Page 34 of Just for December

‘Morning,’ Duke says to her, awkwardly.

‘Morning,’ Evie says back, just as awkward. Last night comes crashing back to her. Had she really thought she wanted to kiss him? She shudders at the memory. What an inexplicable moment of madness. She resolves to act extra normal with him, lest he get the wrong idea. Thank goodness the security guard interrupted when he did.

They pass Markus as they try to seek out their driver, who looks between them and nods, his lips set in a firm, unemotional line.

‘Good morning, Mr Carlisle, Ms Bird,’ their driver says when they approach him. ‘As you can see, we are free to go. The snow has stopped, the roads have been cleared, and we should arrive within the hour.’

‘Great. Thanks so much,’ Duke tells him. ‘Coffee for the road?’ he asks. Evie wonders if he is being ‘extra normal’ to compensate for her stupidity last night too. Had he clocked what she had been about to do? ‘Three lattes?’

‘Please,’ she says, with a big smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

They buy pastries and water, too, and chewable toothbrushes. Who knew such a thing existed?

Evie climbs into the people carrier and sits at the farwindow, like she did yesterday. Duke gets in behind her. They head off the autostrada and into Augsburg. (‘Founded by the Romans’ their driver tells them. ‘In 15BC. This is the oldest city in Bavaria and the second oldest in Germany.’)

Augsburg has buildings much like they’ve seen so far on the Romantic Road – all different colours, two or three storeys high with pointed, angular roofs. They pass two big white churches with red roofs and turrets, and pull into a huge cobbled square to a long grey building with attic windows and flags outside.

‘The hotel,’ the driver announces. ‘Ms Bird, I’ll follow with your things.’

It’s brighter than their last hotel, which had a lot of dark wood. The Maximilian is all polished marble floors and pillars, very luxurious, and the sitting room-cum-bar area is laden with deep sofas and plush velvet chairs. They check in, and the concierge tells them they’ll let the producer know they’ve arrived safely.

‘This is for you,’ the concierge says, slipping Duke a piece of folded paper. Inside, it says there’s a cast and crew meeting in the restaurant at 6 p.m., attendance mandatory.

‘I’ll just go and get that book for you?’ Duke asks.

‘Sure,’ Evie says. ‘I’ll come with you, if that’s all right?’

See. Normal. Normal, normal, normal.

‘Fine,’ he replies.

His suite is on the top floor, with views over Maximilianstrasse and the Schaezlerpalais. They enter with a key card to find themselves at one end of a series of rooms, each closing off to the next with a pocket door that disappears into the wall. First is a lounge area, with a widescreen TV,sofa, a low wooden chair and a huge knitted rug over a chevron-laid wooden floor. The bedroom is next, with a bed that must be the size of two kings combined, and the fluffiest bedding Evie has ever seen. Then there’s the bathroom, all shiny brass taps and marble tops, a huge wet-room shower, and then a wardrobe at the far end, where somebody has already unpacked Duke’s clothes, his designer suitcases stacked neatly in the corner.

‘Whoa,’ Evie says. ‘So this is how the other half live, huh?’ she marvels, padding through to get a proper look.

‘You say it like you’re not one of us,’ Duke retorts, doing the same. He hangs up his coat.

‘I’m not,’ she says, watching him peel off his jumper. He sees her, and she looks away immediately.

‘What do you mean?’ he asks.

‘I meant that I could never afford a hotel, or a room, like this, myself,’ she says, like it’s obvious.

‘But you’re a bestselling author,’ he says. ‘Isn’t this your world too?’

She scoffs, thinking he’s making a joke. Everyone knows you don’t get into writing for the money. ‘You know I didn’t write Harry Potter, don’t you?’ she says. ‘Most of us earn just about enough to get by.’

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘No reason why you should,’ she says.

‘Hmm. But how can a person be aNew York Timesbestseller and sell the rights to multiple books for screen, and not be …’

‘Rich?’ she supplies.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Why are you so interested in my finances?’ Evie asks, annoyed. ‘I thought Brits were shy about money talk?’

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