To Catch a Star (9 page)

But the changes would be too late for someone like Christian.

She shook her head. “You might not have belonged, but you wouldn’t have been bullied as you were. Your mother would have had a good job and a good income.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and his eyes burned with that intense look he got sometimes that made her hot and shivery. She shivered now.

“My mother was forced out. Her work permit was rescinded and she was deported. I once heard her say she had to leave because her pregnancy was found out. It was such an odd thing to say that I’ve always remembered it. She had to leave
because she was
found out
. By who – my father? By her boss?” He sighed, frustrated, and ran his hands through his hair. “Did my father have her deported to avoid the embarrassment of a mixed-race child?”

Tessa closed the notebook. She didn’t need to write this down. She wouldn’t forget.

Because she was found out
. She had an uneasy feeling that it wasn’t a pregnancy his mother had been talking about. But who had driven her out and why?

Her next question wasn’t one on her father’s list. It was also the toughest question to ask. “Do you think your father might have been married?”

Christian stared past her, through the screen to the vast space of the auditorium beyond. “I’ve considered it, but I don’t think so. My mother wasn’t that kind of person. I don’t believe she would have had an affair with a married man.”

Not knowingly, not intentionally. But even good people made mistakes.

“And you’re sure your father knew about you?”

He pulled his focus back onto her. “He must have. I can’t see my mother sneaking off without telling him he was going to be a father.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I always thought he dumped her when he found out she was pregnant, but I guess it’s possible he didn’t know.”

He sprawled in his chair, the energy ebbing out of him. He looked tired, not in that still-half-asleep way he had in the mornings, but bone weary.

“It must take a lot of energy being you,” she commented. It was the first thing she’d come to admire and respect in him this past week. She felt tired just keeping up her own façade. How much more difficult, then, for Christian, who not only had to live up to his movie-star image, but had to do it while wielding a sword or dodging punches or leaping down stairs? Or into moving cars.

His gaze met hers, and she looked straight into the face of honesty. This was the real Christian Taylor. Not the laugh-a-minute performer who kept the crew entertained on and off camera. Just a man trying to live up to the world’s expectations.

And no one understood that as much as she did.

She toyed with the stem of her still-full wine glass and asked the last question on her father’s list. “Why did you leave Los Pajaros and move to the States?”

The shutters came down. It was so instantaneous that she blinked. Then he smiled, and it was the glossy, charming smile that adorned a million magazine covers. “Why does everyone move to the States? In pursuit of the American Dream.”

He was lying. As he lied to every reporter who interviewed him, even to the people he worked with. She should feel grateful he’d shared as much with her tonight as he had. She should, but all she felt was hurt.

“Shall we go?” She pushed her chair out from the table. “I’ll get the bill on the way out.”

He rose. “I invited you to dinner. It’s on me.”

She laughed softly. “I think I can stand you for it.”

Besides, this dinner was worth every cent. He’d given her something new to tell her father. Not that it was of any use in tracking down how his mother came into possession of the Waldburg ring, but enough for her sixth sense to be screaming that there were secrets buried deep here. And where there was smoke, there was inevitably fire.

When they reached the coat room, the restaurant manager himself came to meet them. “I am so sorry,” he said, rubbing his hands together in anxiety. “I have no idea how word got out, but there’s a crowd waiting for you outside the entrance. Not just fans, but paparazzi too.”

Tessa caught Christian’s gaze. “The only way to the car is through them. We can wait and hope they give up, or we can go out there and face them.” Already she could see Christian gearing himself up, pulling on his energy reserves so he could smile for the fans and make small-talk. She’d seen him do it on set with visitors, making time to speak to each person individually, to sign autographs and pose for pictures. But he was tired and he deserved one night just to be himself.

“There’s a third option.” She turned to the manager. “You have a back door?”

He nodded. “The staff entrance through the kitchen. It comes out into an alley. But any car turning in there is sure to be spotted by the crowd outside.”

She pulled her phone out of her purse and hit speed dial. “Frank, we need help. Can you meet us on the Old Bridge in fifteen minutes?”

She nodded and put the phone away. “He can make it in twenty.” She looked at Christian. “Two people leaving the staff entrance are less likely to attract attention than a car. Are you willing to risk it?”

He glanced towards the main entrance. They could hear the raised, shrill voices from there. “Risk is my middle name.”

The manager led them down a narrow corridor that smelled of fried onions and garlic, then through a bustling, crowded kitchen.

“No one sees anything,” the manager shouted in local dialect to the staff who’d stopped what they were doing to gawk. “Back to work!”

The noise and bustle resumed, and the manager let them out through a back door into the alley. In spite of the cold, the reek of decaying rubbish hung in the air.

“I am so sorry,” the manager said again, before pulling the metal door closed behind them.

Christian looked at her and laughed. “Welcome to my glamorous life.”

They walked to the end of the alley. Ahead of them, the river glittered silver in the moonlight. Tessa peeked around the corner, towards the crowd huddled outside the restaurant’s main entrance, heedless of the snow falling softly but steadily all around them. No one looked their way.

Her heart picked up its beat as adrenalin coursed through her. She’d never done anything like this before. The thrill was strangely invigorating.

“We turn right, then about a hundred metres further on the left there’s a flight of stairs down to the walkway along the river. It’ll most likely be deserted at this time of night,” she whispered.

Christian nodded. Then they stepped out into the main road and turned right, walking at an unhurried pace. There was no cry of alert, no footsteps chasing after them. They found the stairs and descended to the level of the river. The walkway was indeed deserted.

Christian breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

She shrugged, trying to appear composed even as her pulse still raced with adrenalin. She prayed the falling snow would obscure their footprints.

“It’s my job to keep you happy, isn’t it?” No way was she going to admit that sneaking out had been fun.

Nevertheless, he laughed softly, sounding pleased, as if he’d won some sort of victory over her. “So where do we go now?”

“Frank will meet us on the bridge.” She gestured to the shadowy stone arches ahead.

They walked slowly along the river’s edge in silence, their breath creating wispy clouds in the frosty night air. From downriver music floated on the icy breeze that wrapped around them, a soft, romantic ballad. In spite of the cold, it was a perfect night, like something out of an old black-and-white movie.

When they reached the bridge, they climbed another flight of stone stairs. There was no sign of Frank yet, so they walked half way across to lean on the stone parapet and wait.

A near-empty taxi boat passed beneath them, gliding through the darkness, and the cathedral bells began to peel in the distance, solemnly announcing midnight. She hadn’t realised it was so late. The evening had flown by.

“This city
is
magical,” Christian said, staring across the water to the illuminated façade of the magnificent Gothic cathedral. The cathedral where, on Valentine’s Day, she’d be walking down the aisle.

Stefan was due back in a few days. How was she going to explain to him that she hadn’t made time to collect his ring?

She could have sent Anna to collect the ring any time this last week. Should have. She didn’t know why she hadn’t.

Perhaps because if she had the ring she would have no excuse not to wear it. And if she wore it…

How was she going to explain to Christian that she had a fiancé who might want more than two minutes of her time? Or that in three weeks she was getting married? Why that even bothered her, she had no idea.

“This is a winter wonderland, and we have it all to ourselves.” Christian’s voice rang deep and resonant in the still night air, an actor’s voice, trained to seduce.

He stood close enough that she could feel his solid warmth, and smell the musky scent of his aftershave. She wanted to lean into him, to bury herself in his warmth and his smell.

She commanded her body not to be seduced by either sound or scent, and looked out over the river. Anywhere but at him. “You should see this city before Christmas, with the market stalls lined up on the river bank and carol singers everywhere. Or in the summer, when there’s music and dancing and beer.” She smiled. “Lots of beer.”

“I’ll have to come back in the summer. I can see why you don’t want to leave.”

She breathed in deeply, relishing the sting of the icy air as it filled her lungs, crisp and clean. Perhaps it was all the wine she’d drunk. Or perhaps it was the way his warmth seemed to draw her in, but she wanted to be as honest with him as he had been with her tonight. “Yes I love it, but you were right.”

“Of course I am. About what in particular?”

“I haven’t left Westerwald because I’m afraid.” Holidays in Greece or Spain didn’t count. She’d never been away from her homeland for more than a few weeks.

But Stefan was a diplomat. He could be posted abroad for months or even years at a time. She wanted to go, she wanted to see the world, yet at the mere thought of leaving the frightened knot in her stomach stretched tight.

She’d never discussed her fear with Stefan. Or with Fredrik.

Christian leaned his elbow on the parapet beside her, moving even closer, into her personal space. She fought the urge to shift away.

“Afraid of what?”

Afraid that if she left she wouldn’t come back. Afraid that without her security net, she’d crash and burn, as her mother had. “I can’t leave my father.”

“What does your father have to do with anything? You’re a grown woman.”

She drew in another deep breath of the steadying chill air. Its bite seared her throat. It was on a night much like this that her mother had left. It had been snowing and the ground was white. Tessa remembered padding out after her mother, dressed in nothing but her pyjamas, the ones with the pink rabbits on them, and her thick bed socks, crying to know where her mother was going.

Amalie had stood on the street corner, that same one where Christian had done his flying leap into her car a little over a week ago, and she’d blown Tessa a kiss. Then she’d picked up her suitcases and turned the corner, passing out of sight.

It was the only memory she had left of her mother and it wasn’t a happy one.

It had only been the two of them ever since, the workaholic father and the lonely child. If she left, he would be truly alone. And what would she have?

So she would create a new family, for the both of them, and she would never be lonely again. And one day, hopefully soon, when she had children of her own, she would cuddle them lots. She would make up for every hug she’d never had.

She shook her head. When she spoke again, her voice sounded oddly calm for the amount of emotion coursing through her. “My mother didn’t die. She left us. This country was too small for her.
We
were too small for her. She had big dreams and she wanted to fly. So she flew. And she never came back.”

“And in return you clipped your wings, too afraid to fly.”

She didn’t need Christian to state the obvious. Just as she’d never needed some therapist to tell her that she’d played it safe ever since. She stayed home and didn’t make waves because she was afraid of the fall-out, of tarnishing the family name and her own reputation, of disappointing her father. Of losing what little security she had left. And what was wrong with wanting to avoid all that?

“My father needs me,” she said.

“You can’t live your life to please someone else. What is it you want to do with your life?”

Until recently, she’d had a very clear idea of what she wanted for her life. She’d had it all mapped out. The perfect husband, the perfect house, the perfect family. An extension of the life she lived now, all neatly tied up with a big fat bow.

She was mere weeks away from achieving everything she wanted. So why did it feel so hollow? Why did she wake in the night in a cold sweat, feeling trapped and wanting to break free? She didn’t even know what she wanted to break free from or where she wanted to go.

Tessa dug her frozen hands into the pockets of her camel cashmere swing coat, but it didn’t help. She’d left her gloves in the car. But the cold seemed to be coming from the inside out. She took her hands out of her pockets and blew on them.

“That’s the difference between you and me,” she said. “I don’t think only about myself.”

Christian took her hands in his. He wore no gloves either, but his hands radiated heat. “You’re cold as ice.” He massaged her numb fingers. Slowly life crept back into them.

And feeling. More feeling than she could cope with. She shut her eyes and blocked out the onslaught of emotion.

When she opened her eyes, she wished she hadn’t. Christian’s penetrating gaze was focused on her, and the understanding in their depths nearly undid her. Why did he have to look at her like that, as if he was trying to see inside her? Why couldn’t he be like other people and keep his distance?

She knew what people called her behind her back. The Ice Queen. But didn’t they know… ice was brittle. The slightest heat, the slightest pressure, and it cracked.