Forbidden Marquis

by Victoria Pinder

  “You’re kidding.” She dropped her hands to her sides.

  No reporter or photographer jumped out with a surprise. Awareness of Rosalind shot through him as he said, “I’m not.”

  She stepped forward, her eyes focused and her lips pursed. “Why should I believe you?”

  Maybe she wasn’t an actress. Goosebumps grew on his arms that this was all real as he said, “You can search my name on the Internet. We’re all from Avce.”

  Her mouth puckered in surprise. “Where the Americans are now princesses?”

  And reality returned. She'd just made the same "shocked" expression he’d seen in silly movies where the woman met a prince she’d marry. Rosaline had to be a paid actress. He nodded, slightly disappointed, and continued, “Yes, and the same program the princes used to find their brides has told me you’re my perfect match.”

  Rosalind threw her head back and laughed, clutching her belly. When she straightened she said, “Good thing my wedding today didn’t work out then.”

  At least one person now laughed--but his friends were silent. He turned and saw Astorre talking to her friend, the pair just a few feet back and not paying any attention to him and Rosalind. Matteo was on the phone, probably to call in the photographers. Stephano waited for the humiliation to start and widened his stance. “Wedding?”

  Her laughter slowly ended as she explained, “I was almost married about ten hours ago, but that didn’t work out. It’s why Clara and I are here now. And if we’re to get married, call me Rossie.”

  Clara stepped into his line of vision and asked Rosalind, “Rossie, are you serious right now?”

  She didn’t answer her friend and took his hands. A shockwave raced through him, a spark he hadn’t felt from a woman’s touch in years, or ever, if he was honest. Her eyes and expression were bright with amusement as she said, “Okay, fine. Let’s do this. Meet me here, tomorrow morning around ten. Bring the paperwork, including how much is in it for me, the justice of the peace and do what you need to do, Stephano.”

  So the joke was to be continued? He took his hands back though the spark fizzled once they stopped touching. He frowned. “I cannot possibly.”

  Rosalind’s shoulder went up and down in a coquettish manner. “Guess my friend and I will continue on our way as tourists then.”

  He grasped her hand and once again the spark ignited. He ignored the sensation as he said, “I’d need until noon. The ministry doesn’t open till ten.”

  She turned her earring and glanced at her friend, “Clara, can we hold off our lunch until after the wedding?”

  Clara’s flat tone said more than her words. “If you want.”

  Stephano’s skin buzzed as Rosalind let go of him and then nodded. “Okay, tomorrow at noon. Right here.”

  “See you tomorrow,” he answered, more than willing to see her again.

  But as she stepped onto the elevator and disappeared, he froze.

  Where had been the gotcha moment? The smell of roses still lingered from Rosalind’s perfume.

  Stephano met his friend’s gazes and didn’t know what to say.

  Astorre gave his huge smile and asked, “So, is the party cancelled tonight? You might need your beauty sleep.”

  Teasing. Good. Stephano swallowed and looked out to see the Seine in the distance floating through the city. He tapped his fingers on the bannister and turned around. “We do. The two of you are coming with me.”

  Matteo frowned. “At ten, I’m supposed to meet with my girlfriend’s lawyer for final arrangements of my own wedding. I’ll come after as soon as I can.”

  Interesting. If this was a joke, how had they not set up a time that fit in his schedule?

  Stephano’s hair on his arms stood. This might not be a joke. If he married someone as beautiful as Rosalind, someone who inspired desire, he'd have pleasure in his life. At this point that would be a bonus star on his list. “And you, Astorre. I saw how you looked at her friend, Clara.”

  Astorre nodded and then waved for them to join him on the elevator while he said, “There is vulnerability written on her face. I’ll speak to her again, if they both show up.”

  They left the tower and returned to the party. But Stephano, for once, wasn’t looking forward to a night of debauchery that didn’t matter. Time was ticking past and if on the off chance he could marry someone like Rosalind? He’d get to keep his home and everything he’d worked to create.

  It was worth coming to the Eiffel Tower with the papers requested tomorrow. She had a face he’d never forget, even if this turned out to be a bad joke that wasted his precious time.

  Rossie refused to say a word with strangers around them in the elevator.

  Luckily Clara understood. She held off with her questions.

  And on the ride down, Rossie took a few more deep breaths. Had she just heard this right? Marriage to a foreign noble.

  In high school she’d been voted the one most likely to have five cats and live alone.

  Okay, that hadn’t been her official high school prediction of her life, but it was written and signed in the yearbook by people who no longer mattered. Most especially Alberto.

  What happened to her with Alberto… now that should have been something she’d noticed.

  She’d helped in thousands of weddings, preparing the brides on their special day, and she often guessed who was going to make it and who was going to fail with pretty accurate measure.

  So why hadn’t she seen in the mirror that she was headed toward a disaster?

  Planning weddings was a bad career choice if she couldn’t see what was clearly so plain for everyone else to see.

  The elevator finally stopped and she and Clara exited. They walked up the street toward the metro and Clara asked, “Rossie, what was that?”

  Rossie let out a small sigh and then turned around to see the lighted structure. Up on the Eiffel Tower, the impossible had just happened. She walked backwards for a moment to keep it in her sights as she said, “A marquis just asked for my hand in marriage.”

  Clara tapped her arm and Rossie turned to face forward again as Clara said, “I saw, but you just left your own botched wedding. You’ve not dealt with anything. Why would you say yes?”

  Rossie ignored how she’d lit up like a Christmas tree from Stephano's brief touch. That wasn’t a reason to say yes. She strode in in exact match to Clara’s every step. “And if that duke guy asked you to marry him up there, what would you have said?”

  Clara directed them down the flight of stairs toward the Metro. “You and I are not the same and our situations are different.”

  “You mean you need money.” Rossie paid for the two fares.

  Clara winced like Rossie had hit her and Rossie dropped her shoulders and looked down at the tickets in her palm. But then Clara said, “Exactly.”

  Right. Rossie handed her the paper card to get through the turnstile. “I am not saying yes because I need money or want more than I have.”

  They made their way through a plain cement hallway, Clara's voice echoing. “Then why did you take this seriously?”

  Rossie’s footsteps sounded in the hall. They reached the platform and she still didn’t quite have an answer. If she married a stranger, she’d change her destiny. She’d no longer just be planning other people’s perfect day. She’d have her own. No one would ever think she was destined for loneliness. As the train made a loud screeching entrance to the station, Rossie said, “I don’t want anyone to ever feel sorry for me.”

  “Excuse me?” Clara asked as the doors to the train opened.

  They stepped inside and found two seats together. Clara sat first and Rossie’s shoulder bumped into hers as the train pulled forward.

  When Rossie’s father had left her mother, her mother had trained her to be tough. She’d said she only saw weakness inside her every time Rossie pretended to be a princess. Only a weak person, her mother preached, would care about what anyone said about her. Rossie had cried too many tears over other pe
ople’s opinions to ever do that again. “I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.”

  Clara spoke quietly, “I really don’t get what that means.”

  Yeah. Rossie’s confidence crumbled like old note paper about to be tossed in the trash. But she couldn’t let that be her. She wasn’t just roadkill on the side of the ditch of other people’s lives. She adjusted the hem of her white dress as the train pulled into the next station. “I can’t explain it.”

  Passengers left and more boarded. The next stop was theirs. Once the doors closed and the train moved again, Clara asked, “You’re seriously going to say yes?”

  Clara was her friend and her opposite. If their situations were reversed… well scratch that. Clara would never have been like her in the first place. She’d have never agreed to marry Alberto because she wanted to prove she could have a wedding. She didn’t need to validate her life based on getting a ring on her finger. And she didn’t care if she was seen without a hint of makeup.

  Rossie held onto the seat while the train took a turn and finally said, “If the terms are right and I get to say I’m a lady and never have anyone look down on me, then yes—I will marry him.”

  The train pulled into their stop and the noise of another train drowned out conversation. They both maneuvered their way toward the door that opened. People rushed out and more pushed to get inside. Once they were safely out of the madness, Clara walked beside her again and said, “Rossie, other people’s opinions don’t matter.”

  True, but if Rossie stopped moving, she’d see in the mirror a woman who wasn't as strong as she pretended to be. Alberto would turn this whole thing around as a reason for everyone she'd ever met to laugh in her face again. “You’re right. They don’t. After what happened, what difference does it make who I marry?”

  “We don’t have to ever see those guys again,” Clara said as they ascended into the street toward their hotel. If they stuck their head out the window and turned right, they could see the Eiffel Tower. They made their way on the boulevard and Clara continued in a low whisper, “We can simply go somewhere else at noon and skip the entire situation.”

  For a few minutes, Rossie didn’t say anything. If she simply wanted to go home and start making other brides look beautiful while on the inside ignoring the ugliness in her own heart she could do that. But did she want to?

  Her flats pressed against the clean white pavement of Paris’ streets until they reached the hotel door. Clara opened it and Rossie spotted the sign for the spa. She stopped at the front desk and said, “Tomorrow morning, we’re booking a spa treatment. I need to shine.”

  Clara shook her head. “You need to sleep. Maybe in the morning, you’ll see this entire thing is a bad idea for you.”

  She ignored her friend’s advice and quickly spoke to the attendant. Once done, she turned and told Clara, “I’ve made us both appointments.”

  Clara didn’t say anything until they entered the hotel room. The moment the door closed, Clara yawned and her tired eyes had purple shadows. “Good night.”

  Fair enough. The yawn was contagious.

  Rossie took the other bed and didn’t even wash her makeup off in her usual routine. Exhausted, she slept until the sun woke her up.

  She jumped out of bed and went through her morning routine. As the water from the shower splashed against her, the image of dying alone surrounded by cats played in her mind.

  No. Rossie refused to let that be her life--she decided that today she’d be European nobility instead.

  No one would ever think she was less than perfect then. She fixed her face a little with her makeup just to get down to the spa and finally emerged from the bathroom.

  Clara sipped a coffee but hadn’t cared to clean her face at all. Her friend went into the bathroom to get ready, so Rossie decided to use the Internet to see what she could find on Stephano. However, Clara emerged minutes later, clearly done. Since she'd paid for hair and makeup in the spa for both of them, Rossie didn't offer to help Clara before they left. She jumped out of her seat and headed into the hall. “Let’s go.”

  Downstairs, Clara grabbed a croissant in the free breakfast area and a cup of coffee before following her to the spa. “Are you still doing this?”

  “Yes.” Rossie spoke to the cashier about their appointments.

  Clara sat on a chair with her drink and nibbled on her croissant.

  Rossie waved for them to follow the cashier into the private women’s area, with lockers and benches. Clara said, “I think you should talk to your mother.”

  “Not until after I see the contract.” Rossie changed into her robe.

  Clara finished her coffee, placed the cup on the tray and then changed as she asked, “So you’ll get married without her here?”

  Rossie closed her locker and nodded. “She’d be the only one who might truly understand.”

  All her life her mother had told her to keep her head up and one day she’d prove everyone wrong. But then her mother had never had to face down people laughing at her as if she was a joke because she never fit in.

  Clara frowned but joined Rossie. “I guess. Look, if you change your mind, say I don’t know… ‘cookie’… then I’ll know that means we are leaving.”

  Rossie winked at her as they sat to wait for their turns. “But I like cookies. What if there are snacks at this impromptu wedding?”

  The doors opened and a female masseuse stepped inside and waved at them. Clara stood with her and said, “Fine. You pick the word.”

  “Diaper,” Rossie picked fast as anything with children was out of her depth. She hadn’t seen a child since she’d been one herself.

  They both waited to be directed where to go. Clara kept her voice low but asked, “What if he has a child already and that’s why he wants to marry you?”

  Ouch. Thankfully she’d looked him up online and no mention of a child was anywhere. “I looked up his information so I don’t think so. And your duke…”

  Clara’s eyes widened but she didn’t protest. “What did you discover?”

  Rossie looped her arm in hers and pushed Clara’s hair off her shoulder. “He is also on a timeline. Stephano must marry--so he was on the level. The same is true for the duke if you catch his eye.”

  Clara pursed her lips and then nodded in the distance to her masseuse. “I’m not putting myself out there like that.”

  Rossie let her go. “Too bad. I’d love for you to be a duchess.”

  “I’m not duchess material.” Clara quickly followed the masseuse into her own room.

  Rossie did the same.

  Three hours later, they emerged. Rossie’s shoulders were calm. Her hair was coiffed and her makeup perfected her.

  She could breathe, knowing she looked her best.

  Clara looked beautiful too, though she’d clearly directed a more natural look for herself.

  They returned upstairs to dress, and Rossie chose a flirty white cotton dress that she’d packed for her honeymoon. It was good enough for a simple wedding.

  As they walked onto the streets of Paris, Clara in step beside her in her yellow and green sundress, Rossie thought about the day ahead. Stephano’s simple touch sent something off course. Perhaps she shouldn’t touch him, but if she married him that would be impossible.

  Her lips pursed as they took the train.

  What would his kiss would be like? His lips appeared hard and demanding.

  The train stopped and they exited, heading toward the green grassy area surrounding the Eiffel Tower.

  Tickets in hand they took the elevator but as the doors opened, Clara tugged on her arm, taking her out of her reverie as she said, “Here we are. Last chance.”

  Rossie’s gaze scanned the deck and there he was. Stephano stood but pointed toward a bench. She swallowed, suddenly even more nervous. “There he is, and he has the papers.”

  Clara scoffed though she sounded less judgmental the moment she saw his friend, the duke. “This isn’t a dream. Let’s get you to you
r title then.”

  Rossie slowed her steps. The men were so close now. She whispered, “It’s not… okay, it is about a title, at least a little.”

  Clara held up a finger like they needed a minute and then pulled her out of the peripheral vision of the men as she said, “I wish you’d had time to cry over Alberto cheating on you before you jumped into this fire.”

  Rossie placed her hand on her heart. “Why would you want me to cry? That doesn’t sound nice.”

  Clara shook her head. “Dealing with your emotions and how you feel is a good thing. You then make healthy decisions based on wanting the new instead of avoiding the past.”

  Wow. People paid money to be told stuff like that. Rossie blinked but crossed her arms defensively. “I didn’t know you were a psych major.”

  Clara shrugged. “It was my major before I had to drop out of college a few years back.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Rossie said. The two of them had been friends forever but they led different lives and clearly Rossie was the one that talked too much. Clara hadn’t shared before.

  Clara sighed and pointed toward the men. “Now you do. And there is your prince of Avce.”

  Rossie hugged her. Maybe Clara was right, but maybe she wasn’t. Clara had a beautiful soul. Rossie was a cheap imitation in comparison, but she could and needed to be a better friend.

  They walked toward the men who were dressed in black suits that likely cost more than her monthly mortgage payment. Rossie stopped at the bench. Her eyebrows arched as she sat next to him and said, “Stephano, you’re here.”

  Clara stood with the duke near the bannister. The duke won Clara over with a cup of coffee. Rossie turned her full attention to Stephano.

  His dark hair and eyes were a deadly combination and her body temperature spiked. She fingered her rose-shaped gold pendant as he said, “I brought the contracts. I figured if you agreed, then we’ll proceed.”

  She let go of her necklace and reached for the papers. “Let me read.”