by Angela Hayes
Again, as if he knew I was there, Danton looked in my direction. Hastily I tried to focus on the article I’d turned to, my heart pounding in my ears.
Had he seen me? Was he coming this way with the intentions of doing me bodily harm? What about bodily pleasure? Would he stand over me demanding recompense for the stunt I’d pulled just forty-eight hours before? Why oh why didn’t’ I think things through any better? I could have kidnapped the groom, held him hostage until the next day. Or I could have hired a private detective to take pictures of his indiscretions and had they delivered them to Melanie. Why had I confronted her cousin?
“Aaaah.” I screamed, throwing the newspaper into the air, a hand clamping down on my shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
I looked up from the sofa to glare balefully at Hope. “Nothing. I was just, um. That article on stocks and bonds caught my attention.”
“You don’t have any stocks and bonds.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been considering some. They might be a good investment.” I lied, picking the newspaper up from the floor.
Hope called my bluff. “Run into Danton again?” She knew me so well.
“Yeah. He just about had me in the Pro Shop.”
“Mr. Dillon know him?”
“Yep, his father owns an advertising agency down at the Harbor. His mother’s a formal model, Chanton, something or other.” Standing, I returned the newspaper to the table I’d plucked it from.
Hope rolled her eyes, less than happy with my meager supply of information. “Oh Lord, come on. I need a massage and a drink.”
“Me too.” It was hard work avoiding what fate threw at you. I wasn’t sure how
Hope had been doing it all these years.
“So, who’s paying?” She asked as we waited for the elevator.
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“Yes you are.”
“You are.”
“You are.”
Bickering like children we stepped into the elevator.
“I’ll pay for you, you pay for me.” Hope reasonably suggested.
“Sounds good.” I agreed.
Chapter 13
Past Life I
I knew when I told Everett just two days ago of Isabella that long dormant memories would resurface. So the dream didn’t take me completely by surprise. Deep in slumber I welcomed the sight of the beautiful child who was long grown and long dead.
This was my fifth life and in it I was known as Thalia, my sister Hope as Kyna and Faith as Gaea. We were the personal servants, and more importantly close friends, to Isabella d’Angouleme. Only daughter of Count d’Angouleme and great granddaughter to the King of France. This was the eve of her wedding to Hugh IX d’Lusignan, son of the Count d’La Marche. The date was August eighteenth, twelve hundred.
A dozen lit candles at their side, Kyna and Gaea were sitting by an open window adding last minute embroidery to Isabella’s wedding trousseau. Since I didn’t have the patience, nor the skill to help them, I was left to deal with the small dark haired figure laying face down on the bed she’d thrown herself on just moments before. Isabella at her tender age of twelve had a wonderful flair for the dramatic. Being beautiful and spoiled didn’t help in the least.
“Why is it that I, the intended bride, have no choice in who shall and shall not attend my wedding on the morrow?” Isabella asked, her words muffled by the bed clothes she‘d buried her head in.
Drifting up from the Great Hall below were the smells and sounds of a night feast. One full of ribald debauchery, unfit for Isabella’s tender aged eyes and ears.
With a less than lady like snort I hiked up my cumbersome skirts, crawling onto the feather filled mattress beside her.
“Mon ange,” I chided, pulling my pitch colored hair out of the way so I wouldn’t sit on it. “You know there is none who would dare refuse John. At least not to his face. He is England’s king. And you know as well as I that a woman’s opinion is rarely considered in these matters.”
I was not disappointed to hear the muffled scream in response to my answer. My charge was nothing if not predictable in her temperament. I rolled my green eyes at my sisters. It was typical of Isabella to say the first thing that came to mind, only waiting to think after she had all ready spoken.
“Did you not find England’s king to your liking?” I prodded, picking balls of lint from the covers. “He did seem to spark the interest of several ladies present this eve.”
“Preening peacock. I kept waiting for him to crow and flap his wings.” Flopping herself onto her back with a huff Isabella considered my prodding more closely, confessing she was not entirely displease by his presence as she‘d first let on. “Although he seemed to prick and goad my temper at every turn, I did notice an intelligent light in his eyes. He may yet serve England well.”
Progress made I scooted closer to Isabella. Drawing her head into my lap I began to smooth her hair and hum a comforting tune. It was a habit she’d been fond of since she was a mere babe. Placed in my arms at the tender age of eight I loved Isabella as if she were my own child.
“What say you Gaea and Kyna? You know I value your opinions as well as Thalia’s.”
“His teeth were white and his belly flat. Good reason for a man his age to strut.” Kyna winked, pulling at her thread. Her emerald eyes were full of cheer.
“He reminds me of a certain young miss with his fiery temperament. I can’t recall who though!” Gaea kidded.
“For shame Gaea. I am the pinnacle of lady like decorum and propriety!” Isabella lied with a straight face, causing us all to laugh at loud. “’Tis not my fault that my parents chose to have me associate with dolts and dimwits, whose very mere attendance urges my more uncouth instincts to the surface.”
“Rest assured mon ange the choice of associates will no longer lie with them. It will soon lie with Hugh.” I reminded her softly.
Isabella chewed on her lip as she considered her future. “Hugh, my intended. Tomorrow he shall be my Lord and husband, a fair man in possession of the majority of his teeth and hair. Pleasing enough to look upon.” Isabella’s once chipper voice turned brooding. “I shall do my duty and become his chatelaine. Still, I cannot help but compare him to another. Ah, c’est la vie. England’s king has vexed me sorely and yet I cannot help but wish it were him I were meeting on the morrow. But it will do me well not to think of what cannot be. Tomorrow I will marry Hugh.”
Looking over my charges head I smiled at my sisters. The light Isabella and John had given off earlier in the evening had been near to blinding. Like lightning streaking across the sky, the effects left the viewer dazzled and wanting more. Such were Isabella and John. The sparks of their meeting enough to set the castle on fire.
John was used to getting his way and if the look I’d seen in his eyes tonight was any indication, my angel would be no different. She would be England’s next queen.
I couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
Chapter 14
Bright Idea
Done in from a weekends worth of restless nights spent fighting the inevitable, I was in no hurry to get up Monday morning. After dreaming of Isabella I awoke hours before my alarm clock. Finding my way back to sleep became impossible. So in the early morning hours I grabbed a faded blanket seeking refuge on the hammock that took up the majority of my second floor balcony. Various potted herbs and flowers filled what was left of the small space with their comforting fragrances as the sun made its early morning ascent. Using my toe I pushed myself into a sideways swing.
I didn’t fail to see the similarities between myself and Isabella. She hadn’t been too fond of John following their first face to face meeting and it didn’t seem beyond reason to think that Danton shared the same sentiment. I’ve always been too nosey and impulsive for my own good, and don’t like confrontations if they could be avoided. But by avoiding this confrontation, it meant avoiding Danton and unfortunately he was the one person I realis
tically couldn’t avoid. Hope had resorted to drastic measures to avoid her last two loves and was currently paying the price; measures I refused to even consider. Truth of it is Danton is to be my partner, for better or worse, in this life. But that didn’t mean I had to like it, did it?
I made a face, as if I’d just bitten into a preseason persimmon. My lips drawing together, my nose wrinkling up. Not that I was opposed to the man, just the current situation. I mean, what do I actually know about him? Nothing, absolutely nothing. And there in lay the crux of my problem.
I had known nearly all of my previous husbands since childhood or birth and they had all started with infinitely more favorable introductions. We had traveled in the same circles, known the same people. We weren’t true strangers who didn’t know the first thing about the other.
To me, Danton was essentially a stranger and what I did know about him was that he didn’t think to highly of me at the moment. Knowing that triggered all kinds of cowardice issues that I didn’t want to face.
Needing to think this through I came up with two ideas that had the possibility of leading to a deeper insight into the world of my future husband.
My first idea was to find someone who knew us both and get them to dish. The tried and true female tactic of gossip never failed.
The only problem was that I’d never heard of Danton DeAngelo before his introduction at dinner Saturday night and the only person I knew who could possibly have any info on the man besides Mr. Dillon was Everett, and there was no way I was touching that can of worms with a ten foot pole. Everett would be busy wooing Melanie and I certainly didn’t want to interfere and chance having him being branded guilty of wedding crashing by association. Melanie was a woman and being one myself, I wouldn’t think too highly of the person that I would come to associate as the crasher of my wedding, even if it was for my own good.
There was Hope. I could tap into her innumerable sources as Maryland’s number one matchmaker, but there was no way I was paying her fees.
Besides, I’ve done this thing a time or two, I reminded myself. I knew how to go about acquiring a husband. After all I’ve been married… I held my fingers up to count.
“One…four…six… nine.” Nine different times. Add in the possibilities of matrimony with Danton and ten marriages in eleven lives was a pretty good track record if I did say so myself. It had to count for something, and because it did, there was no way idea number two was going to work.
A step up from personal gossip, idea number two fell into the more shady area of stalker-ness. Like an obsessive fan I could hit the web googling his name, reading each and every article posed. I could pay for a background check and find out where he lived, the address of where he worked, and all other pertinent information that would have me winning the war of strategic planning.
Unfortunately it was too much like spying and lying, and for a relationship that had to be completely and without reservation based entirely on trust, it wouldn’t work. I already had one large black mark working against my favor. I didn’t need another one.
Besides that, it would take all the anticipation out of it. Like reading the ending of a good book before reading it from the beginning just so you wouldn’t be surprised; it was a spoiler.
I needed to come up with an idea number three. Unfortunately it would have to wait. I’d been up for hours and my stomach was beginning to protest the fast, answering my voiceless thoughts with growls and grumbles of its own. Shuffling into the kitchen I went in search of food.
Nursing a cup of coffee and nibbling on a bowl of fruit salad and bagel slathered
with cream cheese, I gave my third idea some more consideration. I could spend all of my free time at the golf course. I was bound to run into him sooner or later. Then again, idea number one had merit. I could always ask Hope, she was bound to know someone who knew someone who knew Danton, but did I really want to go there? Our relationship for the past three hundred years had been slippery at best.
Stabbing a piece of melon I gave the golf course angle some more thought. It would take care of two birds with one stone, I was bound to make par with all the extra practice and would eventually come face to face with Danton.
Golf course, Mr. Dillon. “Wait a minute.” I said aloud, setting my coffee cup down, my brain tingling with an overlooked piece of information. Where was it the old pro had said Danton worked?
“DeAngelo Advertising.” I answered myself, the name ringing a distant bell. “Hot dog,” I yelled, jumping up from my table. Scurrying into the foyer I snatched my red side bow Valentino tote off the highboy. My totally awesome purse was currently doubling as my briefcase, as indicated by the bulging files crammed inside. Ripping out the file; papers scattered all over the floor.
On hands and knees I searched through the mess until I found the one I needed.
“Aha.” I shouted triumphant, coming up with the found document, waving it like a banner.
There it was DeAngelo Advertising; third from the bottom of my list of companies I had appointments with this week concerning the handling of advertising for my museum’s new display. I kissed the sheet I held in my hand. “Fate is divine!”
The listed appointments had been made a year ago, before the Art and Antiquities Museum actually had it in their budget for this scope of advertising. I should know, as the Founder, President, and Senior Curator for the Art and Antiquities Museum, it was a budget I’d agonized over; watching every nickel, squeezing out every penny to make sure our second year in business was a success.
A resounding success as it turns out, thanks to the good people of Baltimore and a hefty tourist season brought in by the multi-faceted delights of the Inner Harbor. They have been very supportive of our little independent building of yesteryear. I can only hope that with the huge chunk of allocated monies that I was putting toward publicity that it would pay off big time. I had dreams of one day expanding my little house of history to a size that rivaled that of the Smithsonian. Hey, if you’re going to dream, dream big!
Clad in my dragon printed robe I sat back on my heels to reorganize the papers littering the floor. Multiple copies of press packets that I’d spent weeks putting together were now a scattered mess. There was the company summary, various photos and newspaper clippings, budget proposals, pie charts, positive quotes from our website. Anything I could think of to better increase the chances of a lively bidding war between the dozens of agencies that would battle it out at the tail end of the August.
“May the best agency win.” I declared, slipping the reordered piled back into my bag before heading to dress for the day.
As I picked through the disarray of silk, cotton, and denim that was my clothing closet, I couldn’t help but think that my earlier statement that fate was divine might have been a bit much.
Settling on a more conservative look for the day, I took out a sky blue one shoulder asymmetrical tiered dress, and pencil thin red belt with me to the bathroom.
If fate was truly divine, my first meeting with Danton would have been this coming Friday during our two o’clock appointment, not crashing Melanie DeAngelo‘s wedding. Those crazy women sure had a crazy sense of humor.
Pondering the course of this imaginary meeting, I started my make up.
Like at the church, our eyes would have met from across the room, the attraction instantaneous and undeniable. When we shook hands, our touch would have made the world stand still and when it began to spin again, everything would have been right. As simple as pie.
I snorted a great gust of cynicism, sending powder all over the sink. If pie was simple, my actual first face to face with Danton was bound to be as complex as a flambé. All smoking and hot, nothing but pure combustion. In that case, the element of surprise would work greatly to my advantage.
Back at my closet I picked out my shoes. If my clothing closet was a jumbled mess the only point of order, like the eye of a hurricane, was my ruthlessly organized wall shelves filled with my one true obsession. Sh
oes.
I might spend most of my income on my fast car and high priced footwear, but when it came to everything else, I was not afraid to hit the thrift stores and consignment shops. A girl had to understand the price of fashion, the monthly limits of her checking account, and be willing to make her choices accordingly.
Stepping into my nude Christian Louboutin’s I contemplated the newest turn my thoughts had taken. By the end of the week I would be coming up against my future husband on his own turf. This alone put me in a precarious position and it would take a great deal of strategy to plan accordingly. Of course as my better half it could only be beneficial to Danton and our growing relationship if his company was the one who won the bidding war.
So how exactly did one go about setting up the winner, while seemingly offering the other opponents a fair chance?
Hmm, maybe the addition of a certain staff member’s bio, specifically the President’s, could help to weigh things in the museum’s favor. Like a cat tempted by the scent of catnip, how could he resist? Oooh, but what if he did resist? Maybe offering free passes to each company would encourage them to stop by and see our displays first hand before making their final decisions would work. If they were any kind of smart, they’d have thought of the same soon after I made my presentation and taken it upon themselves to stop in for a little look-see on their own.
I paused in the act of searching through my tote for my sunglasses and car keys. What if there wasn’t an answer? What if I had to just leave it up to kismet to influence Danton’s decision to seek me out again? What if I could only rely on my stock pile of undeniable charm, charisma, and indisputable allure as the one who got away to do my work for me! Egad! I was giving myself a headache.
To be on the safe side, I decided that it couldn’t hurt to do a more in depth study on DeAngelo Advertising. Fore armed is fore warmed, right? With Danton as my adversary in both love and business, I would certainly need all the help I could get.