Before she could say another word, he was gone and she was dancing with the holy grail, unthinkingly maneuvering him in front of the photographer from W, insincerely offering a blissful smile for the camera. Old habits died hard. It was pointless to think she could spend a successful Christmas Eve with Tony Fiore. She’d tried that in the past and it had never turned out well for her.

She heard herself chatting blithely with Axel, heard him laugh with sensual appreciation as he led her around the dance floor. He was a flawless dancer, she conceded. But he didn’t sweep her away. He didn’t make her feel glad she was alive. He didn’t make her wish she could love Christmas again.

At the end of the dance, he handed her a white business-size envelope. “This is for you.”

The envelope contained a printed travel itinerary.

“I want you to come skiing with me,” he said. “Just give your passport information to my service, and they’ll take care of the reservations and tickets.”

Skiing. In Gstaad. With European royalty. It was a moment, Elaine had to admit that. So why did she feel so underwhelmed?

She glanced at the departure date. “This is for tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

She shoved the paper into the envelope. “This is so unexpected—I don’t quite know what to say.”

He sent her a practiced smile. “Come now. You expected it. I’m sure your parents will be delighted. If we’re going to do business together, we might as well have fun doing it, yes?”

He was all but offering her his business. It should have been the biggest moment in her career—her life, maybe. But it wasn’t.

She smiled brightly, falsely, spying her reflection in the slick black glass of the picture window. “I’ll let you know.”

Without another glance at him, she headed for the foyer.

Jenny and Melanie hissed questions and protests in an undertone. “What are you doing?” Jen demanded.

Elaine filled them in on Axel’s invitation.

“Don’t tick him off,” Melanie warned.

“Are your passports current?” Elaine asked them both.

“Mine is,” Melanie said. “But what—”

“I’ll tell you what.” With a little laugh, Elaine handed over the envelope. “It’s your lucky day. You’re going skiing in Switzerland tomorrow. Staying at the Hotel Grande Suisse. Just contact this agency, and they’ll take care of the paperwork.”

Leaving them gasping and sputtering—Melanie with a broad grin breaking through her surprise—she headed for the cloakroom. “The Gallignani,” she said, indicating her coat, which hung from a portable rack set up in the guest room. She felt light and free. “The gentleman who left a short while ago—did he mention where he was going?”

“No.”

Well, of course he hadn’t. But he lived in Brooklyn. That narrowed it down.

“He forgot his gloves,” the girl added, holding out a large, lived-in pair.