Souvenirs (2 page)

The memory reminded him of the reasons for this trip. Instead of worrying about himself, he focused his attention on his remaining parent. “We’re going to have a wonderful time.”

“I wonder if there will be more children along like you and Grace Ward.”

“No matchmaking, Mum.”

Dating was out of the question. Women were always more interested in gossip or, worse, where to send scripts or to whom he could introduce them. He was tired of social-climbers and their superficial conversations.

“Have you spoken to Hillary lately?” his mother asked.

“No.”

She sighed. “I have never understood how you can just cut people off like that.”

He cringed at his mother’s assessment. While they talked about much more than other mothers and adult sons, he’d never told her how poorly he’d judged his last girlfriend’s character. “It’s for the best.”

They entered the dining room and reached the table before their new friends.
Mum’s new friends. I’m along as a valet.

Still, the mention of Grace Ward recalled their earlier interaction. She hadn’t made the typical small talk, but then maybe she’d been too knackered to think straight. He understood. Worrying over Mum had taxed him, and they’d been in familiar airports and on a significantly shorter flight.

He’d stumbled into the normal chat, though. Mentioning business travel had opened the door, whether or not she stepped through it immediately. Once she was rested, the questions would surface, especially if her conversation skills were rudimentary.

But they weren’t. She’d sucked him in with her wide smile, sleepy drawl and questions about T-rexes and prehistoric bunnies.

He stared at the art on the walls and refocused his resolve to remain vague and anonymous. He wasn’t going to drag his mother through some nightmarish fame gauntlet.

The Wards arrived, and Sunny hugged his mother as if they had known each other for years. Grace joined him at the table. “She’s always been like that. Everyone loves her at first sight.”

“Does she ever meet a stranger?” Ben asked.

“No. I find her helping other shoppers pick out clothes or discussing recipes in the produce section. One day she started a debate in the dairy case over pomegranate yogurt.”

She sat in the chair he held for her while the
maître d’
seated the older women. Their mothers discussed their plans, and Grace gave them her full attention. Ben seized the opportunity to observe.

Charlotte Ward lived up to her nickname. Bright, intelligent eyes followed the conversation while a cheerful smile lit her face. Her clothes were colorful but tasteful, and her loose sleeves trailed every movement of her animated hands. She relished making his mother the center of attention, which endeared her to Ben at once.

As for Grace—the rest had done her a service. Her shoulders no longer drooped. Her eyes were the same deep brown as her mother’s. They snapped with the conversation, laughed when she did, and sparkled under the dining room lights. She’d pulled her coffee-toned hair into a loose knot but left wisps to frame her face. Her smart but simple dress hinted at a fit frame and someone who knew how to pack for a trip.

“Ben?” his mother asked with a gentle laugh.

He’d been caught staring instead of looking at the menu. The heat started at his collar, and trying to ignore it only made it worse. He flicked his eyes over the selections.

“Filet, please. Medium rare.” Sure his blush had faded, he looked across the table. Grace was focused on her menu. “Wine?”

She gave him her full attention and his blood warmed under her smile. Again.
Damn.

“That would be nice.” She glanced at their mothers. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Do you have a preference?” His quiet question urged her to pretend they didn’t have an audience. It was easier that way.

“Nothing too dry, but otherwise no,” she murmured. “Why don’t you choose something?”

After the waiter left, their mothers dominated the conversation. The topics centered on books, movies made before he and Grace had been born, gardening, and anecdotes. Work never came up.

The conversation and laughter continued through their meal, and two things surprised Ben. Grace’s husky laughter tickled into his ears and down his spine, and she
ate
. No picking at her food or leaving half of it untouched. There wasn’t a crumb remaining on her dessert plate.

She sighed, snuggled into her chair, and wrapped her fingers around her coffee cup. He shifted in his seat.
Mum. I’m on vacation for Mum. I’ve rearranged my audition schedule for my mother.

“I could do with a walk and some fresh air.” Sunny pushed her chair from the table. “How ‘bout y’all?”

Ben started to decline, but his mother surprised him. “Some window shopping might be nice. Bennett?” Her eyes widened at her slip.

Across the table, Grace tilted her head at the use of his Christian name. Ben braced for the dreaded question.

“Like Pride and Prejudice?”

That wasn’t what he’d expected. His mother squeezed his hand under the table. “He’s grateful I didn’t name him Fitzwilliam.”

No recognition, no tacky questions. Relieved, he snatched the reprieve. “The
Mariahilferstrasse
should be an easy walk.”

The older women paired up. Once outside, they alternated between tilting their heads together in quiet conversation and pointing at sights. He and Grace fell in step behind.

“What do you two have planned for tomorrow?” he asked.

“The
Hofburg
and the
Burggarten
,” Grace answered. “She’s convinced we won’t see everything if we rely on the tour company. You?”

“Mother wanted to spend extra time at the palace as well. Should we make it a foursome?”

“I don’t think they’d hear of it any other way.” The softness in her voice was familiar.

“You’re an only child, too, aren’t you?” At her nod, he continued. “And she’s widowed?”

“You too?”

He nodded, and they continued in silence until Sunny beckoned.

“Grace, come look at these earrings. They’d be perfect for you.”

The three of them crowded in front of the window display like children looking at toys. Ben waved them away. “They’re still open. I’ll wait out here.”

The shop door closed behind them and quiet blanketed the street. Couples passed without giving him more than a friendly nod or a pleasant greeting.

A young couple stopped at the store window. As the woman pointed out what she liked, her date looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. Ben returned the smile. Eventually the reluctant shopper pulled his date away from the window to continue their walk, but she kept looking back. Ben tensed until he realized she was staring at the shop sign.

Fiona’s right. I’m turning into a paranoid nobby no-mates.

His trio of charges emerged a short time later, each with a bag. The mothers started off again, walking further from the hotel. He fell into step next to Grace.

“What did you find?” Ben asked.

“A gift for my best friend and a bracelet for me.”

“Not the earrings?”

“I have an almost identical pair at home. No sense to buy another, even if they
are
from Vienna. You don’t souvenir shop?”

“I’m under strict orders to buy my assistant, Fiona, something from Venice since she’s never been there.”

“If that’s the criteria, I get something from every city.”

As they talked, Grace pulled a slim camera from her bag and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to photograph the lighted garlands suspended over the street. Ben stepped out of camera range.

“You’ve not been to Europe before?” he asked as they resumed their walk.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to come. That’s why my stepfather insisted Mom and I book this trip. He went with us to the travel agent on one of his good days to make sure we’d do it.”

“How long has he been dead?”

“A year next week.” Her voice softened. “It’s going to be difficult.”

The look on her face told him she wasn’t in Vienna any longer. “What was he like?”

“Bill loved to laugh and to make people laugh. He made my mother incredibly happy, and he never made me feel . . . extra. He didn’t have children of his own, so he spent all his effort on me. I wouldn’t have had the nerve to try half the things I’ve done if he hadn’t been cheering for me.”

“Your father didn’t do that?”

“He did his best to make sure they could enjoy their retirement, but he never got that far. He died my senior year of college.” Her deep breath exorcised the ghosts from her thoughts. “Enough about me. What about you?”

“Let’s get their attention and start back first.”

They quickened their pace to catch their mothers and cross the busy street to make the return t
rip. Grace turned an expectant gaze on him once they got their bearings.

“There’s not much to tell. Our stories are similar, except I was much younger when my father died. Mum and I were on our own for a while before she met Andrew.” It was his turn to replay memories. “I was horrified when they started dating.”

“Why?”

“I was a teenager, so I’d begun dating myself. I knew enough about what happened, and I had an active imagination.”

Her laugh made his fingers twitch. “Oh, dear.”

“He was my football coach. So I saw him every day, and then he’d come get her for dinner.”

“What brought you around?” Grace asked.

“One day Andrew took me to the field for a knockabout, told me how he felt about her, and asked what concerned me the most.”

“What did?” The tilt of Grace’s head, the way she kept her gaze on his face, relaxed him into the story. He left Vienna and traveled back to the grass field with a ball balanced under his foot as he tried to be the man his mother needed him to be.

“I was terrified he’d hurt us.”

“Us?” Her question was quiet.

“Even as a teenager, I knew she was happy. She laughed more. Her clothes were brighter, and she rinsed the gray from her hair. And I’d grown accustomed to having Andrew in our lives as more than my favorite teacher. I didn’t want it to end and then have to see him every day. Worse, she would have continued to come to matches for me. It was my job to make sure he wouldn’t hurt her. He promised me he’d never do that, and he kept his word until he died.”

When they reached the hotel, the group promised to gather for breakfast and make their plans for the day. Grace urged her mother into one lift, Ben nudged his mother into a second one.

Later that evening, he stared at the ceiling. The pretty American tourist had led him into the most substantial, revealing conversation he’d had in months, if not years.

In the next bed, his mother sighed in her sleep.
I promised Mum a trip.
Echoing the maternal sigh, Ben closed his eyes.

Chapter 2

“Yum.” Grace groaned at the smell of bacon, pancakes, and fresh coffee.

Spying Camille, her mother quick-stepped through the dining room, weaving between guests and servers. “Sorry we’re late. Grace had
to go to the gym. As if we’re not going to walk enough.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t see Ben,” Camille said.

“Didn’t see me where?” Ben asked as he returned to the table. “Good morning.”

Taking advantage of the hustle around them, Grace stopped to appreciate him. Jeans and a polo shirt called attention to his well-muscled build and his height. Even early in the day, his resonant voice sounded like it had been coated in fine whiskey or maybe in the syrup that made chocolate covered cherries so messy.

Contrasted with his dark hair, his light, clear eyes had been a surprise. They sat under fine brows, above agile lips, and along a nose that had probably taken him years to grow into. He was pleasant but reserved, intelligent but not smug, fun but not mean-spirited. Those blue eyes danced, his brows quirked, and his lips twisted in wry amusement. Confident, sure, and decisive, Ben Brady was comfortable in his own skin. She had a weakness for men like that.

She reined in her imagination.
So, so not the right thoughts to have.

“Grace visited the gym this morning,” Camille explained. “You must have just missed each other.”

“We must have.” His smile warmed Grace all the way to her toes, but his next comment was directed at the entire group. “Tea and coffee are coming, and the breakfast buffet looks scrummy. Shall we eat?”

“Scrummy?” Grace squeaked.

He grimaced—half apology, half grin. “How about delicious?”

Standing in front of him in the service line, Grace put plenty of distance between them and resisted the urge to straighten her hair.

“You look nice this morning. In my experience, women overdress for sightseeing. You . . . don’t.”

She looked down at her favorite sweater, worn jeans, and comfortable shoes. He’d see this outfit a lot. “It helps that I had to limit my wardrobe to one suitcase and a carryon.”

“Can I get my foot out of my mouth?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “You look like you’re ready to see things rather than be seen. And the shadows under your eyes are gone. You must be getting used to the time difference.”

The pink tint under his skin was cute, so she took pity on him. “Thanks. It’s getting easier. Did you have a good workout?”

“I did. You?”

“After I got used to the equipment and the German instructions, yes. I appreciate you arranging the coffee.”

“My pleasure.” His eyes danced at the echoed words from their first meeting. “I thought I’d see about a taxi. Would that be all right?” he asked.

“Mom will fuss about walking, but she’ll be disappointed if she’s tired before she gets there. I’ll be glad to—”

“You paid yesterday. It’s my round.”

With full plates, they returned to the table and relaxed into the familiar enjoyment of breakfast. Ben’s stare stopped Grace with a fork full of pancake halfway to her mouth.

“It would be a crime to travel to the capitol of
scrummy
food and eat toast,” she explained before she took the bite.

Camille smiled across the table. “It’s so nice to hear that from a woman your age. Most don’t know how to enjoy themselves. Hillary would have ordered toast and tea.” She winked at her son, but he wasn’t amused.

“Hillary?” Sunny asked.

Grace nudged her mother’s arm with her coffee cup in a request for a refill and frowned at the nosy question. Ben’s past wasn’t any of their business.

“Ben’s last girlfriend.” Camille confided as if they were alone. “They weren’t well suited.”

“Grace has one of those, too. Ryan.” Sunny drawled the name and rolled her eyes. “He was horribly self-centered.”

Grace choked on her breakfast. “Really, Mom. I’m sitting
right here
.”

Her mother was unapologetic. When Ben snickered, Grace wrapped her feet around the legs of her chair to keep from kicking him. Instead, she steered the conversation to its original topic.

“I’ve always appreciated good food. It’s one of the reasons I work out.” She returned her mother’s eye roll. “Even on vacation.”

After breakfast, they left the hotel and climbed into a waiting taxi. Realizing they were tourists, the driver took them on his own tour of the
Ringstrasse
, driving until they were dizzy. Grace was sure they’d seem the same building three times when they finally stopped in front of the
Hofburg.

“Oh, my.” She looked the length and height of the palace in front of them. Her mother’s hand slipped into hers, and they both stared up and up to the top of the robin’s egg blue cupola.

“Bill would have loved this,” Sunny whispered, tears audible in each word.

Grace looked for something to use as a distraction. Her mother had cried enough in the past year.

“He would have paid good money to see you without anything to say,” she teased before changing the subject. “Ben, would you please take our picture next to Franz Joseph the Second?”

“Certainly.”

She stood next to him, noticing how he stooped to hear her and how he smelled like bay and citrus. His long fingers made the small camera look like a toy. It took her a minute to remember the instructions.

Standing at the base of the statue, she wrapped her arms around her mother and hoped the air had driven away her blush.

Ben nodded and smiled, snapped the shutter, and she walked back for her camera. “Mom and Camille are next.”

Looking through the lens, she saw her mother’s happy face.
Good
. Grace looked up at Ben. “How about a picture of you and your mother?”

“On your camera? Umm . . .”

He looked terrified by the question. How could someone look like
that
and not want their picture taken?

“I don’t Facebook, Grace.”

“Not a problem.” She waved away his concern. “I’m not big on over-sharing.”

When he still didn’t move, disappointment dimmed her fun. In the first place, he’d hijacked her distraction. Second, he was denying her proof for later that she really had met a hot British guy in Europe.

“I’ll be glad to take them with your camera,” she offered.

Camille pulled it from her bag. “Thank you, Grace. I would like a few pictures on this trip, Ben.”

After that, sure her mother was sufficiently herself, Grace followed the older women into the
Burggarten
and kept a good distance from Ben. He was right, really. Despite their quick acquaintance, they didn’t know each other well enough to build any sort of trust.

While her mother and Camille explored, Ben stood on the stairs so he’d have a good view of the park and a vantage point to watch the older women. Instead of standing with him, or following their mothers, Grace explored on her own. She wanted to find a shade plant she could order online and put in her yard to remind her of here.

She was taking a photo of the perfect plant when a shadow loomed over her shoulder.

“There you are,” Ben sighed. “I didn’t know where you’d gotten off to. What are you doing way over here on your own?”

“Gardening research,” she mumbled as she checked her camera. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, but they’re ready to eat. The Palm House has lunch. Is that okay?”

As they walked side-by-side toward the large glass building, Grace couldn’t fathom her body’s reaction. Just like her irrational disappointment over a picture, her nerves now jangled in unjustified anticipation.

Inside the Palm House, their mothers had already claimed a table. As she sat, Grace stared overhead. It was if someone had sectioned off a piece of the park and built walls around it. There had to be a way to incorporate this into a scene, if not a plot point.

“You like being outdoors?” Ben asked.

“I enjoy gardening, and I’ve seen a few plants I’d like to add to the yard at home.”

“Like that one I saw you with under the trees?” Her mother asked. “That would look wonderful along our path to the lake.”

“You live close to each other?” Ben asked.

“On adjoining properties,” Grace snapped before she sipped her coffee.

Ben’s brows knitted into a frown. Now she felt like a raving bitch. It wasn’t his fault her living arrangement had been a source of constant criticism from Ryan.
Can’t cut the apron strings, too needy, too immature, co-dependent.

Her mother patted her hand, a standard lifelong reminder to watch her manners. “After everything that’s happened, she wanted to keep an eye on me.”

“Ben’s the same way. I don’t even take the tube to get to his home.”

Ben’s face melted into exasperation as he rolled his eyes.
We’re right here
. Grace heard the words as surely as if he’d said them. She smiled, shook her head, and changed the subject. “Camille, what was your favorite part of the garden?”

“The statue of Mozart. I’ve always had a crush on him.”

After lunch, they toured the
SiSi
Museum and the Royal Apartments. Rather than reading the explanations and listening to the guide, Grace wandered from room to room and let her imagination take over. She couldn’t use the location in a plot, but she could borrow the apartment and put it somewhere else.

Her muse ran with the idea.
Ian and Zadie could be on vacation. Maybe he planned it because it reminds him of home. Maybe she planned it thinking he’s homesick, but he hates it. Ooh. That’s go-ood.

Photos weren’t allowed, and her sketches were awful, so she scribbled notes and vowed to buy a souvenir guidebook. After a last reconnoiter, she found Ben in front of the Empress Elizabeth’s portrait. “Beautiful lady, wasn’t she?”

“If you like high maintenance,” he drawled.

“You don’t know she—” Her objection faded into a giggle at the disbelieving look on his face. “In her defense, it was
the standard for her day.”

“True. I suppose that makes her all right as an empress, but not as a date.”

He used his height advantage to locate their mothers, sitting on a bench at the edge of the room. “Why don’t we see if they’re ready to go?”

Once outside, her mother had her own ideas about the remainder of the itinerary. “Camille and I are going to rest in the
Volksgarten
and enjoy the sunshine. Grace, go on to the National Library. You know you want to.”

“Are you sure?” Grace’s gaze swept the crowd of people.

“How much trouble can I get into in a garden?”

“Okay. I won’t stay long.”

“I’ve heard that before,” her mom grumbled, her wink softening the sarcasm.

Camille spoke up. “We can’t have you gandering around alone. Ben, why don’t you go with her?”

“I can if you’d like,” he offered.

“Sure,” she shrugged. “Why not?”

Leaving the older women to enjoy the sunshine, Grace and Ben walked across the plaza. Refusing to admit how much she liked having him at her side, she nodded her thanks as he held the door. Then she saw the library.

Open floors revealed shelves and shelves of books. Colorful spines sat on polished wood, balconies curved around the room, heavy rails flanked wide staircases. A ceiling mural had been substituted for the sky.

“If I lived here, I’d never leave this spot.”

Ben tugged her hand. “I’m sure there’s more to see further
inside
.”

Grace cringed at the sight of their joined fingers. Her friends had teased her for years about the embarrassing habit. Until now the worst had been when she’d ended up holding hands with a complete stranger at a magic show. She pulled against his hold.

Ben resisted and winked. “It’s okay. It may be the best way for me to keep up with you.”

They explored until she had a crick in her neck from looking over her head. Again she pulled against his fingers, this time with a smile. “I can’t take pictures this way.”

He released her with a sheepish grin that made him look like a teenager.

When they resumed their self-guided tour, he reclaimed her hand. Her legs moved out of habit but her thoughts faded into the static pattern of a TV with no channel.

I am in one of the most magnificent palaces in the world, holding hands with an Englishman I didn’t know thirty-six hours ago.
A man with really, really nice hands.

Her arm stretched its full length, and she looked back to see Ben standing beside a bookshelf. It was clear he was waiting on an answer to a question.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Why does it intrigue you?”

Her unoccupied hand stroked the nearest spines as she stared down an aisle of mellow, faded leather. Outside were the blues and greens of summer. Inside, there were the oranges, yellows, and browns of fall. Her breathing slowed.

“They’re like history you’re allowed to hold.” She led him down the stack and pulled from his grasp to take a book from the shelf. “Imagine who else has held this, who read it. Maybe Marie Antoinette’s nanny read it to her as a bedtime story.”

She put the book in his hands. “There’s the weight of it.” Taking his fingers in hers, she drifted them over its leather cover. “The feel of it. And then there’s the smell.” Cracking the text open, she inhaled, encouraging him to do the same.

She peeked over his arm to look at the page. “It makes me wish I’d taken German instead of Spanish.”

Ben was spellbound. Buttery leather under his fingers, Grace’s warm hand atop his, her vanilla scent surrounding him while her words tempted him closer and begged him to play along. He read the stanzas and did a quick translation. Love and loss, separation and longing.
Shit. Why couldn’t this be the Erlking?
“Umm . . . it’s Goethe.” He should have known the explanation wouldn’t satisfy her.