Kate Hardy - If The Ring Fits...

‘Any forfeit?’

He wasn’t too sure he liked the sudden gleam in her eye; but if thinking about a forfeit stopped her thinking that she was useless and would never get the waltz, it would go a long way to sorting out their problems. She needed to start believing in herself. And he knew just the place to make it happen. ‘Any forfeit. Now, go .’ He shooed her out of the studio, then picked up the phone to make the arrangements.

Liam texted Polly to let her know he was on his way.

‘So where are we going?’ she asked when he arrived.

He refused to be drawn. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Apart from the fact that I’m not wonderfully keen on surprises,’ she said, ‘I need to pay you for my plane ticket and my room.’

He shook his head. ‘No, you don’t—it’s a teaching expense. And don’t argue, Polly,’ he said before she could cut in. ‘I want you relaxed and calm.’

‘How can I be, when I don’t know what’s going on?’

‘I promise you’ll like it.’

‘I don’t believe in promises,’ she said. ‘They’re pie crust. Easily broken.’ She’d learned that the hard way—firstly with her parents and then with Harry. People she’d trusted to keep her world safe, and they’d let her down.

‘Mine aren’t,’ he said softly. ‘Trust me.’

‘Says the man who trusts nobody.’ Which frustrated her no end.

‘Wrong’

‘So who do you trust?’ She damped down the flicker of hope that he’d say he trusted her.

‘Myself.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re impossible.’

‘And your point is …?’

She gave up and stared out of the window for the rest of the journey.

At the airport, she realised where they were going as soon as their flight was called. ‘Vienna?’

‘Well, it’s the waltz capital of the world,’ he said. ‘It’s the best place to learn the dance.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Trust me. I have a friend there who runs waltzing weekends.’

‘So you’re getting someone else to teach me?’

‘No. I’m calling in a favour and borrowing something from him.’

‘What?’

‘You ask too many questions, Pol.’

‘I stand by what I said,’ she grumbled. ‘You’re impossible.’

Though Polly enjoyed the flight, especially as Liam kept the conversation light and told her all about his favourite bits of Vienna. They caught a train from the airport into the centre of Vienna, then changed to the Tube; Polly noticed that Liam didn’t even have to look anything up on a map, so clearly he’d done this plenty of times before.

Their hotel was a beautiful white building, half covered in ivy. Liam went to the reception desk, where he spoke rapid and fluent German; he returned with their room keys, and they went up in the lift to the top floor.

Their rooms were next to each other, and—despite the fact that the rooms were practically identical—Liam gave her the choice. The one she picked had a great view over the street, plus a wide, comfortable-looking bed.

She’d just about finished unpacking when there was a knock at her door.

‘Ready?’ Liam asked.

She nodded.

‘Bring your dancing shoes.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’re right on time.’

‘For what?’

‘To go to the ballroom.’ He ushered her downstairs, handed in the key to the hotel reception desk and led her outside.

Waiting in front of the hotel was a fiaker , an old-fashioned open-topped carriage drawn by two white horses. The driver lifted his Derby hat at them. ‘Herr Flynn?’

‘Ja,’ he confirmed, and turned to Polly. ‘My lady, your carriage awaits.’ He swept into a deep bow.

‘Liam, I don’t believe this!’ She stared at him, stunned and delighted. ‘When did you arrange this?’

‘While you were packing. I told you I had things to do.’

‘Wow. I feel like a princess.’

‘That,’ he said, ‘is the whole idea.’ He helped her into the carriage, then went round the other side of the fiaker to join her.

Inside the carriage, all Polly could really hear was the regular clop-clop of the horses’ hooves on the cobbled streets. With the slight jolting of the carriage wheels on the cobbles, it felt as if they were in another time, not the twenty-first century.

She still couldn’t quite believe that Liam had arranged a horse-drawn carriage to take them to the ballroom. Nobody had ever made her feel this special before, even Harry.

And then a really scary thought struck her. He’d said he meant her to feel like a princess. Was that the surprise? ‘Are we going to a ballroom in a royal palace?’

‘Not the Hofburg, if that’s what you mean—but yes, the ballroom used to be part of a royal palace. A royal summer residence.’ He smiled. ‘I guess it was kind of their garden shed. Albeit a posh one.’

Which told her nothing. Given the beautiful white stone buildings around them, she couldn’t imagine a wooden shack stuck in the centre of the city. What would a ‘posh garden shed’ be like?

The carriage drew to a halt, and Liam helped her out.

They were in front of a stunning white stone building with three rows of tall windows, a green copper roof, and a circular room at each end topped with a green copper dome. Everything was lit up, and it looked stunning. Like a fairy tale.

‘This is the palace?’ she asked.

‘It’s a hotel, now. The ballroom’s the, ahem, former garden shed. I would’ve booked us in here for tonight, but they didn’t have any rooms available. I need to pick up the key from reception—Matt’s left it for me—and get them to switch off the alarm.’

‘Matt?’ she asked.

‘My friend who runs waltzing weekends.’

Liam had a conversation with the hotel receptionist in rapid German, then came back over to join her and led her through to the garden. At the bottom of the garden was a single-storey building, designed in the same style as the hotel.

‘Quite some shed,’ she said.

‘It’s even nicer inside.’ He unlocked the door. From the hallway, she could see a large room with mirrors and gilding everywhere, and when he switched on the lights she was stunned by the huge crystal chandeliers.

‘The room’s not quite how I want it,’ Liam said, ‘but I’ll sort that while you change.’

‘Change?’

‘Yup. Matt has lots of outfits for clients to use. I asked him to set out a couple of dresses in your size.’

‘I can’t believe you’ve arranged all this for me.’ She really couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done anything so nice for her. ‘Thank you so much.’ She wanted to hug him—but they weren’t quite on hugging terms right now. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.

‘My pleasure. This, Polly, is where you are going to get the waltz. Trust me. The ambience will make all the difference.’ He led her to a side room where a suit was hanging up next to three dresses.

She looked at the dresses in dismay, realising that none of them had sleeves. How could she possibly wear one of them? Yet, at the same time, she knew that Liam had gone to a huge amount of effort for her. She couldn’t be ungrateful and just throw it back in his face.

But he’d clearly seen the expression on her face and picked up immediately what the problem was. ‘Sorry, I know you prefer long sleeves. I did ask for them. Or maybe there weren’t any.’ He looked stricken. ‘This is all going horribly wrong.’

She swallowed hard. ‘It’s OK. I’ll wear one of the dresses.’ She knew she was going to have to be brave about this.

‘No, it’s fine. You can wear what you’re wearing now to dance with me.’

‘But you’ve gone to all this trouble.’ And her casual clothes were going to ruin the ambience he’d carefully set up. ‘I’ll wear a dress.’ There was a huge lump in her throat that made it hard to force the words out. ‘I—I don’t want to talk about it right now, but there’s something I guess you need to know before I get changed.’ She pushed up her sleeves, turned her hands palm-upwards and let him see the thin scars on her wrists.