Page 47 of Vienna Bliss

“Is there anything else?” the event planner asked.

Her real name was Sofie Huber, but she was going by Sofia Hofer in her role as a specialist event planner who’d flown in from Amsterdam this morning in order to refine the details of the party. His housekeeper had taken everything in stride; the chef had looked a little stressed out until he heard it was a small event with only thirty guests.

The RTW agent who would be running the event security hadn’t said much, mostly nodded and taken notes.

Discussion of set up had been run by Absolon, who had the most to do since the safe transport and display of art was a time-consuming process. He’d be bringing in staff from the storage company they used here in Vienna—art and antiquities storage was its own entire industry.

Alena listened and nodded during the meeting, occasionally offering a comment in a soft voice. Sofie had introduced her as Alexander’s “guest of honor.” The housekeeper had nodded, though her expression made it clear she was confused. Chef looked similarly confused, but also didn’t ask questions.

Absolon, however, looked smug. The cat that knew who ate the canary, and didn’t intend to share that secret with anyone.

“And the guest list?” the RTW rep asked. “I’ll need that to run checks.”

Sofie shook her head. “Mr. Wagner vouches for each guest personally.”

“We can’t guarantee—”

“As I said, Mr. Wagner vouches for each guest.” Sofie eyed each person around the table in the small meeting room several doors down from where Alena and Alexander had put on the little show for Absolon. Today he had on a printed silk scarf with a gray dress shirt, and the lenses of his glasses occasionally reflected the light in such a way that she couldn’t see his eyes, which she found disconcerting.

“Is there anything else?” Sofie tapped her pen against the portfolio she held.

“I will be attending the event,” Absolon declared.

Alena held perfectly still, and tried not to react. This was actually a possibility she and Rolf had discussed. The intention had always been to make the gala seem as real as possible. Alexander had no real idea of how much his staff gossiped, so they had to assume that a member of the kitchen or wait staff, who would be on-site, might report back to the other household staff members.

Did Absolon want to attend because he was suspicious… or because he wanted to see more? She and Alexander might have overplayed their hand.

“I’m afraid you’re not on the guest list,” Sofie declared.

“I am responsible for the art that we will be bringing in. Given the ridiculously short timeline, my staff and I will not be able to make all the preparations we normally would. I want to make sure my art is safe for the duration.”

“I will consult with Mr. Wagner.” Sofie rose, indicating the meeting was done. “I will consult with the florist regarding the decor but I’m available by phone if any of you find yourselves unable to handle your responsibilities in relation to this event.”

Everyone else rose, watching Sofie as she walked out the door. Alena hung back wanting to see if she could catch any side conversations among the other staff. Since most of them had seen her here before, there was the chance they would say something in front of her that they wouldn’t say in front of Sofie.

Everyone but Absolon nodded her way as they left, and she had to remind herself that friendly smiling was not the Austrian way.

“A moment of your time?” Absolon asked her.

“Of course.” Alena smiled politely at him.

When he gestured to the door, she followed him out, only mildly surprised when he led her down the hallway to the private parlor where they’d met with Alexander.

The art world was incredibly diverse, however the higher up in the social structure the rarer the air got, and the more diversity was shed in favor of those types of people who best fit the archetypes of artists and art connoisseurs. Among the straight men, that usually boiled down to aggressively sexual artists who created a cult of personality, like Picasso, or romantics, who used art to express the depth of emotion that toxic masculinity normally demanded they hide.

Assuming Absolon was on the straight end of the Kinsey spectrum, she was guessing he was in that second category.

Which meant he was probably about to try and rescue her.

It was a move she’d foreseen and planned for. It also put his demand to be at the party in a new light. She hadn’t told Alexander that she’d prepared for this possibility, because in explaining it she would, by default, be labeling him someone she needed to be rescued from. She didn’t want to give him another reason to think of himself as, call himself, a monster.

“What’s your name?” Absolon asked her as he quietly closed the door.

“Alena Moreau,” she said softly. She was using her real last name in case any of the staff had heard the RTW people using it when they found her passport. Giving Absolon a fake last name, even if it was one with an excellent cover story, when he already had another name for her, would raise alarm bells. She tipped her chin down so she could watch him through her lashes.

Absolon put his hands in his pockets, and then took them out. He was nervous.

If he wasn’t a suspected terrorist she would have felt bad for him, would have admired him for doing something that was probably terrifying—he was defying his powerful employer to try to rescue a woman he’d never met.