“I’m going to find the priest impersonator.”
“He’s got to come out these doors,” I said.
“Even if he’s disguised as a nun in The Sound of Music, we’ll spot him,” Cartwright said. “The place is emptying out.”
“He’s not headed this way,” Vivian said. She paused at a banquette next to the auditorium doors.
“How do you know that?” Cartwright asked.
“Milton Mertz would have wanted to congratulate his brother in person.” Vivian stood on her tiptoes, grabbed a few flowers from a bouquet in a vase on the banquette, and shook the water from their stems. “He went backstage. I’m going to find him.”
Chapter 12
VIVIAN
I slipped back inside the auditorium and made my way down a side aisle. I snatched some festive ribbons off a Christmas tree and wrapped them around the flower stems. Now they could pass for a proper bouquet.
I snuck a peek at our Playbill and told the guard at the side entrance backstage I was a distant cousin to Sophia Romano, the actress who played the mother, and was so very excited to tell her “Brava” in person. I pushed the point home by batting my eyes and slipping him a twenty Euro note.
Entering the backstage of an opera house might have been easy, but trying to figure out the lay of the land was a completely different story. There was a quiet but palpable post-performance energy backstage: art department members carried props, wardrobe techs pushed racks of clothes to their designated holding area. Everyone seemed to have a purpose; knew exactly what to do and where to go.
Funny, I felt the same way about my life. If I could find Mertz, and get my affidavit signed, I too could have a designated path. I could finally marry my beloved Maximillian, for good, for real, forever. Besides, it was the holiday season and people wanted miracles. George Bailey got his in It’s a Wonderful Life, the oil lit the menorah for eight nights when there was only enough for one, and I needed my Happily Ever After as well.
I made my way past a smattering of fans chatting with actors, their faces thick with theatrical makeup. I walked past dressing rooms with signs indicating the surnames of the performers sharing the tiny chambers. I was deep into the bowels of the theatre when I spotted a door cracked open, a sign on it that read, “RE” with a crown emblazoned on top. Laughter floated into the already boisterous backstage corridor. I leaned back against the adjacent wall so as not to call attention to myself and tried to peek inside.
“Re translates to King,” Leo whispered in my ear.
I jumped, my hand flying to my chest. “Thank you for the heart attack. How did you get backstage?”
“The guard was occupied with you, so I snuck in the other entrance. Is the priest impersonator in there with his brother the tenor?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have a clear view.”
A familiar voice spoke from behind the door. “I’m so proud of you, Andrea. I wish I could stay longer. We’ll meet up after the New Year’s, yes?”
“Tell me where and when. Thanks for coming. I can’t tell you how much it means to have you here.”
I peeked through the crack. “It’s Mertz all right.”
Leo leaned in behind me. I felt his warm breath on my shoulder’s bare skin. In the dark I smelled his scent. Masculine, protective; his cologne a heady mix rich with sandalwood and bergamot. Goosebumps formed on the backs of my arms and again, I wished Max was here. Concentrate, Vivian, concentrate. Wrong brother. Give your head a shake and concentrate.
“That poser, that priest imposter is hugging his brother,” I said. “What is wrong with him? How can he behave like nothing’s wrong? How can he act like life carries on when he has totally fucked us over? I’m jealous when I should just be angry.”
Leo squeezed my shoulder with his firm, muscular hand. “Come with me. We’re going to get busted unless we move.”
He held out his hand and I took it. He led me a few yards away from the dressing room and we crouched behind a large rack of costumes. “Why are we hiding? It’s Mertz. I know it’s Mertz and he’s leaving. We need to confront him now or he’ll be lost to us again. Maybe forever.”
“I got the affidavit from Cartwright. You stay here. I’ll handle this.” He straightened back up. “Shit, maybe I won’t.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Busted.”
“Signore!” A guard approached us, frowning. “No-no! Signore, non ti è permessdi essere qui!”
“Hand me the affidavit,” I whispered.
“Hand me the flowers,” he said.
Leo slipped the neatly folded document from his pocket, and passed it to me. We exchanged flowers for documents.
“Stay low. I’ll divert attention,” he said. “Signore! Grazie. I am here to congratulate the lovely soprano. She was brilliant. Sadly, I can’t find her dressing room.”
I tucked the document in my pretty bag as Leo walked away, the guard scolding him. “No, I didn’t know I wasn’t not allowed backstage. For what it’s worth, I’m Prince Leopold Rochartè of Bellèno.”
I waited until they were gone and made my way down the hallway after Milton Mertz.
I was surprised how many byzantine passageways and staircases the Venice Opera House had. It felt like I followed Milton Mertz down all of them, trying my very best to stay one short turn behind him.
I paused when he paused, flattening my back against unadorned walls lit only by a singular dim bulb overhead. I listened for his signature raspy breath because with this course of action I had no visual clues.
Maybe I should have just hollered his name. Perhaps I should have simply said, “Hey, remember me? I’m Vivian Marie DeRose, the woman you showed kindness to when I stopped by the St. Francis of Assisi Sanctuary. I was the bride in the pretty dress whom you married to Prince Maximillian. Did you know that you weren’t palace approved to conduct royal Bellèno weddings? Did you know you would ruin the beginning of my married life? Because if you did, that was a horrible thing to do.”
I picked up the pace, peered around a corner, and watched him shuffle away. When he popped out a back exit and made his way into an alley around 10:30 p.m. on this foggy, damp, cold-in-my-bones night, I followed him, shivering.
I kept my distance as he made his way through the twists and turns of the narrow lanes of the city, skirting along the edges of the canals. Turning a corner, I spotted him talking with a man wearing a raincoat who stood in a small boat tied to a weathered dock.
Goosebumps erupted on my arms. It was the same man I’d seen peering up at me with binoculars at the Hotel Princessa. The man who had followed me when I left the trattoria. Even worse, this stalker was now holding his hand out to the priest impersonator and helping him board the boat. Soon the poser would vanish again. I just couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “Father Roberto!”
He stared at me and then shook his head in disbelief. “Vivian?”
“Yes. Is your name Father Roberto or should I call you Milton Mertz?”
“Either is fine. I go by both. What are you doing in Venice?”
“We need to get going, Milton,” the man in the boat said. He unhooked the ropes that secured the vessel to the dock. “You’ve opened up a can of worms.”
“Not so fast.” I pulled the affidavit from my purse. “The marriage you performed for Prince Max and me didn’t stick. The Royal Church of Bellèno won’t sanction it. You’re not allowed to perform royal marriages.”
“Of course I can perform marriages,” he said.
“Royal marriages. Archbishop Causesdesperdues said that you are not a sanctioned priest.”
“Archbishop Causesdesperdues is an asshat.”
“Tell me about it. Who sends a telegram to someone on their honeymoon informing them that they are not really wed?”
“He did that?”
“It was horrible.”
“I bet. I’m so sorry. He’s always been an alarmist.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Nonetheless, the palace says m
y union to Prince Maximillian won’t hold up in the royal church, but unfortunately, it could be upheld in a court of law. Therefore, I am stuck. A bride without a groom. A marriage that must be undone.”
“This is one of the reasons I had to leave the church,” he said. “All the legal-ese and antiquated laws. It was a decision I struggled with for quite some time.”
The man in the boat started the engine. “They’re expecting us, Milton. We’re not authorized to bring anyone with us.”
“I beg you, Father Roberto,” I said. “If you ever felt bad for a girl in need, a woman down on her luck, please do me one more kindness. One last favor.”
“Of course, Vivian. How can I help you?”
I pulled the affidavit from my purse and extended it toward him over the murky canal waters. “I’ve been assured that if you sign this document I will be legally unmarried. Then I can royally wed Prince Maximillian again, for real this time. Would you do that for me? Would you, in the spirit of Christmas and all the good things in this world, put your John Hancock on this document that affirms I am not religiously, or legally wed to Prince Maximillian Rochartè of Bellèno? That I have never been wed to Prince Maximillian Rochartè of Bellèno?”
“Is that all? Yes. Of course. Hand it to me.”
I passed it to him, breathing a sigh of relief, tears welling in my eyes. At last this nightmare would be over.
But Milton Mertz froze, staring at the document as the boat swayed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Do you need a pen?”
“I’m skimming it, Vivian. Always check the fine print on these legal documents. Have to make sure the royal House of Bellèno isn’t involving me in the Crown Affair. I got involved with one of those schemes once and it wasn’t pleasant.”
“We need to get out of here, Milton,” the man said, and revved the motor.
“Yes, yes,” He signed the document with a flourish, and extended it toward me.
I leaned down, my hand shaking, and took it from him.
“I’m sorry for any pain I might have cause you, Vivian,” Milton said as the boat puttered away. “That was never my intent.”
“Good to know.” I waved. “What will you do now? Where will you go?”
“Don’t tell her that Milton,” the boat’s captain said. “That’s on a need to know basis.”
“If you’re ever in Cortina d’Ampresszo, look me up,” Milton said. “I’ll be on sabbatical there for a while.”
“It’s not a sabbatical. And I told you not to tell her that.”
“Thank you Father Roberto,” I said. “Merry Christmas!”
He waved at me as they rounded a bend and disappeared from sight.
I looked at the signed affidavit in my cold, clammy, shaking hand, and realized my marital nightmare was over. I could marry my beloved Maximillian. I could have royally wed sex with him, and who knows, we could even have a kid some day. I burst into tears.
“Vivian!” Esmeralda popped her head around the corner of an old building accompanied by Joan, Shay, and Mr. Cartwright who limped behind them. “Are you all right?’
“I am. Did you bring my coat? I’m freezing!” I wrapped my arms around my shoulders.
“Did you get the document signed?” Cartwright asked.
“I did.”
“Yay!” Joan said. “We must celebrate! I have Prince Harry’s Scotch in my purse.” She pulled the silver flask from her bag, knocked back a shot, and handed it to Shay.
Esmeralda’s cleavage buzzed. She pulled out my phone and stared at the screen. “That’s Max again. He’s been texting you non-stop.”
“Hand me the phone, please.”
“Not until I see the document,” Esmeralda said. “That was our deal.”
Shay downed a shot of Prince Harry’s and fanned her lips. “That’s prime shelf,” she said, passing it to Esmeralda.
“Pass it to me! I need to see his texts. You said you’d give it back as soon as I got the paperwork signed.”
“Anything for you, my friend, the future Duchess of Friedricksburg.” Esmeralda juggled the flask and tossed me the phone. “Just promise me I don’t have to be a bridesmaid again.”
My phone spiraled through the air. “Why don’t you want to be a bridesmaid…” I stretched my arm and stood on my toes, but the device sailed above my reach, toward the waters of the dark Venice canal. I did the first thing that came to mind. I leapt high in the air in a Herculean attempt to grab it.
And grab it I did. One hand held the phone, my other clutched the affidavit. Time slowed down as I glanced down and saw both my feet were off the dock and I realized I wouldn’t be landing on solid ground. I gazed at the rapidly approaching murky waters, shut my eyes, and braced for a full water immersion.
The splash was impressive.
Chapter 13
VIVIAN
“How lucky were we that Mertz disclosed his next destination was Cortina d’Ampresszo,” Esmeralda said. “Leo’s researching nearby compounds where the poser might be residing with his secret group.”
Mr. Cartwright had hired a driver. The following morning he took us in an SUV from Venice to the popular ski resort town high in the Italian Alps. I stood in the crowded chairlift line staring up at the mountain in front of us. “How long does one’s arm ache after a tetanus shot?” I shivered, in spite of the soft, lambswool scarf wrapped around my neck, and my blush-colored Gareth Trent designer ski jacket that hugged my upper body.
“They gave you more than a tetanus booster,” Joan said. “Do you even know what’s in the waters of the Venice canals? It’s filled with fec—”
I stuck my fingers in my ears. “Don’t want to know the details. All I know is that the water’s got something in it that dissolves fresh ink on paper. The affidavit is ruined.”
“Which is why we’re here,” Esmeralda said.
“I checked out local Air BnB’s and narrowed it down to two places,” Shay said. “I’ve forwarded Google maps to Leo and printed paper copies for backup.”
“Because we know that paper copies are unreliable,” Esmeralda said.
I flipped her my middle finger. “If you hadn’t confiscated my phone and stuffed it in your sweaty cleavage, I might be marrying Max right now instead of trying to get Milton Mertz’s signature again!” A few women who resembled pastel-colored marshmallows on sticks gave me the once over.
“Knock it off,” Esmeralda said. “Don’t call attention to yourself. We are not out of the woods yet. Unlike the other chicks waiting in the lift line behind us, we aren’t here simply to have fun and flirt with the cute skier boys.
“Fine.” The line for the ski lift shuffled forward and I shivered. “It’s cold up here.”
“It’s the winds,” Joan said. “It might read minus five degrees Celsius but the wind chill makes it feel more like minus ten. It’s not going to get any warmer on top of the mountain. Should we go back to the lodge and grab more layers?”
“No,” Esmeralda said, stamping her skis of excess snow. “We have to toughen up, stick it to the man, and complete this mission. As much as I enjoy hanging out with you ladies, I have pressing business waiting for me back in Bellèno. We need to get Vivian unmarried and then remarried quickly.”
“We all have work to get back to,” Joan said. “Why do we have to ‘stick it to the man?’”
“Because it sounds bad ass,” Shay said. “Bad ass-ery is Esmeralda’s signature super power when she’s stressed out.”
“I am not stressed out,” Esmeralda said.
“You are thoroughly stressed out,” Shay said. “Case in point, you had stress sex with our chauffeur after we checked into the chalet.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw you making out in the hallway and then he followed you into your suite. The loud banging sounds in my adjoining room were the third clue.”
“That was hot Italian chauffeur sex. Not stress sex.”
“It’s both. You also had two hot toddies at the bar b
efore we rented skis,” Shay said.
“Good job, Nancy Drew,” Esmeralda said.
“Hot chauffeur. Hot toddies,” I said. “Clearly the theme is ‘hot’ because Esmeralda’s chilly, too.”
“Ultimately my emotional state of mind means nothing,” Esmeralda said. “What matters is that we can’t keep dicking around with who’s warm enough, and did we apply the right SPF for the mountain sun. Otherwise, this freaking mission will never end and Vivian will turn forty and still not be married to Maximillian.”
“I am not turning forty!” I shivered from another blast of frigid air, and gazed up at the steep incline in front of us. The snow appeared powdery, not too slick, due to a fresh six inches in a snowfall the night before. But that didn’t negate the fact that I was standing in front of a substantial mountain peppered with black and blue diamond warning signs. While I might be able to navigate the bunny hill at Devil’s Head in Wisconsin, these slopes appeared more formidable.
And then there was my fear of heights. You’d think all the airplane travel I’d undertaken in the past eighteen months, as well as the mile high sex, would have knocked that out of a girl. Unfortunately, nothing really knocked it out of a girl although Max and I had both really tried. I pointed to the boutique, cushy ski chalet down the hill. “Perhaps I should let you expert skiers enjoy this spectacular adventure and I’ll wait for you down there.”
“We’re cross country skiing. Not downhill,” Esmeralda said. “It’s not that big of a deal. Milton Mertz told you he was here. We’re going to find him and get the affidavit signed.”
“You mean get it signed again.” I stared at the people standing in front of us waiting their turn on the chair lift. They leaned back as the motorized bench scooped them up, their skis dangling below them as they trundled up the very steep mountain. “Perhaps Shay could track down Milton’s number, text him, and meet him back at the lodge—”
“No more excuses,” Esmeralda said, glancing back at the lift at the same moment it hit my butt. Hard. It hoisted me in the air with all the dignity of a determined toddler grabbing a Tonka toy.
His American Princess Page 8
