Forbidden Marquis

by Victoria Pinder

Clara started to go into economy parking, but Rossie shook her head and said, “Valet and I’ll pay.”

  Her best friend recoiled as if she’d been slapped, but she didn’t say a word. Clara drove her old sedan to the front door and jumped out of her seat.

  Rossie studied the passenger door, unsure how to open it until Clara opened it from the outside. Rossie handed the valet her credit card, who then brought her bag from the trunk.

  She couldn’t wait to change and no longer look like a runaway bride. She took the handle and her card back after the valet ran it through his scanner.

  Clara handed him the keys and followed her inside, carrying a small handbag as she said, “You said Alberto fit your lifestyle when he proposed on his friend’s yacht.”

  Money wasn’t an issue. Rossie's business paid well though Alberto’s business was failing, not that she let that be known. Now he didn’t matter at all. Once they were home again, Rossie would help Clara with her resume.

  Clara needed a better job but for now they would enjoy Paris. Rossie led the way into the nearest women’s bathroom. Without asking, Clara helped her unzip the wedding dress and pushed her bag into the stall as Rossie said, “But I don’t want to marry a man just because he has money.”

  Clara said through the stall door and clearly spoke so that Rossie heard above the water running in the sink, “You said you shouldn’t discriminate and say no just because he could afford more than you ever could.”

  “I was an idiot.” Rossie finished tugging up her simple cotton white dress she’d bought to change into at the end of the wedding. She looked at the expensive dress one more time and then carried it out, leaving it on the child’s changing station next to the trash.

  Clara checked that her dress was zipped and buttoned at the top in the back. Rossie let her and Clara said over her shoulder, “No. You’re the sweetest person I know.” Now, that wasn’t true. If she was sweeter she’d have helped Clara more lately, but Clara continued, “It’s why I’m here now, because you know I can’t afford even an economy ticket.”

  Now that she looked almost normal, Rossie looped arms with Clara and patted hers as she said, “You’re here so I don’t turn around and do something stupid to prove myself.”

  Rossie walked her friend to the kiosk and swiped her credit card which showed two first class tickets. She then scanned her driver’s license and had Clara do the same as she asked, “What do you mean?”

  With a few buttons, she now had boarding passes. Perfect. Rossie hit print as she said, “I broke up with Austin and then instantly fell in love with Alberto, ignoring all advice. In fact, you have two jobs when we get to Paris.”

  Clara helped her with her bag that was mostly just makeup to put it on the scale as Rossie reached in and found her carry-on and passport. “What are they?”

  The gate agent wrapped the baggage claim sticker around the handle and handed her the ticket. They walked toward security and Rossie whispered, “Keep me away from all men whose name starts with A.”

  Clara laughed, her small bag on the conveyer belt as she and Rossie waited to pass through the body detectors. “Okay, that sounds easy. There are twenty-five other letters.”

  For the first time in hours, Rossie laughed. Good. Laughing was better than crying and she didn’t want to ever cry. Once they'd both gone through, Clara grabbed her luggage and they hustled toward the international terminal. Rossie said, “And two…”

  “Yes?” Clara batted her lashes and for a second Rossie saw her friend’s eyes glisten with tears.

  Her stomach felt like she’d been punched. This wasn’t fair. She hadn’t meant to ever cry. She swallowed and shook her head.

  Their plane was already boarding. Rossie walked with her right toward the ticketing agent. “Have fun and try to get me to have some fun. I don’t want to think about today, ever, but at some point running in my dress is going to get to me.”

  Clara nodded as if she’d just made a solemn vow. Her throat ached--not good. Rossie wasn’t upset. She couldn’t be. She fixed everything, including weddings.

  Alberto was clearly the wrong guy but she’d get her life back on track, fast. And she’d do it without tears. Tears were for people like Clara, not her. Vulnerability was weak and Rossie Diaz was never that. And besides all that, Alberto was Mr. Wrong and didn’t deserve tears.

  Stephano Durnovo, the Marchese of Normanni, had lost the girl. His cheeks still burned.

  He was supposed to marry Chelsea. Sure, he didn’t love her. Love was a stupid emotion that didn’t really exist. But Chelsea had the breeding and knew how to run his estate.

  And she was broke. Marrying her had been the simple solution, but she’d chosen a no-titled French man and his life on a farm instead of him.

  Strange. Stephano adjusted the jacket of his soft black tuxedo and checked that his bowtie was correct. The stopwatch closed in on his thirtieth birthday.

  Tonight’s outing with Matteo and Astorre while in Paris would distract him momentarily, but Stephano had less than two weeks to find an alternate bride.

  Or he lost his estate, and his money, and his title.

  The truth was plain, he thought as he leaned closer to the gilt-edged mirror, and practically written on his forehead. He wasn’t born to be poor.

  His ancestors had decreed that he follow this law and marry. Thanks to Chelsea's defection, he now needed a backup plan for the backup plan.

  Matteo knocked on the door, expecting him to leave his hotel room as he said, “Stephano, hurry.”

  “I’m never in a hurry.” Stephano made sure that his shoes shined and that his wallet was in his pocket. Done, he stepped into the hallway and joined Matteo and Astorre. “But I’m ready.”

  The three of them walked out of the hotel that was once a royal palace in Paris, immune to the plush blue carpets or the renaissance art that took up space on the walls.

  To Stephano, life as it was right now was probably perfect—except that he needed to marry someone, and fast. Chelsea knew the role which was why he’d almost married her—he had to figure out his new, shorter, must-have list.

  Matteo held the door and the three of them took a limo. One of their friends, the very married but didn’t care Marie, was having a party near the Eiffel Tower.

  Stephano decided the first item on his list was decorum. If whomever he married was loose with her reputation, she’d cause too much gossip.

  Second on the list was someone who could at least balance her checkbook and not spend more than she had.

  It went without saying she’d have to be pretty, so third and probably last on his list was that she had to have conversational skills.

  Wait--he could teach running the estate if she had some intelligence, so that needed to be on the list too.

  While Chelsea had always been only a friend, she’d had all of those qualities. But at the last minute she’d chosen to marry for love, which meant he needed a replacement.

  In the limo, Astorre Manfredi, the Duke of Modena, asked, “Were you hurt that Chelsea ditched you for a nobody?”

  Stephano laughed and stared at his boxy friend with the square face and square shoulders. “I’d have to be in love to be hurt, which we both know is impossible.”

  Matteo dug out a bottle of wine that was in the mini refrigerator and set out glasses to pour, clearly getting the party started. “Chelsea was nice enough but I never understood why you decided on her anyhow.”

  All of them were in the same position. Matteo was the only one with a solid plan to do something. Stephano had been engaged like Matteo, until earlier today, when he’d been dumped the moment he'd arrived at her parents’ home, right there near the front door. He briefly closed his eyes as he tried to banish the memory from his mind and rubbed his temples. “I either marry in two weeks or I lose my fortune.”

  “I’m happy to be free of mine,” Astorre said with his hands in fists, resting on his knees.

  Stephano had no idea why his friend was so adamant about le
tting his fortune go, but he couldn’t imagine doing anything so stupid. He shook his head as he said, “Doubtful.”

  Matteo passed out the wine glasses and held his up as he asked, “Do you not have some ex-girlfriend as a backup?”

  A backup of a backup wasn’t on the list though perhaps it should have been. Most of the women he’d seen lacked the first prerequisite, and many would also lack the money management expertise. He clinked glasses with his friends and asked instead, “Matteo, how are your wedding plans coming?”

  Matteo sipped. “You’ll have the invitations this week.”

  Stephano couldn’t imagine marrying anyone he’d ever dated, but he swallowed another drink, and put the glass down. “So if I lose everything, can I stay on your couch?”

  Matteo’s eyes had a gleam of light in them as he laughed. “Our fathers would lose their minds.”

  “They’re dead. They don’t get a vote now,” Stephano said. Both of them growing up had heard how horrible the other was so when they’d met years later in school, they'd instantly decided to be friends instead of enemies.

  Their fathers had hated how their sons hadn't listened to them until the days they'd both died.

  His phone beeped as the limo stopped. He checked and saw Chelsea’s name on his screen.

  He straightened his shoulders and turned off the phone as Matteo glanced at his screen. “Chelsea still texts you?”

  Stephano tried to put his phone in his pocket, but Astorre grabbed it and read the message. With a smile, he told Stephano, “Chelsea has a name for you.” Astorre laughed and held his belly as he asked, “Did you pay her sister to find your true love?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Stephano answered fast, but his skin burned. He reminded himself that it would do no good to lose his temper with his friends.

  Matteo patted him on the back and asked, “So what’s her name?”

  Stephano’s shoulders were already heavy but they slumped even more as he met his friend’s gaze. “Does it matter?”

  Matteo held out his hand and waved for the phone as he headed out of the limo. “You have two weeks. Might as well check out the girl.”

  Matteo read the screen while waiting for them to get out. Astorre turned back to the limo as he asked them, “Do you have the wine?”

  As neither of them held the gift bottle, Astorre ducked into the limo and grabbed the unopened bottle to serve as their present to the host then came back to the group. “Yes, and Marie's party tonight will be stacked with enough liquor that you’ll forget your problems till tomorrow.”

  So, this was the end of his life as one of the richest men in the world. Even the businesses he’d started all went into the title that was about to pass on to a relative he’d never met. He looked at the bottle and not at his phone or his friend when he said, “Then I’m going out in style.”

  Astorre pointed to the house and the three of them started up the walkway though he asked Matteo, “Seriously, what’s her name?”

  Right. Supposedly he had a perfect match in the world and Chelsea’s sister was going to tell him her name from a computer program. Stephano kept walking as Matteo read whatever Chelsea sent to him. “Why?” He didn't believe in love.

  “I’ll make it a point to find her,” Matteo answered as he showed something to Astorre.

  Astorre's tone turned serious as he asked, “You’ll track this girl down by her name?”

  Matteo sent the files to his own phone with a firm, “Yes.”

  Both of his friends clearly intended to make fun of him on his last few days. Accepting Chelsea’s help meant he needed her, which he didn’t. So he’d ignore the name, but his friends wanted a joke tonight and who was he to stop them? He gestured toward the townhouse that faced the Eiffel Tower and said, “Fine, bring her to me and we’ll see.”

  Matteo already had information. “She’s cute in the picture.” Matteo offered him his phone.

  Stephano hesitated but then accepted it and put it in his pocket without looking. “I don’t care what she looks like. If she says yes then I keep my fortune and never have to see her.”

  And that was the truth. If he could keep his cash, he’d do anything.

  Matteo opened the door to the townhouse to lead them inside. Stephano took a moment to stare up and down the street, wishing the woman he needed would just turn the corner like some angel. No one said anything for those few seconds, but then Astorre pointed across the street and said, “I found her.”

  This must be a set up that Matteo and Chelsea had planned together. Telling him no to his proposal clearly wasn’t enough humiliation. What had he ever done to her? He peered across the street toward the Eiffel Tower plaza that had enough lights to illuminate all the tourists as if it were day to where Astorre pointed. “What are you talking about?”

  Matteo walked back from the door as Astorre said, “That’s her.”

  If he could make his friends laugh at his plight, then fine.

  Matteo checked the files he’s forwarded to himself as he asked, “Seriously?”

  His friend wasn’t that good of an actor, but tonight he was almost believable. Astorre waited till Matteo showed the picture on his screen and said, “Look at the picture.”

  Matteo then asked, “How did you do that?”

  Yeah right. Tonight was clearly make fun of him night. The actress across the street was part of some joke, but Stephano held his tongue and instead asked, “You two think I should just go over to that woman and ask her to marry me?”

  The women left the ticket counter and headed toward the Eiffel Tower.

  Matteo patted him on the back and said, “Offer her money if you need to.”

  At least the joke wasn’t planned to embarrass him in the middle of Maria’s party, so it was just them and whoever was across the street. Unless the prank included reporters? Well, everyone would know that he’d tried. He bowed to his friends and crossed the street without waiting for them. “Fine. I have nothing to do and it’s always a pleasure to be the laughing stock for my friends.”

  He dodged traffic so it took Matteo and Astorre a minute to catch up to him.

  They crossed green lawns and loitering gypsies as Matteo said, “Good, that’s the spirit. She’s heading up the Eiffel Tower.”

  “Let’s do it then.” Stephano glanced around for reporters.

  No strangers with cameras were downstairs, just the usual tourists. However, the women in question, one in an appropriate white dress, stepped into an elevator as the men paid for their tickets.

  Matteo said, “We just missed them.”

  Or the joke was up at the top of the Eiffel Tower. That’s what he’d have planned, if he’d arranged the prank, so he’d go along with the scheme and give his friends the pleasure of a laugh at his pending doom.

  He accepted the three tickets and then pointed them toward the elevator.

  A minute later they were riding up the side of the Eiffel Tower. Paris and the white lights of the city began to sparkle as twilight approached. As they rode, Stephano said, “It’s more romantic and ridiculous if we’re up there, in the moonlight.”

  “I didn’t know you were so thoughtful,” Matteo teased.

  Yes, they were intending to use him as tonight’s big laugh, just like they had played those pranks on each other for years, cultivating in college.

  The doors opened and Stephano gestured for his friends to get out first as he said, “Always here to entertain.”

  Astorre pointed to the woman in white. Her dark hair cascaded down her back as he said, “Well, there she is.”

  For the first time Stephano caught a glimpse of the actress. Matteo clearly knew him because the dark-haired beauty with the light olive skin tone had the perfect curves and her face shone. “What’s her name?”

  “Rosalind Diaz,” Matteo answered.

  Of course. She had the beauty of a rose as she stared at the lights like she cared about the view.

  And she was already dressed for a wedding, except
for a ring. Might as well entertain his friends. Stephano tapped on her shoulder. As she turned, he realized she’d even airbrushed her makeup on. He bowed. “Excuse me, Rosalind Diaz?”

  Her hand covered her heart. “How do you know that?”

  So they were going to play this game.

  Matteo said behind him, “Forgive my friend.”

  The other woman had lighter brown hair and was dressed in a pair of jeans. “What’s your names?”

  Stephano’s gaze never left Rosalind though. She truly was beautiful. Her brown eyes were open and she seemed kind, which struck him as odd considering she was playing a part. Neither she nor her friend were dressed appropriately for the chill of the wind up this high.

  He stopped himself from offering her his jacket, certain this joke would end soon.

  Stephano then gave his smile that usually attracted women as he said, “Ah, I’m Stephano Durnovo, Marchese of Normanni. This is Matteo Korbel, Count of Golchin and last is Astorre Manfredi, Duc of Modena.”

  Rosalind stepped back, took her friend’s hand and said, “Clara?”

  Her friend who must be Clara said, “Don’t worry. I’m here and I think it’s time for us to walk away from these gentlemen.”

  Interesting. Was Clara protective of Rosalind?

  Astorre then stepped in her friend’s way and kissed her hand. “Clara, now that too is a beautiful name. Can you give my friend and yours a minute so he can ask her a question?”

  Rosalind’s gaze seemed to pierce through something inside him. He was hyper aware of her as her friend asked in the background, “Just ask?”

  Fair. He’d need to play his part and wait for the big reveal. He straightened his shoulders and said, “Yes. Just talk. And if Rosalind says no then we disappear forever without another word.”

  Rosalind let her friend’s hand go and crossed her arms though she never stopped staring at him. “It’s fine, Clara. What is it you want to know, Stephano Durnovo?”

  Her American accent had no hint of fortune-seeking or care for his title. Usually the Americans he met loved to say his title, over and over again, when it wasn’t expected. Anyhow, he took a deep breath and waited for the big joke as he said, “I have two weeks to get married or I lose a fortune. I’ve been told you, Rosalind Diaz, are the perfect woman for me. So I’d like for you to marry me.”