by Paige Elwood
The City of Love
Eternity Rings, Book 1
Paige Elwood
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 by Paige Elwood
Oak Valley Publishing House
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design & Interior Format by The Killion Group, Inc.
To all of us who truly believe in a Happily Ever After
Prologue
“Shhh,” the young man said as he pressed his finger to his lips while he pulled his companion into the massive cathedral. She pressed her pretty lips into a thin line to quell the tide of merriment that washed over her, driven by their rebellious nighttime adventure.
The smell of anointing oils and incense assaulted his senses and shards of moonlight pierced through some of the gigantic windows, adding to the ethereal feel of the place. He’d always been obsessed with Notre Dame. It seemed to call to him, singing a siren song. He didn’t know why, he hadn’t ever been a very pious man, although he believed in God and attended mass as required.
The girl, Marianne, had a dainty face and fair hair, more like one of the Norsemen than the slightly swarthier French. A tiny smattering of freckles across her nose and her cheeks added to her delicate beauty. The daughter of a Marquis, he’d courted her at several society balls. His father had hinted that she might be a suitable marriage match, but he’d balked at that. Was he really ready for marriage? No. He was young and wild, not to be tamed.
The girl’s fine dress swished and lightly dragged along the floor and brushed against the wooden pews. Her eyes sparkled in the fragile beams of moonlight that pierced the darkness inside the cathedral. Her cheeks were pink from the excitement of sneaking onto the grounds and into the cathedral at night.
They crept along the aisles towards the raised altar. A sound from the front of the cathedral startled the young man, and he pulled Marianne down behind one of the thick wooden benches. His knee banged against the stone floor as he hid, he swallowed a cry of pain.
She looked like she might giggle again, and he clamped his hand lightly around her mouth to warn her. It could be one of the monks, he thought, and there would be punishment to face if they were caught sneaking around in here, son of a Duke and daughter of a Marquis or no!
He waited until the sound passed, holding his breath as long as he could until he was sure they were alone, and then he stood, beckoning her further forward. At the foot of the altar, she stopped and gazed up at the large wooden crosses and statues that watched from the raised platform.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, but her eyes betrayed her desire. He hooked his hands around her waist and pulled her to him. He kissed her deeply, silencing her half-protests. She responded willingly, allowing his kiss to deepen and his hands to roam her back. Her own hands held onto him tightly.
“Is it true they have a piece of the real cross here?” she breathed when they came back up for air. Her breath tickled the side of his neck.
“I believe they do,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Shall we see it?”
She nodded, excitement shining in her eyes, tempered slightly with trepidation. If he would face consequences for being here, then she could face far worse for being here with him, without a chaperone. Her reputation would be much more easily damaged than his own. Guilt crept up on him as he considered this, but he shrugged the thought off. They simply wouldn’t get caught. And if they did, he could just marry her. It wouldn’t be all bad, right?
He led her to the reliquary, checking around each corner as they went. The place seemed deserted, but they entered on tiptoe just in case. The stone seemed to capture every tiny sound and amplify it through its huge open spaces. She was awestruck by the array of relics on display. From all over the world, Notre Dame housed some of the most important ancient relics outside of Rome. He wasn’t quite so interested in them, though.
He reached out for her and pulled her in for a kiss again, his hands first stroking her delicate blonde curls before roaming down her back to her small waist. She squealed and batted his hands away. “I’m not that kind of girl, Duc,” she said. “And we’re in the home of God.” Her big blue eyes were wide, taking in their shadowy surroundings.
He shrugged and pulled her back in for more. “Mmhmm,” he murmured, moving her back until she was pressed against the reliquary wall, their bodies so close together he could feel her heart beat against his own chest. He felt a little unsteady on his feet, and his own heart hammered in his chest at the danger of being caught and the excitement it provided.
He lifted a hand to her face. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met,” he breathed. She beamed in delight, just as caught up in the moment as he was. It was true, he found her beautiful. Was it love? He didn’t think so. He’d never believed in love. There was honor, duty, and pleasure. He wasn’t sure anything else could really exist between a man and a woman, but he could possibly be happy with Marianne.
A loud noise and a brilliant flash of light caused Marianne to jump nearly out of her skin, and his own heart beat at his chest like it was trying to burst through his ribcage. Pain ricocheted through his head, through his whole body.
“Edouard.” Marianne shook his shoulders, her eyes wide with terror, but he couldn’t respond. He could barely even hear her or comprehend what was happening.
He fell to his knees, his body no longer pressing against the girl, and she took the opportunity to gather her skirts and run as fast as she could. She didn’t turn back as she fled, and the young man could only watch her go, frozen to the spot with that piercing sound still ringing in his ears and resonating inside his skull. He winced, bringing his hands to his ears in a vain attempt to block out the terrible noise.
Slowly, after what seemed like hours but was probably only moments, the noise began to dim. He slumped to the floor, breathless and panting. He became aware of a cool hand on his forehead and opened his eyes, half expecting Marianne to have returned, but instead found himself looking at a priest. He should have been alarmed to have been discovered, but instead he could barely hold back tears of relief. He’d thought whatever had taken hold of his body might have killed him, but he was still here, still alive.
“Father?” he croaked. The priest held a goblet of water to his lips and he took a small sip, his throat sore and dry. He realized he must have been screaming. After
he’d sipped some water and felt well enough to sit up, the priest silently handed him a small pewter box.
Inside the box was a set of two rings and a letter. The rings were golden, set with tiny emeralds that sparkled in the vaporous light, seeming to pulse with life. He could sense they had power. He unfolded the letter inside the box, his eyes struggling to make out the words in the dim light. The priest lit a candle for him and the words slowly came into focus.
Before time began, before the ages, rings were forged to bind hearts eternally.
Your dismissal of love has been your downfall, but true love can be your salvation.
Your lack of faith in love has brought a curse upon you. Love is pure and not to be trifled with. If you allow your heart to be open, this set of rings will help you find a love like no other. Seek her through time with an open heart.
With this curse, you will be unable to truly rest nor find happiness until you find and choose your love, and she, in turn, chooses you.
These two rings will help you find your true love, and break the curse, but the path will not be easy. The rings hold powerful magic, enough to carry you and your love through time. But beware, your true form will not always follow you. You must help your love look upon the heart.
Attune your heart to eternal love and the rings will guide you!
He read the letter twice. Was he dreaming? Surely this couldn’t be real? He silently handed the letter to the priest, who had sat opposite him on the floor of the reliquary. The priest’s eyes scanned the letter, no trace of emotion on his face. When he finished, he folded it and replaced it in the box.
“It seems, my child, that you have much work ahead of you to redeem yourself,” he said.
“But how…?” Edouard still could not believe that this was real.
“There are tales of relics having great powers,” the priest said, “and it would seem that you are destined to use some of that power. Unfortunately, it appears that you have also wandered a little from your intended destiny.”
“Is the curse real?” Edouard asked.
The priest nodded. “It appears to be so, I should take it seriously if I were you.” The priest took one of the rings out of the box and held it out to Edouard. The young man took it, feeling a strange warmth emanating from it, and when he slipped it onto his finger it seemed like it had been created for him and him alone. He could feel the power in it, sense the ancient magic. The other ring was a delicate, feminine band. He put that in his pocket.
What had he done? How could he, of all people, find his one true love. If she wasn’t even of this time it was a cruel and impossible task. What did that mean? A lifetime of no happiness, no joy, that was a devastating burden to endure.
What would he do now? How would he find this one woman with the power to break his curse, and how exactly was this ring supposed to help? He could feel its power, but how would he use it? What was he supposed to do with it?
“How do I use this?” he asked the priest, holding up the hand with the ring on it.
“I do not know, but I am sure it will reveal its power to you in due course,” the priest said.
“What do I do now?” Edouard asked, miserably.
“Surrender yourself to your destiny and God’s hand will guide you,” he said.
He dragged himself to his feet, but dizziness overwhelmed him. The priest guided him to a pew and sat him down.
“Stay here, I will arrange to get you home,” he said. “I know your father, I will send word to his home.” Edouard nodded, although he dreaded what his father would say to the sorry tale.
His duchy was outside of Paris, and it was hours before an incredulous man appeared in front of Edouard. He recognized him as the stable hand, Charles. He gave him a weak wave in recognition, and the priest spoke to Charles in hushed tones.
“Your father is away,” Charles explained.
Edouard nodded weakly, but he was grateful that he wouldn’t have to explain to the Duke just yet. Charles and the priest helped him into the carriage that awaited outside. Charles climbed atop and took them back to the duchy.
Once there, the stable hand helped him to bed, draping Edouard’s arm over his shoulder and giving him some strength to tackle the stairs. He was grateful for Charles’ strong, slender frame to lean on. He got to his bed and lay back on it, fully clothed. He asked Charles to leave, thanking him for his assistance. Shortly after the door closed, tiredness overwhelmed Edouard and he succumbed, hoping to wake and discover this was just a dream. Though when sleep finally claimed him, he discovered the first power of the ring.
In his dreams he was able to travel, searching in any time, any era, for the woman who could break his curse. He spent what felt like hours searching to no avail. When he finally awoke, the ring was still there. It pulsed on his finger reminding him that the curse was indeed very real. He made a vow to himself. He would find the woman and rid himself of this affliction, no matter how long it took.
Chapter 1
Sophie gripped the handles of her suitcases, trying to keep the luggage and herself upright. One of the wheels on the heaviest case was damaged, causing it to careen off course the moment she stopped being careful about steering it. Maybe she’d treat herself to some new cases while she was here. Louis Vuitton, perhaps.
The task was further complicated by her very high, very glamorous Marc Jacobs heels. They clicked against the polished tiles as she walked, every step sending tiny shockwaves to her knees. In hindsight, perhaps a more practical pair would have been better. Navigating the bustling Charles de Gaulle concourse was tricky in these shoes.
People swarmed all around her, attempting to make their way through to the exit as soon as possible. They jostled around her as she tried to keep control of her balance and her cases. Her palms ached from gripping the handles, but she didn’t dare risk letting go for a second, lest the cases tipped and bowled over any of her fellow travelers.
Conversations floated in the air all around her, all mingled together in various languages. She picked out some fellow American voices and a couple of British accents. She was disappointed so far that she hadn’t heard any French, but she figured once she left the airport she’d have plenty of time to use the French she’d learned at university.
Most of the crowd around her were young couples, who were most likely here to make romantic memories in the notorious city of love. Everywhere she looked there were hands intertwined, arms hooked around waists. Anyone who wasn’t in a couple was dressed in classic business attire, weighed down with laptop bags and briefcases alongside their small wheel-along cases. In her black pencil skirt and pale green silk blouse, along with the incredible shoes, she supposed she looked like she was here on business too.
In fact, she was here on a kind of business—a personal mission, you could say. She’d spent so long listening to her friend’s tales of passionate, romantic encounters and wondering why her life never looked like that. She was twenty-five, single, not unattractive, so why did that side of life seem to pass her by? Nobody nice ever approached her in a bar, speed dating had been a total washout, and her brief foray into internet dating had provided her with nothing but amusing or embarrassing anecdotes to show for it.
Was it really too much to ask for, to be romanced and swept off your feet? Just once? So, one night a few weeks back, Sophie had booked herself a flight to Paris after yet another evening of listening to stories of Amie’s latest musician boyfriend, who had climbed onto the window cleaner’s equipment outside her tenth-floor office and serenaded her through the window. He was one in a long line of smoking hot guys Amie had dated since they’d both graduated from UCLA with degrees in fashion.
“Where do you find these guys?” Sophie had asked her.
“Honey, they find me,” she laughed, sipping her mojito. “Seriously Sophie, the only thing stopping you from hooking up is that you’re so… unavailable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sophie glared at the diminutive brunette.<
br />
“You just give off this vibe, like you don’t need anyone, and you definitely don’t need a man, or a relationship. You’re kind of emotionally unavailable…” Amie looked apologetic.
“I don’t give off a vibe,” Sophie bleated indignantly. “Anyway, isn’t that helpful for a brief, casual thing? Surely it’s the clingy desperate girls that deter most men our age?”
Amie shrugged. “That’s a myth. Men want to be needed. They believe in the idea of ‘the one’ just as much as we do.” She paused, catching Sophie’s derisive snort. “Ok, just as much as most women do. That’s my point. You’re the exception, and you confuse the hell out of them.”
“How does that even work? You always say your flings are meaningless.”
“They are, kind of. It’s the danger of them turning into something serious that actually makes it exciting.”
“That’s just ridiculous,” Sophie exclaimed.
Sensing Sophie’s annoyance, Amie had quickly steered the conversation on to other things, like Sophie’s new vintage fashion venture and Amie’s stressful job as a fashion buyer for a major department store. Still, Sophie couldn’t shake Amie’s words. She didn’t think she was unavailable. Was she?
That evening, after a few more cocktails and a growing sense that she was missing out on some of the more romantic excitement life had to offer, she’d booked a ticket to Paris on an impulse. Where better to have a fun, passionate affair than the most romantic of cities? In a different country she could be whoever she wanted to be. She’d show Amie that she wasn’t ‘unavailable,’ emotionally or otherwise. She wasn’t stupid, she wasn’t searching for a Mr. Right, just a Mr. Right Now. That was a reasonable goal, right?
Striding through the airport, Sophie became conscious that her sleek, fitted pencil skirt was beginning to ride up her thighs with each stride, bunching a little around her shapely hips. Her cheeks heated as she remembered the daring slit in the back of the skirt, and she silently prayed that it hadn’t ridden up to an indecent level. She’d have to stop as soon as there was somewhere to rest her cases and adjust it. She didn’t dare let go of them yet. In the meantime, she shortened her steps in an attempt at damage control.
