He guided her over to a store with wide, tasseled scarves hanging from hoops and picked up a bright blue one, Bianca’s favorite color. He let go of her long enough to slip it off the rack and around her neck.
“Oh that’s pretty.” She ran her fingers over the fabric.
He grinned and dug cash out of his pocket. He liked being able to buy her small trinkets. It had been years since he’d been dirt poor, barely able to keep himself fed and housed, but the sense of pride at being able to buy a luxury never got old. Especially when he could buy it for his wife.
Bianca waited by the rack while he paid, her hood tossed back and the scarf hanging around her neck. She went up on her toes when he got close enough, braced her hands on his shoulders and kissed him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Do you like it?” He draped one end of the scarf over her shoulder.
“I do.” She dropped back to her heels and gave him a saucy wink. “You can’t buy your way out of punishment though.”
“I wouldn’t dream of escaping your punishments.” Maybe the bullet, he’d skip that if he could.
“Come on, let’s kick this contest’s ass.”
They strolled hand in hand up the cobble walk, the golden gates of Versailles framed by a pair of quarter-circle arches rising out of the ground, so tall they would dwarf a semi. People streamed through the gates, so small in comparison to the scale of the palace.
“Oh my gosh.” Bianca’s stride slowed until she stopped, her chin tipped up and eyes wide.
The palace was impressive, like something out of a movie he couldn’t begin to wrap his head around. All that space, and what did people do with it when they lived there? He’d shared a bedroom with at least three other boys most of his life. Even after he’d moved out of foster care he’d lived with other people, halfway homes, roommates and even a short stay in dormitories at college.
“Let’s get a picture.” He grabbed the digital camera from the side pouch in the backpack.
Bianca threw her arms around his neck and squished her cheek against his. He held the camera up to try to get some of the building behind them while keeping their faces in it. It was cheesy and every other tourist was doing it as well, but he didn’t care.
“Perfect,” she pronounced.
He peered at the screen. He’d cut his chin off and the side of Bianca’s head, but it still showed the important parts, their smiling faces and the gold gates of Versailles behind them.
“Where do you think the clue is?” Bianca pulled her raincoat off. The clouds were clearing up even more and the sun was turning the plastic into a self-bake oven.
He slipped his off as well and jerked his head toward a building that appeared to be an entrance, complete with lanes and metal detectors. “Why don’t we try there?” He held out his hand.
Bianca shrugged and slapped her hand into his. “Sounds good to me.”
Most of the employees were already dealing with large groups of tourists, but they managed to find one who wasn’t engaged.
“Excuse me?” Clay ducked his head and smiled at a petite older woman.
“’Ello,” she said, flashing them a pleasant smile.
“Hi, we’re doing a race. We’re supposed to look for one of—hey, Bianca, where’s the envelopes?”
She was already digging in his pack and produced the day’s first clue. “Here, envelopes like these.”
The woman took the blue envelope in hand and turned it over, her brows rising. “Oh yes. See Luc, there.” She gestured to the shortest line portioned out by plastic stanchions.
Relief bubbled up in his chest. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you. Come on, B.”
They jogged up through the empty line, peering at all of the name tags. There were free-standing metal detectors and security staffed, with little else to offer at this point of entry.
“Luc?” Bianca said loud enough to draw attention.
A tall, blond gentleman stepped away from one of the computers and approached them. “I am Luc. You would be racers, yes?”
“That’s us,” Bianca said with uncharacteristic perkiness.
“This way.” He directed them to follow him to one of the metal detectors where he produced an envelope.
“Thank you, very much.” Clay took the clue and ripped it open. Bianca gripped his arm and peered over his shoulder. The excitement was palpable.
Inside the blue envelope were tickets into Versailles as well as another piece of cardstock. He handed the tickets to Luc, who scanned them and gestured to the conveyor belts that would carry their things through security.
“Enjoy Versailles.”
He dropped the backpack in a tub and let it go. He made it through the metal detectors with no issue at all and turned to Bianca—except she hadn’t even put her things through security yet.
“B, come on.”
She glanced from the attendant behind the bank of monitors to him, worrying her lip again. He’d never seen this habit more than he had on this trip. What was bothering her?
She placed her bag in the bins and made her way through the metal detectors with no beeps whatsoever.
“What is it?” he whispered.
Bianca shook her head, intent on the security person who peered at the screens. Luc glanced at them and over the head of a woman sitting behind the monitors. He said something to the staff and strode toward them.
“Excuse me, can we look in your bag, please?” Luc stopped across from them, the silver table between them.
“Sure.” Yet she cringed.
The bag emerged from the x-ray and rolled toward them. Luc pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and flipped open the top of the small backpack.
“Can I tell you what it is before you drag everything out?” she blurted.
Luc paused, his hand about to plunge into the depths of her bag, his brows arched. “What is it?”
She sighed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “There’s a larger vibrator in my bag, kind of egg shaped. It’s in a plastic bag.”
Oh shit.
Clay sputtered and turned away, unable to put a lid on his laughter.
“Shut up.” Bianca punched him in the kidney hard enough he winced and sidestepped. She pushed him and kept shoving until he staggered away. “Come on, I want to get going.”
“Sorry.” He glanced behind them and waved at the security guards who were watching them stroll onto the palace proper with uniform expressions of mystification.
“You are not sorry.” An adorable scowl marred her features.
“That was fucking funny.”
She took several steps before the corners of her mouth quirked up. “It kind of was. God, what else is going to go wrong this trip? What’s the clue say?”
“Oh right.” He dug it out and they paused so they could read it together. His heart fell at the bold words written above the clue. “Road block. Shit. Row, row, row, row, Marie Antoinette.”
Bianca stared up at him. “I’m going to assume I’m rowing someone across something. Just a wild guess.”
“Yeah, but what are we rowing?”
“Where am I rowing?” she corrected. “It is a road block after all.”
He grimaced. “Right. I guess let’s find a map?”
After minimal searching they found a map posted in a main thoroughfare that showed the palace and surrounding gardens. It was all much larger than he’d thought Versailles to be, with extensive walks and a huge decorative pond.
“I guess we’re headed there.” Bianca tapped a cross-shaped pool at the far end of the gardens.
He kept his concerns to himself, but he couldn’t help but wonder what rowing a historical figure was going to entail. Bianca was a tough cookie, but water sports weren’t something they had ever been interested in, and physically this would be the most difficult task set to them yet. Why hadn’t he let her do the Opéra challenge?
They circled the side of the palace and entered the gardens. Water-logged gravel crunch
ed underfoot and flower beds manicured to within an inch of their lives spiraled away from them in geometric designs. The air was still thick with humidity but perfumed with the scent of rain, flowers and rotting garbage. Two shallow rectangular reflecting pools stretched away from the palace toward the rest of the grounds. People milled around, some in organized groups on tours, others on their own.
Huge stairs stepped down two levels. A fountain with gold statues held court on the mid-level and beyond, wilderness met organization. Marble statues lined the walks. Everything was stately and perfect. Even the huge Grand Canal off in the distance. Where people were rowing.
“Holy shit, what do you want to bet we have to go all the way out there? That looks like a mile.” She groaned and leaned against his shoulder.
How was she going to row a person across that pond?
“You can do it, babe.” He patted her ass. If he could keep it upbeat, maybe she could do it.
They lapsed into silence, climbed down the marble stairs and skirted the fountain. If it weren’t for the challenge ahead of them, strolling around the gardens would be an enjoyable way to spend the rest of the morning.
Bianca broke the silence first. “Who do you think is here?”
“Mike and Jen at least. Maybe Kevin and Heather? We had forty-five minutes on them though.”
“Where do you think Jason and Amy are?”
“They would have left half an hour ago, maybe.”
“Then they’re probably almost here.” She glanced away from him.
“What’s up?” He rubbed between her shoulder blades.
She glanced away from him. “I just feel like I let you down. We had a lead and now we’re probably losing.” His stride faltered. Bianca took two more steps before pausing to look over her shoulder at him.
“B, you didn’t let me down.” He closed the distance and grasped her shoulders. “Didn’t we agree we’re having fun here?”
“Yeah, but—”
He shook his head and hugged her. She was so resilient sometimes he forgot she had doubts too. “I don’t care about winning. And I’m never disappointed in you. Don’t ever say that. You’re everything I could ask for in a Mistress and a wife. So we messed up. We did it together, right?”
She squeezed him and buried her face against his chest. “Who is supposed to be giving orders here?”
“You, sorry. Can we call that a husband moment?” He stroked a hand over her hair.
Bianca cupped the back of his neck and kissed him, slowly, lingering on his lips. “Thank you. I am my brothers’ sister.” She stepped back and offered him her hand.
“I’m okay with that. A little healthy competition is good.”
“I don’t know that I would call what my brothers do—healthy.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
They strode down the path hand in hand toward the canal. To the naked eye, it was deceptive how far it was from the palace to the edge of the water. The walk alone was enough to work up a good sweat, and Bianca still had to row across the damn water. Between the walkway and the shore, several people in historical dress were sitting at tables and strolling back and forth. A few even posed for pictures with tourists. They stopped at a swag chain that partitioned off the gravel from the grass.
Bianca glanced at him, cleared her throat and announced, “Hi, we’re trying to find Marie Antoinette. We’re the racers.”
A man wearing a raspberry frock coat and enough lace to outfit a bridal party approached them and stopped. “Ah yes.” He spoke with no accent. American student with a side job? “One of you will need to row your partner and an additional passenger across the Grand Canal and return.”
“Are you serious?” Clay asked, unable to hold it in. Herself he understood, but with two additional people?
Bianca smacked his ribs. “Has anyone else started?”
“One team is already out on the water,” the bored student replied.
“Okay, let’s get going.”
They were outfitted with life vests and handed into a small, light rowboat. Bianca sat at one end, he and the American-French impersonator on the other.
“How do you even do this?” Bianca stared at the oars, seeming baffled.
“Shit, you’ve never done this before, have you?” the impersonator groaned. “Okay, put your hands on the oars. You want to move them at the same time, or else you won’t go in a straight line.”
“This is fucking ridiculous,” she growled.
“Hold on.” The impersonator held up his hand and turned toward the other costumed folk. “John, donnes-nous un coup de main?”
A larger man separated from the group. He nodded at them, said something to their guide and gave the boat a shove. The small craft lurched in the water, and it was that much less distance they had to row on their own. Then Bianca had to row.
She shifted the oars as she got settled on her bench. “Okay, tell me where I’m going?”
The oars hit the water with a splash, slightly off and they swerved.
“Good, try again.” The impersonator unbuttoned his jacket and pulled at his shirt collar.
She shifted her grip and the oars slid into the water with little resistance this time. She leaned into the stroke and grunted, but the boat shot forward with only minimal fishtailing.
“What are you guys doing this for? I’m Ben, by the way.”
Clay shook his hand. “Clay, and this is my wife, Bianca. Her family does these races every vacation.”
“Really? That’s wild.”
Bianca muttered curses under her breath as the boat shot off to the right instead of straight. She dug in again and got them going in the right direction.
“You’re doing great, B.” Keep it positive. This was the toughest challenge and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t held out for this.
She didn’t respond. Her brows were drawn down into lines and her mouth was screwed up in concentration. The boat coasted along, swerving a little, but holding steady for the most part. She seemed to have gotten the hang of how to row.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” a booming voice sounded out over the water.
He winced. Michael. That was all they needed.
Sure enough, Jennifer was rowing away, their boat fishtailing wildly.
“Shit, Jen, what are you doing?”
“I’m rowing your fat ass, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“I told you to do more weights.”
“Shut your face.”
He withheld any comment as Bianca pulled them farther and farther away from the other couple. Jennifer wasn’t moving anywhere near as fast or straight as they were, but she was hauling a lot more weight. Would his wife be in the same shape on the return trip? They should have left their packs on shore to reduce their load.
“You’re doing great, B.”
“So who were those people?” Ben asked.
“My brother-in-law and his wife.”
Chapter Nine
She was dying.
Fuck sweating.
Fuck rowing.
And fuck the stupid fucking race.
“You’re doing great, B.”
Fuck him too.
Bless Clay, but she wanted to smack his trap with an oar and dump him in the water. If this was a glimpse into what a delivery room would be like with him coaching her to breathe and push, tie her tubes now!
Fuck babies.
“Just a little further. We’re almost there.”
She panted for breath, sweat coating her palms and running down her spine. The boat wobbled a little as she lost her grip on one oar and dug into the water too much on the other side.
“It’s okay, babe.”
“Shut the hell up,” she groaned.
“You’re doing great.”
She paused to catch her breath and deliver a scathing glare to her husband. “Seriously, Clay? Just shut up. I know you’re trying to be encouraging, but I want to shove this oar down your throat right now. Ple
ase be quiet.”
He held up his hands. “Okay, whatever you want.”
“Clay!”
She sucked in a deep breath. Maybe she was being a crappy team player, but his cheering was grating on her nerves. Glancing over her shoulder, she groaned. There was at least sixty yards yet to go. Why the hell were they doing this?
Oh right, because she loved the stupid man across from her and doing the damn race would make him happy. And where he was concerned, she was a sucker. Not that she would ever allow him to know that. It would ruin their Dominant/submissive dynamic.
She wiped her palms on her tights and began the backbreaking work of yet more rowing.
“Just so you know, Kevin and Heather are getting in a boat right now,” Clay muttered.
“Ug, this blows.”
She mustered her waning strength and tried to go faster. The boat wobbled more than it had when she began, her muscles screamed and she had no idea what direction they were pointed anymore.
The boat jolted and she almost slipped off her bench. Had Kevin rammed into them? She wouldn’t doubt he would.
“Great job, B.”
Clay grinned at her while Ben grabbed the oars. Her poor hands were cramping and frozen in the exact shape of the handle. Her arms and back ached.
“Huh?” she twisted to glance behind her. “Oh thank god.”
The green grass spread out, dotted with yet more gawking tourists, except now they were watching her, as were the other impersonators. They’d actually made it through the damn challenge.
“Here’s your clue.” Ben handed Clay an envelope and she couldn’t have been more relieved.
She crawled out of the boat aided by two attendants and collapsed on the grass, rolling to her back. She sucked in deep breaths and listened to Clay getting their stuff from the boat and chatting with Ben. She didn’t care about anything except not moving.
“B, come on, babe. I got you.” He grabbed her hands but she snatched them away hissing. “Shit, are you okay?”
She cradled them to her chest and nodded. “They just hurt. Give me a second, okay?”
He crouched next to her and didn’t say another word. He didn’t have to. Clay practically vibrated with an anxious excitement to be off. Good lord, she’d married a guy from the same mold as the rest of her family. She chuckled and held out her arms. He grasped her wrists instead and levered her to her feet.
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