Manolos In Manhattan. Katie Oliver

“So why not take your D.S. hat off and just enjoy your holiday?”

      “It’s habit,” Devon said, and shrugged. “A good D.S. is never really off duty.”

      “This one is.” She bent down to brush her lips against his. “Christa’s orders.”

      He grabbed her around the waist and deepened the kiss. “Umm, I like it when you get bossy,” he murmured when he dragged his mouth from hers. “Fancy a quick shag?”

      “Love to, but I can’t.” She laughed and slapped his hands away. “Stop it, Dev. I’ve got to get ready for rehearsals.”

      “Ten minutes, that’s all I need. Five.”

      Christa sighed and pushed him reluctantly away. “I wish, but I really don’t have time. Today promises to be a long day.”

      “And one, and two, and three, and STOP!” the choreographer roared. His voice echoed in the cavernous rehearsal studio on West Fifty-Seventh Street.

      As the dancers around Christa held themselves immobile in their positions, she let out a quiet breath of frustration. She just couldn’t seem to get this particular move down. She steeled herself for the bollocking that was sure to follow.

      “Christa,” Wilhelm barked, “what is the problem, hein? You keep going left when everyone else is going right.”

      “Sorry. I can’t seem to concentrate.”

      “Well, my dear, you must try harder. We have a concert to choreograph and we have less than two weeks to do it! Let’s try it again, from the top, shall we? Jetzt!”

      This time, through sheer force of will, Christa executed the move perfectly. As the pianist pounded out an accompaniment on the old upright and Wilhelm clapped his hands in time, she and the dancers finished the opening set choreography without a hitch. The rest of the rehearsal passed without incident.

      But the seed of self-doubt, already planted in Christa, grew a little stronger.

      How, she wondered as she showered and dressed in her street clothes, could she possibly do this? How could she remember all of those dance steps and memorize the lyrics to twenty songs in under two weeks, without screwing up in front of 18,000 people?

      Christa didn’t know. Not for the first time, she wished she hadn’t rocketed to fame quite so quickly.

      She wasn’t remotely ready for it. Any of it.

      But it was too late now. The venue was booked, the rehearsal hall rented, the set list in place.

      She was performing a sold-out show at Madison Square Garden...whether she was ready or not.

       Chapter Ten

      “Oh, Rhys – take me with you, please?”

      Natalie stood behind her husband the next morning and slid her arms around his waist, peering over his shoulder as he stood before the mirror and tightened his tie into a Windsor knot.

      “Not today, Natalie. I’ve got a million things to do and the store launch to deal with. Have you seen my silver cufflinks?” he asked as he turned away and began to look for them. “I’ve a meeting with Alastair and the staff in twenty minutes. You’re not bored already, are you?”

      “Look in the enamel box on your dresser. And no, of course I’m not bored.”

      Which wasn’t strictly true, exactly. But after lobbying Rhys to let her come along with him to Manhattan, she didn’t dare admit that after a month spent shopping, lunching, walking, and museum-going, she was...well, she was a tiny bit bored.

      It wasn’t much fun to do things – anything – on your own. And Rhys worked such long hours each day, by the time he got home he was tired, so they hadn’t gone to see so much as a film together, much less a Broadway show, and their meals thus far had consisted of takeout sushi and pizza.

      “They’re not here,” he called out irritably from the bedroom.

      “That’s odd. The movers assured me they unpacked your suits and things and put them all away on Saturday.”

      “Someone put them away, all right – in their pocket. These’ll have to do,” he said, and he put on the onyx cufflinks she’d bought him for his birthday.

      “Darling,” Natalie added tentatively as she followed him down the hallway, “Why don’t I work at D & J for a couple of days a week, just for a bit? I could fetch your lunch, come up with a few marketing ideas. What do you think?”

      “It’s not necessary. I told you, there’s an entire team in place and everything’s well in hand. And I have Chaz to fetch my lunch and keep track of my diary. He’s amazing – don’t know what I’d do without him.”

      “Don’t forget, I was the one who planned the relaunch for the London store. It’s how we met, after all.”

      “Yes, and you nearly bollocksed it up when you forgot to ask Poppy to model in the catwalk show until the last minute.”

      “How was I to know she’d be in Sri Lanka on a photo shoot?” she retorted.

      “Natalie, her time is scheduled weeks, months in advance. You knew that, yet you left it too late.”

      “Oh, do be quiet,” she said crossly. “It was a tiny mistake that anyone could’ve made.”

      “A tiny mistake that nearly ruined the entire relaunch.”

      “You’d best go,” Natalie retorted, “or you’ll be late for your meeting.”

      He leaned forward and kissed her. “Don’t sulk, darling, it doesn’t suit you.”

      “I’m not sulking.”

      “Why don’t you two have breakfast‒” he reached down and patted her just-starting-to-show belly “‒and then do a bit of shopping? Buy some more baby things. Or start doing up the guest bedroom as that nursery you’re always on about.”

      Although Natalie wasn’t due until mid-September, they’d decided to turn one of the guest bedrooms into a nursery, even though she planned to have the baby in London. But, as she pointed out, they’d need a place for the baby to stay the next time they came to New York to visit, wouldn’t they?

      Rhys had agreed. The only things in there at the moment were a pram, boxes of nappies and baby clothes, and a pile of the most darling stuffed animals that somehow kept growing taller by the day.

      “I can’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

      “Then hire someone to come in and decorate,” Rhys said. “Now – I’ve really got to run. I’ll see you tonight.”

      “Bye,” Nat said, her expression forlorn as Rhys grabbed his briefcase, kissed her cheek, and slammed out of the apartment like a well-dressed whirlwind. “I love you.”

      But he didn’t answer. He was already gone.

      She made her way down the hall to the kitchen and brewed a cup of decaf, carefully avoiding the intimidating espresso machine that resided beside the coffee maker. With its dials and levers and steam arm, the machine terrified her.

      Well, what to do today? she wondered as she sat down at the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand. She could sort through the new baby clothes...but she’d already sorted through them twice. She could clean the apartment – but it was spotless, thanks to the maid who came in twice a week to scrub and polish and tidy things up. Her gaze settled on the New York Daily News Rhys had left abandoned on the table.

      She took a sip of her decaf and pulled the newspaper towards her.

      CAT BURGLAR STRIKES AGAIN! The front-page headline screamed.

      Curious,