A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

“Oh good, I was wondering how long it would take you to get around to my room.”

I stiffened at the backhanded remark. “I came as soon as I was told, madam. I was busy with the other rooms, and there was a lot to do.” It had taken me more than two hours to restore some order to her bedroom. Clothes were strewn about everywhere, as if a tornado had ripped through. The tornado was currently inspecting me from head to foot in a not-too-subtle manner that made me uneasy. Actually, she made everyone uneasy, including her own son. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough and moved towards the door to exit.

“What’s your name, sugar?”

I paused. No way to avoid this. “Vera.”

“Vera, what a sweet name. How long have you lived in Switzerland?”

“Six months.”

“You’re here illegally.”

It wasn’t even a question. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I didn’t answer right away. She waited me out with a fixed, disingenuous smile on her line-free face.

“I have a medical degree. I’m waiting to hear back from hospitals about their residency programs.”

“Isn’t that charming, but you’re still here illegally. Am I wrong?”

I could hear my teeth grinding. “No.”

“You seem like an intelligent woman, so I’ll get straight to the point. I see the way you look at my son, and I don’t care for it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Although the heat crawling up my neck demonstrated, without a doubt, that I did.

“Oh, I think you do, and I don’t blame you, not a bit. He’s stunning. You’d have to be as blind as Helen Keller not to notice.”

“I have quite of bit of work to do,” I said, moving forward.

She smiled at my snippiness. “I certainly hope you don’t have designs on my son.”

I flushed an especially deep shade of scarlet. “I have no idea what you’re referring to Mrs. Redman. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Let me spell it out for you then. He’s beautiful and richer than 40 other billionaires on the Forbes 100. He is out…of your…league. You two don’t even belong on the same planet. My son has a bleeding heart. He needs protectin’ from someone like you.”

My stomach sank to my feet. Someone like me? I tried escaping before she could land another blow. To no avail. As I passed her, she wrapped her bony manicured fingers around my arm in a surprisingly firm grip.

“Leave him alone.”

I jerked my arm out of her grasp. “I’ve never done otherwise,” I disputed. My voice was surprisingly steady considering everything else was in turmoil. I forced myself to measure my steps all the way down the hall. But once I was out of her sight, I bolted downstairs, my feet moving as quickly as the thumping of my heart.

Luckily, everyone in the kitchen was too busy to notice my distress. I wasn’t in any condition to lie convincingly. In search of a dark place to lick my wounds, I opened the kitchen door and marched towards the planting garden, stopping only when I reached the stone wall bordering the tomato plants. The one that was well out of sight from the house. Leaning against it for support, I closed my eyes and tried to rein in the tumult of my emotions. My limbs felt like dead weight. And as the shot of adrenaline wore off, it was replaced by nausea and a growing sense of dread.

My father always said criticism could never hurt unless you agreed with the one doing the criticizing. He was right, as he often was. I could feel the stain of emotion on my neck and tried to rub it away. The audacity of that woman. The worst part was that I did agree with her. What was I doing? We didn’t belong together––not in any rational sense anyway. I was taking all the risk, and I was the one that couldn’t afford to gamble.

She thought I was interested in Sebastian’s money…little did she know. His money was a major complication; the one thing that really stood between us.

“What are you doing out here?”

I jumped at the sound of his voice. Lost in thought and self-pity, I hadn’t heard him approaching. “Getting some fresh air.” I started fidgeting under his intense scrutiny. I didn’t have the energy to lie, even my smile was shaky. He stepped closer and dipped his head to kiss me but when he noticed the mark on my neck, he stopped short, his eyes narrowing at the evidence of my discomfort.

“Why the hell is your neck all red? What happened?” he asked, suddenly alarmed.

“Sebastian, please. Let it be. I don’t want to discuss it.” I could see the flare of concern in his eyes. He stepped closer and lifted his hand to my throat, caressed the splotch on my neck tenderly, outlining it with his fingers. I closed my eyes at the exquisite feeling. I wanted to sink into him, bury my face in the curve of his neck, and let him chase all thought away.