If The Ring Fits...

Polly tried not to let her nerves get the better of her. This week was the first elimination. Even though they’d managed to stay out of the bottom two on the leader board, if the public hadn’t responded to them and they ended up in the bottom two once the votes were taken into account they would be in the dance off.

‘And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for—the results,’ Millie intoned.

All the couples walked onto the stage and waited in their allotted spots, with a light fixed on each of them. Polly’s heart was pounding so hard, she was sure the audience would be able to hear it.

Liam stood behind her with his arms wrapped round her. He dipped his head so he could whisper into her ear, ‘Stop worrying. It doesn’t matter if we end up in the dance off. You’ve done really well tonight and you know you can do it.’

‘And the first couple who will be going to the dance off tonight, in no particular order, are Jane and André.’

The next two names were a blur.

‘Also going through next week—Polly Anna and Liam!’

For a second, Polly couldn’t take it in.

They were through.

They were through! She whooped and mouthed ‘Thank you’ to the cameras, then spun round and kissed Liam as the spotlight above them switched off.

Liam’s arms wrapped round her, holding her close.

And then his mouth moved against hers. Teasing her. Coaxing her. Tiny, nibbling kisses that made her press herself against him and tip her head back, changing the angle between them so he could part her lips and deepen the kiss.

Kaboom.

So this was what it felt like. As if her blood were fizzing through her veins. As if a thousand starbursts had lit up the sky. As if she were floating. And her senses were filled with Liam. The softness of his skin against hers, the citrusy scent of his shower gel, the warmth of his arms wrapped round her, the sweetness of his mouth.

She’d never, ever felt like this before, wanting the kiss to last until the end of time because it was so utterly, utterly perfect.

But then Liam stopped kissing her and Polly was horribly aware of a low catcall coming from Kyle, the footballer who was one place above them on the leader board.

‘You two had better hope the cameras didn’t catch that,’ he said.

Oh, no. If that had been shown on national TV, the gossip rags would be going crazy. She and Liam had both had more than enough column inches about them for the wrong reasons.

She pulled back. ‘Whoops. Guess I got a bit overexcited about getting through to next week,’ she said lightly.

She couldn’t meet Liam’s eyes as the shame scalded through her. She’d just let him kiss her stupid onstage, in front of millions. Worse still, she’d incited it by kissing him in the first place.

How stupid was she?

‘I—I’d better get changed. See you tomorrow,’ she said, and raced off the stage, not wanting to face him again until she’d had time to cool down and get her common sense back.

CHAPTER EIGHT

POLLY had a whole night to think about what an idiot she’d been. Not only had she let Liam kiss her stupid onstage, she’d fled afterwards, too flustered to face him. She hadn’t answered her phone or a single text message. She’d just holed up in her flat, filled with panic about her recklessness.

OK, so this had been building up ever since they’d danced together at the club. Ever since he’d nearly kissed her in training. She’d known deep down that it would happen.

But she’d handled it really, really badly.

Would Liam have spent last night thinking about the way they’d kissed as the spotlight went off? Would he realise that she’d rushed off in panic? Or would he think she was capricious, treating him the way his ex had?

How would he react to her this morning?

She felt more nervous when she rang the bell to the studio than she’d felt at her first training session. Would he even answer the intercom?

‘Come up,’ he said, and pressed the buzzer to let her in.

She couldn’t tell a thing from the tone of his voice; it was completely neutral. Her nerves increased as she walked up the two flights of stairs to the studio and opened the door.

When she entered the room, she couldn’t tell a thing from his expression, but she knew she had to face up to this. Explain herself.

‘About last night …’ She stopped, not having a clue what to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.

‘Uh-huh.’

Why did he have to be so inscrutable? Couldn’t he help her out here, show some kind of reaction so she had some idea of how he felt—what he wanted?

‘I guess I panicked.’

‘I noticed.’

Was he angry? Hurt? Amused? She didn’t have a clue. ‘So what happens now?’ she asked warily.

‘It’s like you said last night. You were overexcited about getting through. So was I.’ He shrugged. ‘These things happen. It doesn’t mean anything.’

It doesn’t mean anything.

She fought to keep her expression neutral. She’d felt the kaboom—but Liam obviously hadn’t.

And that hurt.

No way was she going to let him know that. But she’d make very sure that from now on she regarded the dancing as strictly work and nothing more. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake she’d made with Harry and fall for someone whose feelings weren’t the same as hers. Even if right now she was too confused to know exactly what those feelings were.

But she could definitely smile her way through this one. ‘I’m glad that’s sorted,’ she said, in super-bright Polly Anna mode. ‘Well, no rest for the wicked. We’re starting the waltz today, aren’t we?’

‘Yes. Are there any songs I need to avoid, apart from the one I already know about?’

She shook her head. ‘Just that one.’

‘Good. Let’s get started. The waltz is a little bit like the foxtrot, but there are three steps instead of four, and the rhythm’s slightly different. Back, side, close—each for one beat.’ He demonstrated the moves for her.

It looked easy enough. Then again, she’d had trouble with the foxtrot. She couldn’t afford to get this wrong. Not if they were going to stay in the competition. Given that Liam might have a Broadway producer interested in his work, she owed it to him to get this right.

‘I’m going to keep it uncomplicated this morning, until you’re used to it. You’ll be going backwards, and we’ll dance anticlockwise round the room,’ he told her. ‘We’ll bank round the corners for now, because I want you to get used to the rhythm of the dance before we add in the turns.’

He switched on the music; when the first notes of ‘Moon River’ floated into the air, her smile turned genuine. ‘I know this one. Breakfast at Tiffany’s is one of my favourite films.’

‘You look like Audrey Hepburn, with your hair like that.’

No way was she as gorgeous and elegant as the actress, but the compliment warmed her—and flustered her at the same time.

Though that wasn’t strictly true, she knew. The real reason she was flustered was Liam and her growing awareness of him. Did she feel this way just because they were spending so much time together? Or was it more than that? Guilt flooded through her. It was only a couple of weeks after she should’ve been getting married to Harry, and right now she couldn’t really remember how Harry made her feel. But one thing she was absolutely sure about: he hadn’t made her pulse skip the way Liam did. She’d never reacted this strongly to anyone before. Never felt the kaboom. She wanted to run away and pretend it wasn’t happening; but at the same time she couldn’t deny it. Part of her wanted to go for it; but part of her was too scared to risk it.

She could see that Liam was looking at her mouth, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. So much for what he’d said about it not meaning anything. She had the distinct feeling that he, too, was thinking about that kiss last night. That he, too, wanted to repeat it? That he, too, was feeling guilty and mixed-up as well as longing for a deeper intimacy?

Or was she just fooling herself?

He seemed to make an effort to pull himself together. ‘I’ll count you in for two bars. One, two, three; one, two three; now.’

And she stumbled.

It didn’t help when he switched to saying, ‘Left, right, together; right, left, together,’ because all of a sudden she couldn’t tell her left from her right again. And putting it all in time to the music was next to impossible.

‘This is ridiculous—why can’t I do it?’ she asked when he went to change the music. ‘Am I so stupid that I can’t count to three?’

‘No. With the foxtrot, you know you start with your right leg and it’s always right, left, right, left. With the waltz, you have to concentrate a little bit more and remember which leg you moved back last time,’ he said. ‘But you managed to get the foxtrot and the cha cha cha, so have faith in yourself. You’ll get this one, too.’

She tripped over him yet again. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise. And, no, before you ask, you haven’t hurt my back. Let’s keep going. You’ll get there.’

At the end of the session, she was disappointed that he didn’t suggest a late breakfast together; but it was probably best that they didn’t spend time together outside the studio until she’d managed to squash these ridiculous feelings about Liam. He’d kept today strictly to teaching: which told her everything she needed to know. He didn’t want to take things any further between them. And she wasn’t giving him the chance to reject her. She still had her pride.

On Monday, Amanda came in to the studio, wagging a finger at them. ‘Well, you two, you’ve certainly got everyone talking about you. All the boards are speculating about whether Pretty Polly and Luscious Liam are an item.’ She paused, raising an eyebrow as she looked at them both. ‘Are you?’

‘No, we’re not,’ Liam said.

‘You kissed each other,’ Amanda pointed out. ‘On national television.’

‘I was thrilled to bits at getting through to the next round, that was all,’ Polly protested. ‘I kissed my driving examiner when I passed my test. And I kissed the guy who taught me to ride a unicycle. I kiss Mike, Danny and Charlie all the time.’ If Polly was honest with herself though she knew that this kiss with Liam had been different.

‘That’s true. I saw you with them last week. Oh, and please tell them thank you for the photos. The kids were thrilled.’ Amanda looked worried. ‘Seriously, though, I’ve had a few calls from the press. What do I say? Because I’ve tried “no comment” and they just keep asking.’

‘Tell them I got overexcited and I kiss everyone,’ Polly said. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

Though she couldn’t look Liam in the eye as she said it. She didn’t want him to guess what she was starting to feel about him.

Polly really wasn’t getting the hang of the waltz. By Wednesday morning, Liam was seriously worried. He’d tried doing a natural turn with her, and she’d stumbled over the steps. He knew that people often found one way easier than the other, so he’d tried the reverse turn with her instead—and that hadn’t worked any better.

This was even worse than the foxtrot. If they didn’t do the waltz the way the audience expected, all spins and twirls and glamour, the public wouldn’t vote for Polly.

He switched off the music. ‘We’re struggling with this.’

‘More than struggling. I really can’t do this.’ Polly lifted her chin. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking about it. There’s only one thing I can do now.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’m pulling out of the competition.’

‘What?’ Liam stared at her in disbelief. She couldn’t be serious.

‘I’m pulling out of the competition,’ she repeated. ‘You need to get the Broadway producers to notice you. If I mess things up for you on Saturday night and we’re eliminated, they’re going to blame you—it’s because you’re not good enough at teaching me and your choreography’s too hard, so you’ll make a mess of working with their cast.’

‘I’m a perfectly adequate teach—’ Liam began.

She held up a hand. ‘Let me finish. In their eyes, we’ll be eliminated because you’re not good enough at teaching me or leading me, or you’re trying to get me to do something too difficult. Whereas we know the truth—I’m just hopeless at this and I’m never, ever going to get it. We’ve been training for half a week now, and I can barely do the basic step, let alone the twirly bits. I hate coming here right now, because I feel so stupid and useless. I’m never going to be able to follow a routine. If I pull out of the competition, they’ll know we didn’t make the final because of me, not because of you.’

‘That,’ Liam said, ‘is the most screwed-up logic I’ve ever heard. The reason you’re not getting the waltz, Polly, is because you’re panicking instead of concentrating on what you’re doing.’

‘I am concentrating. I just can’t do it. Like my dad said, I’m a fairy elephant, not a fairy ballerina.’

Liam felt his temper bubble, and he wasn’t sure what made him angriest. Polly’s lack of self-belief—which he was beginning to understand, given what she’d just let slip; her ridiculous idea of pulling out of the competition; or the fact that he was calling her on her lack of concentration and knew he was being a total hypocrite because he was having problems concentrating, too. Every time she was in a ballroom hold with him, he thought back to Saturday night and that kiss. A kiss that had blown his mind because he’d never felt something so sharp and intense before, even with Bianca. A kiss that had made him put all his barriers back up because Polly was a real danger to his equilibrium.

‘Your father was talking rubbish,’ he said. ‘And you are not pulling out of the competition. You’re going to concentrate, Polly Anna Adams, harder than you’ve ever concentrated in your entire life, and you are going to learn the waltz. Properly.’

‘Are you listening to a single word I’m saying?’ Polly’s face flushed with temper. ‘I can’t do this, Liam. I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried, and I just can’t do it. I’m never going to be able to do it. I hate this stupid dance. I don’t want the judges to think it’s your fault when it’s all mine. So I’m pulling out of the competition.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ Liam said.

She glared at him. ‘Have you got a better idea?’

He glared back at her. ‘Yes. We’re getting out of here.’

She gave him a slow handclap. ‘At last the man listens and realises I’m right.’

‘You are not right. And we’re staying in the competition. We’re just getting out of the studio.’

‘If you think taking me out to lunch is going to change my mind—’ Polly began.

‘I’m not taking you out to lunch. You’re going back to your flat to pack an overnight bag and collect your passport,’ Liam said.

She frowned. ‘What? Why?’

‘My better idea. We’re going to dance somewhere else.’

She scowled. ‘Don’t tell me you’re thinking tree-trunks. Though maybe that would work. I’ll break my ankle so I can’t dance on Saturday.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not dancing on a tree-trunk.’ Though he did need to get a couple of things organised. Like now. ‘You do have a passport?’

‘Yes, but what’s that got to do with dancing?’

‘You’ll see,’ Liam said. ‘And the waltz isn’t a stupid dance. It’s floaty and light and sparkly.’ A lot like her. ‘You’re going to get this dance, Polly, whether you like it or not. I’ll pick you up at your flat in an hour. Pack your dancing shoes. If there’s any change to the schedule, I’ll ring you.’

She stared at him, eyes narrowed. ‘What exactly are you planning?’

‘Changing your mindset,’ Liam said. ‘Don’t argue. Just accept I’m right.’

‘You are so not right.’

‘I’m the teacher and you’re the student. Which means you do what I say.’

She shook her head. ‘You’re full of it, Liam.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Get going, Pol. I have things to do.’ When she remained stubbornly where she was, he added, ‘If I’m wrong about this, then you can make me do any forfeit you like.’

‘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.