relief for Draco and Maria for the delayed justice and closure surged through her. Turning the TV off, she lay back in bed, sending up a silent prayer that she and Draco would be granted a chance for a fresh start.
Carla Nardozzi was put into a medical coma the day before the opening ceremony of the Verbier Ski Championships.
Draco called with another terse apology—one that was becoming a common occurrence. And one that Rebel brushed off with a light tone and a heavy heart.
Her first competition took place that afternoon. With Greg and Contessa and the rest of her team in her camp, Rebel should’ve been ecstatic when she placed second by the end of the first day. Instead she kept her phone on her lap all through dinner with the team, her heart jumping each time she felt a ring that turned out to be her imagination. Tuesday and Wednesday were even better days. By Thursday she was leading the women’s ski-jump category, with her name suddenly on every sports commentator’s lips. Contessa excitedly booked interviews and negotiated with new sponsors who wanted to be associated with the new and improved Rebel Daniels. Rebel nodded and smiled through it all, but inside she was dead with complete misery.
She was getting ready for her final afternoon session on Friday when Greg walked into the recreation room. ‘I’ve just had a note that there’s someone wanting to see you in the VIP hospitality box.’ His dark frown spelled his displeasure. ‘They won’t tell me who it is and I can’t bring them back here. I’m going to have to come with you.’
Her heart leapt into her throat, her whole body revving into invigorating life as she jumped up. Draco had arrived!
‘It’s fine. I have my personal official here with me.’ Rebel waved at Greta, the woman who’d been assigned to her.
Greg’s lips pursed as he handed over the note. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ she insisted, rushing towards the door.
Rebel asked Greta to point her in the direction of VIP box number sixteen. The older woman struggled to keep up as Rebel sprinted ahead. The box was at the far end of the luxurious championship course, directly overlooking the ski-jump platform. Slightly out of breath, she entered the semi-lit room, leaving Greta in the hallway. Spotting the figure looking out to the course, she hurried towards him.
