‘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.
He was the first person who’d seen them since Harry. She was aware that her hands were shaking slightly, and she couldn’t look at him, dreading his reaction. Disgust? Pity? Neither option was one she wanted to face.
He said nothing, simply took her hands and raised her wrists to his mouth, then touched his lips very lightly to the scars.
She stared at him in shock. Now that she hadn’t expected.
‘Whatever made these happen,’ he said softly, ‘I’m not going to pry. If you want to talk later, I’ll listen. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll respect that. And I’m not going to say a word to anyone. You don’t need to worry about that.’
She noticed he hadn’t used the word ‘promise’—because what he’d just said went deeper than that. It was the truth. Honest and unvarnished. Something she could believe in.
‘Thank you.’ She could barely get the words out, she was shaking so hard.
‘Wear the dress and don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Because I don’t see these.’ He kissed the scars again. ‘I see you, Polly Anna Adams. And you’re beautiful.’
She felt tears pricking her eyelids. She wasn’t going to let them leak out and disgrace her, so she gave him her widest smile instead. Best defence mode.
‘Get changed, Pol,’ he said softly. ‘We’re going to face the music. And dance.’
He took the suit and left her to change.
One dress in particular was irresistible; it had a navy blue chiffon skirt that finished just above the ankle, a lacy bodice and tiny spaghetti straps. Gorgeous and frothy—and the kind of dress she’d never dare to wear in a million years. She put it on, looked at herself in the mirror and, for the first time in half a lifetime, she didn’t notice her wrists. The reminders of her shame and disgrace just vanished. All she saw was the dress.
She turned round, loving the way the skirt ballooned out round her. It reminded her a bit of the wedding dress she’d never got to wear, except she knew that Harry wouldn’t have made her feel beautiful, the way Liam had. Harry never talked about her scars and had encouraged her to wear long sleeves all the time to hide them, clearly as ashamed of them as she was; Liam had made it clear he’d listen if she wanted to talk and wouldn’t push her if she didn’t.
Even so, she knew deep down that her scars would make a difference to the way he saw her. How could they not?
She fastened her shoes, then went back into the ballroom. And stopped dead. Liam had turned off the glitzy chandeliers and lit candles everywhere. Every single wall of the room was covered in mirrors; the light of the candles was reflected in them, and the reflections were reflected again, so the room felt as if it were full of stars.
Liam was wearing the suit and looked as gorgeous as he had at the dress rehearsal for their foxtrot. No, more than that, she thought, because the candlelight was much softer than the harsh studio lights.
This whole thing felt enchanted. If she was Cinderella, Liam was definitely Prince Charming. Except there was a lot more to him than just charm.
He smiled at her. And then the music started: a beautiful, simple tune in waltz time, played on a solo piano. Timeless. Perfect.
Liam held out his arms to her. There was no pity on his face, no censure; he was just asking her to dance with him.
She walked over to him and rested her left hand on his arm, curling the fingers of her right hand over his—and then she was in hold and they were dancing to the music, in perfect time.
She didn’t look at her feet or think about counting; she simply let him lead her round the dance floor, doing the basic step and banking round the corners to keep it simple. It was perfect.
And then somehow they were doing the turns—and this time it worked. This time, she could get the steps, and they were spiralling round with their legs sliding between each other’s in perfect timing. Polly felt as if she were floating on air, but at the same time she was safe in his arms and she knew he wouldn’t let her fall. It was the most amazing feeling she could ever remember, and she loved every second of it.
When Liam dipped his head to brush his mouth against hers, this time there were no cameras in the way, no catcalls to stop them. He caught her lower lip between his in tiny, nibbling kisses that made her mouth tingle. When she parted her lips, wanting more, he deepened the kiss; and she wasn’t sure what made her feel more light-headed, the way he was kissing her or the way he was spinning her round and round on the dance floor.
Finally, the music stopped and Liam broke the kiss.
‘We have to go,’ he said softly. ‘But do you get the waltz, now?’
She dragged in a breath. ‘Just like you said. Sparkly and floaty.’
‘Perfect.’