If The Ring Fits.... Kate Hardy

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