Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1)

by Celia Kennedy

  I went back out into the cold night air and contemplated where to go. Making the random decision to head back down rue Joseph Vallot, I turned around and barreled into a man whose arms were full of packages. After apologizing, half in English and half in French, I offered up my biggest smile. He just stared at me quizzically.

  Taking a deep breath, I inquired in very broken French where one could spend a quiet evening. As only the French could, with a leer and a sneer, in heavily accented English, I was informed that in a resort town there weren’t many choices for a woman alone, but there was a cinema. However, he told me, there would be little point in attending, since I wouldn’t possibly understand a word—the movies were French.

  I thanked him for his evaluation of my linguistic skills and risked asking for directions. He walked me outside and pointed at the cupola atop the only church in town. Quickly, I set off in the direction he had pointed to, wondering why we hadn’t gone to Germany instead.

  After inquiring with a few English-speaking tourists along the way, I finally found the cinema. I stepped inside and escaped the sounds of the surrounding nightlife. After a quick glance, I concluded that Des wasn’t waiting for me with a box of popcorn.

  It took me about ten seconds alone in the lobby to realize that what I was endeavoring was based on the fluff of teenage girls’ fantasies.

  “What the hell,” I mumbled under my breath. I bought a ticket for a movie that I had never heard of and wouldn’t be able to understand called The Holiday, starring Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet. Entering the theatre, which was decorated in crushed red velvet, I immediately breathed in the smell of cigarettes and perfume. They lingered in the air, instead of the scent of popcorn. I quite liked it. “Maybe the French aren’t so bad after all,” I quietly declared.

  I sat down, took off my jacket, and settled in for my two-hour French lesson.

  Hollywood had once again manufactured the perfect balance of conflict, resolution, true love, and friendship.

  If only I could do that I thought, as I wandered back into the lobby, pulling on my jacket and gloves. Who would I start with? Kathleen and her Prince? Hillary and her polo-playing millionaire? Or Marian and her rugby-playing… rugby player? Tiziana would never need help.

  In the foyer after it ended, I was thinking of whether to call it a night or go elsewhere when I was confronted by a horrific sight. Brynn Roberts was blocking my exit path, and her lips were curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, they bore the look of utter irritation.

  “I have no idea how you knew we would be here, but this is going to stop. Des has explained to me what didn’t happen last night. He truly believes that you’re just being friendly. But I know! Every simple-minded girl out there looking for a free ride would be stupid not to pursue him. I’m giving you this last chance, and if you don’t go now, I’ll call the police! Have I made myself clear?” She shot her angry words at me so quickly that I barely had time to absorb them.

  I was trying to formulate a response when Des himself stepped out from behind a door. His warm smile met his eyes, and he seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

  “Ah, Charlotte, lovely to see you again. Listen, I’m dreadfully sorry if last night’s events proved stressful. I know the first few hundred times it happened to me, it was overwhelming. I heard the paparazzi surrounded your home and followed you to a spa. I trust you didn’t let it ruin your day. Brynn insisted on staying home. Ted and I skied up at the top. An excellent day, as the snow was perfect, and the paparazzi were helplessly left behind.” He paused, and his voice switched to one more conspiratorial. In a whisper, he continued, “Just so you know, I’ve double-checked, and my zipper is definitely up! So, we shouldn’t have that issue tonight.”

  At this, Brynn’s eyebrows shot up, and she gave me a look that completely expressed her lack of appreciation for what had happened the evening before.

  Noting this himself, Des quickly changed the subject. “Did you enjoy the film?”

  Deciding not to be intimidated by Brynn and make it clear that I wasn’t a simple-minded groupie, I jokingly said, “Don’t worry about the paparazzi! We rarely find ourselves being pursued relentlessly, so we enjoyed our fifteen minutes of fame. By the time we headed home, the paparazzi were gone.”

  “They probably left you in search of Des,” Brynn replied quickly. “They don’t give up that easily. Des and I would appreciate it if you would just distance yourself. Let the paparazzi find other fodder,” she demanded boldly, wearing another smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  Draping an arm around Brynn’s shoulders, Des gave her a concerned look and quietly rebuked her. “Charlotte has been quite gracious about the whole thing, really. It was my oversight that got us into this, but it’s her name and face being bandied about. Let’s not forget those vulgar headlines. Try to imagine how you would feel if your friends and family saw that!” Brynn turned a deep shade of purple, her anger at his rebuke palpable.

  Ignoring his girlfriend’s irritation, he went on, “Cameron Diaz is in remarkable shape. Did you see her run in those heels? I’m not ashamed to admit that when I found out she was to be the leading lady in Love What We Have, I got in great shape. Those scenes where she throws a punch, she really knows how!” We talked about the movie briefly before he sensed Brynn hadn’t joined in.

  He withdrew his arm from around her shoulders, kindly took my hand, and said, “Charlotte, it was indeed a pleasure. We’re off to find a quiet drink somewhere obscure. Thanks for being so understanding about all of this. We hope that the rest of your holiday is enjoyable. Goodnight.”

  “Night,” I replied. Des nodded while gently ushering the lovely Ms. Roberts out a side door and into the night.

  I turned and walked out the front doors, feeling, well, sad. My girlish dreams had led me down a ridiculous path, and now, the woman in me felt foolish for my behavior.

  “Impulse control, Charlotte,” I said to myself. Just then, a car passed through the intersection. From the backseat, Des Bannerman smiled and waved, and then he winked. My eyes followed the taillights of his car until they disappeared from view.

  What did the wink mean?

  ***

  When I returned to the chalet, Tiziana was indeed curled up in front of the fire with a dreamy look on her face. She was talking on the telephone. “Gianni?” I mouthed to her. She smiled and waved, so I disappeared upstairs to get ready for bed.

  As I was changing into warm pajamas and removing my makeup, I continued to lecture myself on appropriate behavior. It was one thing to daydream and quite another to take action. “Some kind of silly Cinderella complex or something,” I said, as I heaved a sigh and made my way downstairs.

  As I entered the living room, Tiziana was ending her phone call. “Ciao, bello.” With a giggle into the phone, she was finished. “So, tell me, did you find your man?”

  I told her about the tabloids, the movie, and running into Brynn and Des. She quietly listened while I recounted all the details.

  “Odd, though, as I was about to cross the road, his car passed me, and he smiled and winked at me. What do you think?”

  “He winked? Darling, he’s flirting with you!” Forgetting the lecture I’d just given myself, I allowed her to pull me into fantasies of a romance with Des. We concocted future trips to luxurious places on private planes, drifting on yachts, parading at the BAFTAs.

  Fantasyland returned to reality when Kathleen, Marian, and Hillary returned. “Why so early?” I asked.

  “It turns out that David isn’t as good-looking or interesting when I’m sober,” Marian began.

  “I didn’t meet anyone interesting either. My heart isn’t in it,” Kathleen replied.

  “It just seemed easier to come back and have a glass of wine here! Anyway, how did it go? Did you find him?” Hillary asked.

  I gave them the details. They were supportive in their immediate dislike of Brynn Roberts. “Who does she think she is?” Kathleen asked, the rest nodding in s
upport.

  We veered into, “He doesn’t know what he’s missing” statements. All in all, I had very supportive friends.

  “Well, are we on for a day of skiing tomorrow? We only have a few days left, and I’d like to ski at least once more,” I asked, surveying the group. The scantily-clad, sleepy women with wine slowly raised their hands to vote. “Okay, off to bed, everyone! We’ll be on the slopes right after breakfast.” I took their wine glasses to the kitchen and myself to bed.

  In the morning, I woke up with a headache, feeling completely tired. I had dreamt of Ms. Roberts’s unfriendly eyes and people mocking me while I wore a Cinderella gown. I stared at the ceiling and berated myself for last night’s fantasy session with Tiziana. “Des Bannerman barely knows you’re alive. Grow up!” I admonished myself.

  After getting dressed, I went to the kitchen to get some coffee. I overheard Marian say, “Well, it was just a bit of fun, a laugh.”

  “We all dream of knights in shining armor! I’m sure Charlotte didn’t really think he was going to leave his girlfriend for her. She’s sensible,” Hillary added.

  I heard Kathleen sigh at the mention of a knight. “Well, at least she went for it.”

  “True. Someday, when she’s old and grey and a granny, she can say she once was on the covers of magazines all over the world. Her grandchildren will be the envy of everyone. Who else will have a granny publicly accused of giving Des Bannerman a hand job?” Marian threw in.

  “They’re jealous they didn’t meet someone,” Tiziana purred over my shoulder. She, too, had eavesdropped on the conversation. Nudging me forward, we entered the kitchen with a loud “Buon Giorno” from her. Immediately, talk switched to breakfast and skiing.

  The weather over the last few days had produced a crusty layer of ice over powdery snow. Skiing was a bit hazardous and hard work. By lunch, we were all exhausted. We made our way into a restaurant and ordered a hearty lunch and sipped cups of coffee while waiting for our order. We gave each other a good ribbing over our respective wipeouts.

  “I swear to god, I didn’t see that flag! My bum still smarts!” Marian grimaced, rubbing her posterior.

  “Well, I’m sure it’s not as bad as your forehead,” Kathleen taunted. Marian had missed a danger flag and skied outside of the safe area. The next thing we knew, she’d become a human snowball and was rolling down the hill toward a large rock. She’d put her feet down to stop herself, her skis somewhere behind her. Unfortunately, all she’d done was flip herself around; she’d managed to hit the rock with her head. How her bum got tortured was anyone’s guess.

  “Well, I think it’s a good thing you lost your poles early on. Who knows, you might have harpooned someone or yourself,” Kathleen teased.

  “I don’t resemble a whale of any form,” Marian answered good-naturedly.

  Toward the end of our meal, we saw people pointing fingers at a crowd as it moved toward us. Heads bobbed up and down as people tried to see what was going on. The hum and pointing gathered in volume.

  “Look, it’s him!” Kathleen shrieked. A very swarthy male who exuded elegance held her rapt attention.

  “Who is he?” I asked, absolutely clueless.

  With Kathleen’s attention riveted elsewhere, Hillary answered, “It is Miguel Alfonso Montefeltro della Rovere. He is Spain’s Prince of Belmonte.” Her British blue-blood was showing.

  “So, it’s okay for you to get giddy about a prince?” I teased them. “Next thing you know, we’ll be traipsing all over Spain, France and Monaco searching for royalty.”

  Three faces turned toward me. “You heard all that?” Kathleen asked.

  “Yes, I did. But don’t worry, I understand. I’m not taking it seriously. But let me ask you, if you had the chance to meet someone you had a crush on, what would you do? If the prince over there sat down beside you and talked to you, would you be able to walk away without any thoughts of ‘what if’?”

  Gracefully, they all acknowledged that there would be some lingering fantasies.

  It was only when I suggested, “Does anyone want to try skiing up at the top? I heard someone in the lift line say that the sun is shining up there. The map shows that there are a few easy runs,” that everyone returned to the present. With trepidation, they agreed to go with me to the top of the mountain.

  “Come on! Let’s go get some more skiing in before Marian’s ass gets too stiff,” I said with a smile.

  As we were gathering our clothing and skis, I saw Kathleen look wistfully over toward the Prince of Belmonte; his entourage had settled down not too far from us. Quietly, she asked me, “I wonder what he would do if I were to walk up to him and ask if I could join him for a drink?”

  “I know! That’s the problem. You wouldn’t think twice with an average guy. Hell, he would be flattered and happy to have a beautiful, confident woman approach him for a change. It’s amazing how being famous removes all the normal rules.”

  Eventually, we found the correct line to wait in, and talk turned to what everyone would be doing once our holiday came to an end. All our lives had become complex with responsibilities. Between talking about jobs, biological clocks, finding Mr. Right, finances, and other friends, we reached the mountaintop quickly.

  Instead of sun, we found that a heavy fog had set in, making it challenging to see even just a few feet ahead. “Look, there’s the map.” Hillary pointed toward a large sign with skiers gathered around.

  We skied over to try to determine which way to go. Upon deciding which run to take, Marian suggested, “Promise you’ll stay close to me! I might need one of you to get the ski patrol!”

  Though there was general laughter at the comment, I could see a bit of fear in her eyes and slid up next to her. “I got a good look at a few of the guys on patrol. You might want to fake an injury! It might not lead to love, but it might lead to getting laid.”

  “True!” I could see the wheels in Marian’s head grinding. “Well then, if I shout the words, ‘Holy Christ,’ just stay away, and let me work my magic.”

  Kathleen, having overheard us, remarked, “More likely she’ll be hitting him over the head with her ski pole.”

  After a little more ribbing as we slid ever so slowly down the mountain, we found ourselves in fog thick as pea soup.

  Kathleen, who was in the lead, came to a stop. “Wow, I can barely see a thing,” she said when we skied off to the side to join her.

  Breathless, I took the map out and looked at it for a minute before calmly stating, “Nobody panic, but I think we’re on a Black Diamond. We must have gone the wrong way.”

  After a minute of worried whining, Marian got everyone to regroup. “Where are your balls? We can manage, we’re women! We’ll just take it slow. Charlotte, since you’re the best skier, why don’t you go up front and lead the way?”

  Agreeing, we made our way at a snail’s pace. I could hear the gals chatting behind me, telling ghost stories of skiers lost in the mountains and having to forage for berries. The fog got thicker, and the conversation gradually dropped off as everyone concentrated on what was directly ahead of them. I pulled off to the side of the run so that we could all catch our breath.

  I waited for a minute, then two. I called out their names and wondered what was taking so long. After another minute, I realized that they weren’t behind me. Hard skiing and fear had kept me warm, but now a chill began to set in. I decided to head down the hill and hoped to meet them at the bottom or get help.

  Trying to calm my nerves, I focused on the first thing that came to my mind. Des Bannerman. He really was a nice man. His girlfriend was a piece of work, that was for sure. It must be tough, though, being followed every moment. I supposed I would be bitchy if, every time I turned around, someone was throwing herself at my boyfriend. I talked quietly to myself for a minute or two, weighing the pros and cons of being famous. Taking a break, I stopped again and consulted my map. It was useless, since I didn’t have any points of reference. I could only hope I was close to the b
ottom. Looking around me and seeing blobs of grey, I started to get freaked out. “Come on, woman, you can’t let your imagination get to you now. You’re almost there.”

  “Just a quiet word among friends?” asked Des Bannerman, his voice mocking me.

  I promptly fell into a heap in the snow. In amazement, I pushed back my hood and goggles. “Where did you come from?” Had he heard any of the conversation I’d been having with myself? Total panic set in. Trying to calm myself, I focused on the situation at hand and tried to get back on my feet. Instead, I entertained Des by sliding around in the snow for a while. After getting a few laughs at my expense, he finally offered to help me to my feet.

  Taking his hand, I hauled myself up out of the snow. By then I was sweaty from exertion and wet from melting snow. “I saw your friend, Tiziana, up the mountain, and she told me that you had become separated. I offered to look for you. Fortunately for me, you’re the only one down here. Well, actually, you would have been easy to spot in a crowd, as you’re the only one down here with a gold jacket. You’re a veritable beacon in the mist.”

  “Thanks for the hand!” I hoped he would understand my reference to the tabloid headlines.

  “It’s the least I can do, since you’ve been so helpful.” He clearly understood.

  “So, where did you see Tiziana? Was she with the rest of my friends? Are they all right? Should I wait for them?” I rushed through my list of questions, still somewhat exhausted from flailing in the snow.

  “They’re fine. We thought they might know you when we heard your name being yodeled across the French Alps. I’m quite certain people in Geneva, possibly even Zurich, are wondering where Charlotte is. I’m surprised you didn’t hear them. They were certain you’d skied off a cliff, by the way. I assured them you would see civilization again. As we speak, Ted is escorting them down to the bottom, where we’re to meet up.” When he finished speaking, his blue eyes were crinkled up at the edges. I couldn’t help but notice that his speech pattern in real life was very much like in his movies, as was his inclination toward monologues.