It materialized with a flourish. Angelo pulled out a pen. “We’ll cancel the solo that Stella was going to do, replace it with an item by Lucie LaVie-I’m sure she’ll have a hilarious Santa story to share.”
“But-” Stella’s eyes widened with horror.
“And Aletha-” Mark named one of the other singers “-has been working as understudy. She can sing ‘Oh, Christmas Tree’ and ‘Kalanda, Kalanda’-” he named the Greek version of “Jingle Bells” “-but that still leaves a hole where Stella was going to sing an encore all by herself, we’ll just have to scrap that.”
“But I can-” Stella interrupted frantically.
“Gemma,” Angelo touched her arm. “Would you very much mind singing ‘O Holy Night’ as the encore? Please? I know you’re not booked for this, that you were expecting to enjoy the performance as a guest. But would you do it? For me?”
She’d do just about anything for him. Singing her favourite carol was a cinch.
“Of course.” She didn’t dare look in Stella’s direction.
“Brilliant idea,” Mark said. “Gemma stood in for Stella in several of the early rehearsals.”
“Gemma doesn’t need to-”
“Stella, don’t worry yourself about it. You’re ill. I know that you would not have jeopardized such a show unless you were very sick.”
Gemma whipped around to stare at Angelo in astonishment. He knew. He knew that Stella had been after the limelight and he’d dealt with her ruthlessly. She shivered, suddenly feeling sorry for the other woman.
“Now, go.” It was an order. “You need to be in bed, taking care of that throat so that you’re well enough to perform for your next obligation.” Even Stella caught the not-very-subtle warning and she slunk away without a word.
“Gemma, you’ll need stage makeup.” Mark was shepherding her to the dressing room. “Sorry to spoil your evening, you’re a sport to help out when you must have been looking forward to watching the show from the front row.”
“But what’s everyone going to say when they find out they’re not seeing Stella? She’s a well-known singer. She’ll have fans that came to see her.”
Mark shrugged. “Too late to worry about that. At least they get to see a spectacular show, better than a cancellation.”
In the wings Gemma waited. She’d also be singing a duet with Denny. She watched as a fire-eater gave a spectacular performance juggling torches and a whole lot of stunts that had the crowd gasping, then she and Denny were on.
The next ten minutes passed in a rush, she could barely remember what had happened. On the way off the stage, she passed a group of Christmas elves going on, a Russian troupe of acrobats that had the audience “oohing” and “aahing.”
The carols sounded wonderful. Gemma started to relax. The finale came, everyone was on stage and the chorus voices were rising. Gemma felt the performers’ excitement mirrored back by the audience.
Her hand brushed her stomach. Hear that, baby? Next year you’ll see the show, too. So hard to believe.
The choir sashayed off, the dancers did a last sequence and with a wave they were gone. The curtains fell and applause followed.
Then Gemma was on the stage all alone. The audience lay like a vast sea of darkness ahead of her as a single spotlight lit her.
She searched the front row. And found Angelo through the bright beam of the spotlight.
She launched into “O Holy Night.” She sang it for him…as he’d requested. No one else existed.
Only Angelo.
Afterwards she felt drained, but curiously exhilarated as clapping swept the showroom. She waved her hands in thanks, smiled and bowed. When she looked for Angelo again, he was gone and her heart sank.
An expectant hush fell over the crowd. Gemma started to walk to the wings, still facing the audience, waving, smiling until her cheeks hurt. The crowd started to buzz.
She turned to see what had caught their attention.
Angelo was on stage, coming towards her, his arms filled with a huge bouquet of red roses.
Joy twisted through her.
And then she remembered. This tribute was meant for Stella. Not her.
Stella’s red roses.
Meaningless. Nothing to do with love. Nothing more than a goodwill gesture of appreciation.
Angelo reached her. He held a microphone in one hand. “That was a marvellous performance.” The audience erupted into a burst of clapping. “Yesterday, I asked Gemma Allen to be my wife. Now, I’d like you all to celebrate her answer with me.”
He held the microphone towards her.
The silence was absolute. The audience waited. Angelo, waited, his body taut.
Gemma gave him a despairing glance. What was she to say? How could she marry a man who took mistresses rather than a wife? A man who didn’t-would never-love her?
Then a woman in the front row jumped up. “Say yes, Gemma.”
Startled Gemma squinted into the lights. The woman was unfamiliar, blonde. She smiled, gave her a little wave.
“Ignore my mother,” Angelo murmured.
“Your mother?”
Her voice boomed out over the microphone. Gemma blushed as the audience tittered. Out of the darkness came an indecipherable bit of advice.
Gemma ignored it.
She knew what she was going to do.
She was going to marry Angelo. For the sake of her baby. And for her sake…because she loved him.
“Yes.” Her voice was strong and clear and the crowd whooped.
Then the roses fell from her grasp as Angelo swept her up into his arms, his mouth meeting hers in a kiss that held hunger and a touch of desperation.
Gemma wasn’t acting as she grasped his shoulders and gave the best-and most public-performance of her life.
There was a Christmas party after the show. Lucie came rushing over with a tray of glasses filled with champagne as soon as she and Angelo arrived. Gemma laughed. “You’re making me feel quite the celebrity.”
“You are! You are! How could you keep-” Lucie flashed a sideways glance at Angelo “-such a secret from me?”
Angelo grinned. “I only asked her to marry me yesterday. I wasn’t going to give her a chance to say no.”
“Really? You railroaded her in front of all those people. Oh, naughty man.”
Even Gemma laughed at Lucie’s antics. And Angelo held her close to his side, his grip possessive, his hand heavy on her hip. For a while Gemma started to think that this could work, that even though he didn’t love her, her love…and the baby…would be enough to meld them together.
Angelo went to fetch her a drink and Mark materialized at her side. “Your worry that the crowd would be disappointed by Stella’s absence was all for nothing. Angelo’s proposal gave them a once-in-a-lifetime show.”
Gemma smiled at him. “At least the fans weren’t disappointed.” But it set her thinking. Had Angelo thought of it as a publicity stunt? She didn’t think so. Her experience of him revealed an intensely private man, who as much as he liked a gorgeous woman by his side, treated that woman like a goddess. He was far kinder, far more complex than she’d expected.
The Angelo she’d read about in the gossip columns was not the kind of man who would’ve married his pregnant mistress, and she struggled a little with the vast dichotomy between the playboy public profile and the complex man she’d come to love.
It wasn’t long before he returned. But he wasn’t alone. “My mother, Connie.”
Gemma’s eyes widened as she took in the slim, tanned woman. Connie looked liked she’d just stepped out of a beauty salon. Immaculate. Tanned. Not a hair out of place. And she certainly didn’t look old enough to be Angelo’s mother.
“Hello.” Gemma smiled uncertainly.
