A wasted life. And for what? To protect a prince who needs no protection. To save the soul of a man who refuses to be alive.
Esteban bowed respectfully to Alejandro and excused himself, an unnecessary motion as he could not be seen through the entourage.
Everything I do is unnecessary and unnoticed.
An official of the foreign office pushed his way through, handing Prince Alejandro a note. Alejandro frowned, crumpling the piece of paper in his hand. Esteban reached for the paper, which Alejandro deposited into his hand.
At least I can serve as a receptacle for garbage. Esteban turned to glance at the street in front of them, looking for anything unusual. He saw only the usual passersby who took an interest in the royal carriage, all with expressions of positive interest.
Sensing another presence, Esteban turned back—being accustomed to knowing Alejandro’s whereabouts at all times—he saw a child approach the prince.
Unconcerned with wrinkling his formal attire, Alejandro bent to his knee to address the child, almost comical in an Eton suit and wide, stiffly starched collar. The boy looked like a character out of Lewis Carroll’s “Through the Looking Glass”.
Prince Alejandro placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, creating a stir of approval. No one was supposed to touch Spanish royalty, so when royalty chose to touch, it was remarked.
Esteban smiled along with everyone else. But he knew something the crowd did not know: the prince’s heart had gone out to the child in remembering all the events the young royal had been required to attend which were not age-appropriate to children.
Alejandro's saving grace is his compassion. He could feel love for others, but he could not receive their love in return. He might intellectually comprehend his status with them, but he did not feel it.
In almost everyone Alejandro had trusted, he had been disappointed. And yet, he continued to give of himself.
I will support my king with my last breath. Esteban resolved to stand beside Alejandro regardless of the path he chose.
Esteban studied the boy, and for a brief instant in time he saw the child Alejandro had been: open, curious, sensitive, with an overwhelming abundance of love and extreme perceptivity.
Esteban turned away.
How much of that child is left?
13
Free I was born
“Free I was born
And free I will die”
—CARMEN by Georges Bizet
Palais Garnier
The Paris Opera House
March 21, 1903
His eyes glued to Carmen, he could imagine a man would give up everything—even his honor—to be the recipient of her desire.
For only an hour, to be wanted by this woman.
“My dear Countess, I agree with you, however I…”
The first time Prince Alejandro saw her he stopped speaking in mid-sentence. Everyone in his entourage immediately turned to see who had so thoroughly absorbed the prince's attention.
Ordinarily polished and precise in his presentation of the social graces, Alejandro forgot himself.
She is the most entrancing woman I have ever seen. Dark, lustrous hair framed exotic features from which eyes the color of the Mediterranean unexpectedly shone.
She was, simply put, breathtaking.
Bewilderment followed stupefaction. Alejandro was surprised to realize he did not capture her attention in return. He was fourteen years of age the last time a beautiful woman failed to return his regard.
The surprises continued, befitting of one who was casting a spell. She moved forward deliberately, not at all behaving as a woman of society whose every subdued utterance and delicate movement was calculated to win approval.
Alejandro had never seen a woman move with more confidence and sense of purpose. She brought to mind a sensuous harem girl who had spotted the sultan and intended to be first in his eyes, displaying all her wiles for him to see.
And yet, she had the air of one who controlled every encounter from start to finish; who belonged to no man.
There is a first time for everything, he thought to himself as he watched the woman in black glide across the floor. I have not failed yet when it comes to the fairer sex.
A smile formed on his lips. Perhaps it shall not be a wasted evening after all.
Alejandro was suddenly perplexed in realizing her style of dress was not in keeping with the attire of the other women present. She was undeniably in possession of the fashionable hourglass silhouette, but, even taking into account he was no expert on women's fashion—that was Esteban’s arena—she was dressed simply by every standard.
And yet his knees went weak as he watched her sway across the room—dazzling in a classically cut black silk dress which hugged her curvaceous figure, plunging lower at the bosom than style allowed, much to his satisfaction. She was draped in a simple lace shawl which did nothing to conceal her shape but, instead, only added to her allure. She had no other adornments except gold bangles at her ears and a gold cross necklace.
Indeed, she was dressed with less extravagance than any other woman in the room—and was by far more dazzling. Even her raven hair fell to her shoulders in something approaching disarray instead of being elaborately arranged atop her head.
Her coiffure was arranged in the manner a woman might wear in the boudoir. Certainly not in public.
Alejandro felt his anticipation growing.
It is only a matter of time until I succeed with this beauty.
“Excuse me, please. I beg you will forgive me.” He nodded distractedly to his admirers, making a less than cordial exit, something he never allowed himself. Who knew whom it might offend?
But I have no choice. It is out of the question that I should lose her.
“Who is she?” He motioned to Joaquin to keep pace with him. “How is it I have never seen her before?” He was suddenly aware of being pleased he had come to Paris, a rare and welcome sense of anticipation.
“I don't know who she is, your highness.” Joaquin shook his head. “Shall I find out?”
Alejandro’s eyes remained fixed on the woman in black who was clearly in a hurry. She moved past the grand staircase towards the box office while he pursued her, their combined movements creating no small amount of interest.
No, my first impression was incorrect. She is not the bewitching harem girl seeking the sultan’s approval. She was the seductress who had ingeniously spotted her way out of the harem and was taking her life into her own hands.
Despite the throng of people who were in the grand foyer, the crowd parted to make way for each of them.
Like Moses crossing the Red Sea, it was as if the waters separated in two directions as he hurried towards her. Alejandro smiled to himself as he rushed forward, amused at his unexpected delight in the scene before him.
* * *
Oh, for goodness sake, who is he and why is approaching me? It was little more than twenty minutes until curtain.
Until my life changes forever, until all my hard work culminates in one perfect moment, until…
Nicolette smiled at her own excitement. It was all deliciously true—and she needed to proceed back stage. Although she was in full costume, her heavy makeup had not yet been applied.
Nicolette glanced her pursuer’s way, his exquisitely elegant dress catching her interest. Definitely wealthy. Or dressed the part if not.
For a moment her curiosity overcame her ire. Even in a sea of almost identical evening wear, he definitely stood apart.
His dark hair waved over his ears from underneath a black silk top-hat, and his dark brown eyes were…Inviting. There was a regal, stiff formality about him, but both his forcefulness of manner and his muscular physique contradicted a life of idleness: his clothing shaped to his impressive build superbly.
And he has the most engaging smile I ever beheld. Combine that with the heat in his eyes and…
What am I thinking? I need to leave.
Now. Nicolette admonished hersel
f to hasten out of the grand foyer without looking back. Something about him…she studied him searching for the reason.
This isn't like me. Especially tonight.
He had the look of a notorious flirt. Dangerously virile. She never succumbed to any courtship by the extremely rich or notoriously handsome—and most assuredly not both! They had everything and nothing pleased them.
Why am I speculating on this man I don't know? He is nothing to me, and this is the singular most important night of my life.
As he grew closer Nicolette observed the unmistakable look of desire in his eyes. Well, she certainly was not going to be next on this dark lord's discard list.
Inexcusable! I allowed him to reach me.
And it was no wonder. He had almost leapt to her side, but now that he was here, he executed an elderly bow, as if he were suffering from gout.
How could a man with the superb physique of a sportsman manage so little movement?
She frowned. As if he didn’t wish to show her that much courtesy by bowing too deeply.
Nicolette allowed her eyes to rest on his thighs for a pleasant instant, muscular and lithe.
No infirmity there. It was preposterous, a young man—a vigorous young man—bowing almost undetectably, as if the effort tired him.
“Your servant, Mademoiselle.” His manner was polite, but his positioning—while executing the least amount of movement—prevented her from advancing. He reached for her hand to kiss it in a gesture of introduction.
She denied her hand; simply because she was an opera singer did not mean she owed men an audience or free access to her body.
He was clearly astonished that she refused him her hand, his practiced demeanor suddenly disconcerted.
"Mademoiselle, may I beg your acquaintance?" His smile was dazzling. It surprised her that he exerted the effort.
Why am I concerning myself with him? Nicolette raised her chin, her forced expression cordial but her mood anything but. In contrast to his languid movements which bordered on condescending.
And yet, in his eyes was the unmistakable look of raw passion. He lusted after the stage singer, as did many men. He assumed she was an easy target, eager to become the rich man's mistress, and subsequently not requiring his respect. The worst kind of suitor: one who intensely desires the woman while determined to teach the object of his desire her place.
“You may. If it pleases you.”
I know my place. And you will soon find yours, sir. Nicolette barely nodded but she kept her eyes glued to his face, growing increasingly annoyed with his effrontery. She was no man's student, nor did she wish to engage in any game and call it ‘love’.
Love must be love and nothing else. Like music, love must be pure and rich and encompass everything.
It must swallow one whole.
The elegant gentleman appeared startled at her dismissal.
Good. Something told her he was not accustomed to begging, or even asking.
“I would prefer to please you, Mademoiselle," he remarked slowly, his tone both tempting and bewitching, as if he were wavering between commanding and placating. "And how might that be accomplished?”
“If I have to tell you all pleasure is erased.”
“Excuse me?” He appeared startled, as if he had never been put in his place before.
Unfortunately, I cannot. “That is not information which should be necessary for me to reveal: one who was truly interested would discern it. ”
What is keeping me here? Nicolette didn't know why she hadn't simply turned and left.
He must see she was not at all impressed by him. Why this should momentarily stun him, Nicolette did not know. It appeared to be a new experience for him. True, he was exquisite and wealthy but this did not preclude rejection.
“Mademoiselle, have I offended you? The very idea pains me. Let us take the first step towards reconciliation and actually…meet. It is the greatest wish of my heart.”
Those residing in hell wish for a glass of water, but I should not expect them to get it. Nicolette lowered her eyes in an effort to hide her mirth. “And mine, I assure you, sir.”
Suddenly a formidable man appeared out of nowhere clearly intending to announce the gentleman's presence.
How outmoded! Nicolette smiled in spite of herself.
The newcomer displayed a practiced arrogance which implied the announcement was generally not needed but that she, in her stupidity, required it.
Her eyes moved to the attendant, who formed an odd sort of duo with the gentleman of consequence. He was a short, wide man, muscular and solid. He wore a complete black evening dress as was the accepted style of man servants, without the decorative braidings and facings. This lack of showiness was more than made up for in his hairstyle. He had a moustache which curled up at the ends. A single inch-wide line of dark hair ran down his chin, accentuating his poofy cheeks. His hair was slicked to one side. He wore a light scent of perfume, unheard of in a servant. All in all, he had the appearance of a bull who had been given a day at the beauty parlor and was vastly pleased with the outcome.
Nicolette returned her eyes to the elegant gentleman who cleared his throat, an apparent signal to her to answer him.
Still, she did not.
The page observed her lack of deference with an unconcealed desire to correct it. The scented bovine hovered beside her polished intruder in overt dismay, his moustache bobbing.
This delighted Nicolette all the more.
Much to her amusement, this was far more than his companion, the perfumed bull, could endure. The attendant grew red in the face and rushed forward, sputtering, “The crown prince of Spain, Alejandro de Bonifácio, wishes to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle.”
Oh, my. This is a most distressing development.
So she had refused to grant the prince of Spain his every wish, had she?
Well, not the best thing to do, Nicolette supposed, but he couldn't expect her to know who was demanding her hand.
Wasn't that who her parents were to meet…?
The little bull cleared his throat much more loudly than was necessary, commanding her to attention.
“Joaquin, I need no further assistance,” Alejandro commanded quietly but with a decided air of finality.
“Your highness,” she murmured in perfect Spanish, curtsying very deeply and bowing her head. Still, she did not offer her hand, which she now needed to maintain her balance in the required obsequious genuflection. “Please forgive me. I did not know. I am not much about town.”
The veneer of his polished expression wavered for the merest instant; his facade was so practiced and so exact, his clothing and appearance perfection, as if he had been parading as someone else almost from the moment of his birth.
I cannot like him.
And then the corners of his mouth formed a slow smile, with the merest laughter in his eyes, and for an instant her resolve to dislike him melted.
Just as quickly the steel returned to his eyes and her resolve returned as well. She pursed her lips.
Oh, this is all a waste of time. She had wished to inform the box office her parents would not be attending this evening as expected, her mother having caught a cold.
There is no time for that now. She assumed the box office would have it well in hand, but one did not like to be inattentive to details.
“Think nothing of it, Mademoiselle. That will allow you to forgive me for not knowing who you are. I beg you will enlighten me.”
“You truly do not know who I am?” Nicolette looked up suddenly in mid-curtsey, unable to suppress a giggle. He was here at the Palais Garnier Opera House, she was dressed for the leading role, and yet he did not know who she was.
She had thought it was all a guise. In light of his persistent pursuit of her name, now bordering on frustration, she was inclined to believe him.
“I am attempting desperately to amend that oversight, but I must beg your cooperation.”
She thought the page would have a
heart attack right there in front of her, his face turning red and white in succession in a sort of rhythmic fashion while remaining silent.
“How could I refuse you anything, your highness?” Oh, she was enjoying herself. “I long for you to know who I am—and I am determined that you shall!”
“Excellent news.” He frowned.
She looked up at him, searching his eyes. She wanted to believe he hadn't sought her out because he thought her a loose woman—though she couldn't fathom why she should concern herself with the inner thoughts of a spoiled royal.
Her index finger lingered on her lips as she studied him. He seemed familiar somehow.
I know I have never met him.
“Oh, I comprehend…” she murmured. She stifled a grave disappointment as she suddenly realized the reason he did not know her.
She was the understudy. It was not her picture which was plastered everywhere: it was Melba’s, the star soprano of the Palais Garnier. The leads—the stars—were generally older. By the time they warranted the lead roles, they didn’t always look the part of the roles they sang. Melba was unquestionably attractive, if not sensual, but she was small, delicate—and blonde.
“I wish that I might comprehend as well,” Prince Alejandro murmured.
Why am I still here? The first bell sounded, indicating that patrons should exit the grand foyer for their seats.
I am Cinderella and the clock is striking twelve, and still I stand here, staring …”
“Are you a lover of music, your highness?” she asked, watching for his reaction. He had a pleasing manner now that she observed him more closely.
“I am a devoted patron, Mademoiselle.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “But I must admit I prefer the classics both in art and music.”
“The classics?”
“I do not actually understand the new music. Puccini and Verdi are much too modern for me. Forgive me if they are a particular favorite of yours.”
“Very much so.” She giggled. “If you find Puccini and Verdi elusive, you will not like Bizet, I fear, your highness.”
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren Page 9
