The Gamble (D'Arth Series Book 3)

by Camille Oster

  "Is Jane with you?"

  "She'll be here in a minute—getting changed upstairs.”

  "Does the wedding party really have the whole hotel?"

  "Apparently. A hell of a family Sam is marrying into.”

  "They're very … European.”

  "Too old for their own good, but I suppose you can't help who you fall in love with.” Damon's attention was drawn away slightly and his eyes softened, which could only mean that Jane was there. Jane was the only thing that softened Damon—tempered his hard edges.

  "Marco," Jane said and hugged him. "My, you are looking smart. I think London agrees with you.”

  "It does have a lot of opportunities," Marco said. Jane's dark blond hair was longer than he'd seen last. "How are things in Dubai?"

  "They're good," Jane said. "We miss seeing you two, though. Although you are both closer now than in New Zealand. Are you here alone?"

  "No, I brought a date.”

  "Oh?" Jane said.

  "An English girl I work with, Charlotte. She's changing.”

  "We're going to dinner, bring her," Damon said. "The French restaurant upstairs.”

  "I was planning on going a bit later, but I'll see if she's ready. Otherwise, we'll see you in the morning.”

  Finding his own room, Marco dropped his bag off. It was a good room, large and stylish with crisp white sheets and dark wood. The bed looked really inviting, but his stomach rumbled as he hadn't managed either breakfast or lunch.

  Going down a floor, he found Charlotte's room and knocked on the door. Charlotte opened it, wearing the fluffy white hotel robe. "Hey, come in. My room is wonderful," she said. Marco stepped inside and was amazed how much stuff Charlotte had managed to spread in such a short amount of time. "I saw my uncle downstairs," he called to Charlotte, who had retreated back into the bathroom. "They're going to dinner now if you want to go, or we can wait and go later.”

  "Your uncle. Has he come all the way from New Zealand?"

  "Dubai.”

  "I love Dubai.”

  Marco texted Sam, letting her know he'd arrived. He suspected Sam was running ragged in preparation, and his mother with her. Apparently, mum had arrived last week, so they'd spent a bit of time together. She was coming to London for a few days after the wedding, before heading back to New Zealand. He got no reply, guessing she was busy.

  Charlotte came out of the room wearing a grey, patterned wrap dress, putting on gold earrings. She looked elegant and understated. The mess in the room had managed to make her look good.

  "You ready?"

  "Just about.” She put on some heels and then smiled at him. "What are we eating?"

  "French.”

  "Butter it is then," she said with a smile. "Lead the way.”

  The restaurant was dark, with sedate lighting forming patterns along the walls. This was a proper restaurant—table clothes, cloth napkins—the whole works. Marco hadn't been to a restaurant like this since he'd left New Zealand, where they always went out to some brand name chef's restaurant whenever someone had a birthday. This just wasn't the type of place his friends went. It probably had Michelin stars.

  Damon and Jane were seated at a table that would take four.

  "You made it," Jane said and greeted Charlotte. "I'm Jane and this is Damon.”

  "Charlotte. It is certainly interesting to meet Marco's family," she said, smiling broadly. "He tells so little of you. I had no idea who his sister was engaged to, and he's never mentioned his mother.”

  "She's dining with the family at their home this evening," Damon said. "I'm sure that will be an awkward evening considering Judith is quite a staunch lefty. I'm sure she and the Countess St. Julien are hitting it off," Damon said sarcastically. Marco's mother could be fairly set in her ideas and she was certainly never a fan of aristocracy, and Judith would likely not temper her opinions for the company, but at least she wasn't one for dramatics. But Marco was sure it was awkward enough around the family table. Sam couldn't have found a more alien family to marry into, but she seemed to be head over heels for this guy, so they would just have to accept it.

  After they'd ordered, Charlotte and Jane naturally fell into conversation. Bringing Charlotte had been a good choice. She could hold her own in any company and she approached things with acceptance and enthusiasm, if not a level of shallowness. He didn't quite know what to make of Charlotte. Everything with her stayed on a superficial level. He saw flashes of a deeper side to her, but she was so fast at clearing it away, he never saw more than a mere indication. But that also made her easy to deal with—she would put on whatever face was required and expected. He'd never seen anything like her.

  * * *

  Chapter 20:

  * * *

  Charlotte wore a hat that looked like a disc when Marco collected her the next morning. Her makeup was perfect and she wore a dove-grey, shiny jacket over a matching dress.

  "I'm ready," she said. Her breakfast tray was still in the room, which looked like a complete bombsite. "This doesn't come naturally," she said, indicating down her person.

  "Well, you look gorgeous.”

  "Oh, cheers, darling. I might keep you around.” She took his arm and they walked to the elevator. For a moment Marco wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship with Charlotte, but it was too difficult to get a grasp on her to really know. It might be completely superficial like this all the time, which would probably drive him nuts.

  The wedding party was walking to the cathedral, because, just to make them even more different, the St Julien's were catholic.

  This was the first sight of Liechtenstein that Marco had had as it had been dark when they’d arrived. It was very European middle-ages—cobbled street, grey stone interspersed with completely modern amenities. Somehow Liechtenstein had married the old and the new into a highly functioning city, without the haphazard chaos of London—although perhaps easier as it was much smaller.

  The cathedral loomed in front of them and Marco wondered if Sam really knew what she was doing. "I'm going to say hello to my sister," he said. "Will you be alright on your own for a few minutes?"

  "I'll be perfectly fine. I have some serious people-watching to do—maybe some networking if I'm lucky. Although you couldn't call it networking with these people, could you? This would technically be socialising—these people don't network.”

  Marco didn't care about the semantics and left Charlotte to it. Spotting his mum dashing through the crowd, he went after her. He couldn't remember seeing her quite so dressed up, wearing a pants suit, her hair done by someone.

  "Mum," he called and his mother's ears perked.

  "Marco. There you are. It is good to see you, sweetie. I have to find some pins for the veil. One of them has broken.” He could hear the stress in his mother's voice.

  "I thought I'd say hello to Sam.”

  "She'd like that.”

  "Where can I find her?"

  "In that door," she said, pointing at one of the side buildings of the little square in front of the cathedral, “second floor, third door on the right.” Then she rushed off.

  Marco followed her directions until he reached a heavy, dark wooden door in a dark corridor lit by lights he expected were put in shortly after electricity was invented. Knocking on the door, he held his breath until he heard Sam telling him to come in. He opened the door to a white room with lush carpet, bare except for a large dressing mirror. The sight of Sam in a wedding dress was almost surreal. He couldn't really recall seeing her out of jeans, except for their school balls. Again, he wondered what had become of his sister. A faint mumbling noise let him know that Esme was somewhere in the room as well. Walking in, he spotted the little girl in a white dress with small pink roses around her waist. Even for a guy that was an adorable sight.

  "Marco," Sam said. "Glad you could make it.”

  Sam's hair was done up in that hairstyle where it wraps around itself at the back of her head. Large pearls hung from her ears. She looked
beautiful in a way he'd never seen before; he suspected assisted by professionals.

  Esme was gorgeous too. Her hair was white blond with little ringlets forming at the tips. She looked like a little doll, and she was walking with more stability than the last time he'd seen her. Amazingly, she'd grown quite dramatically in the three months since he'd seen her last.

  "How are you?" Sam asked.

  "Good," Marco said. "How are you?"

  "Exhausted.”

  "It's almost over.” Marco took in the dress. He was by no means an expert on dresses and he could tell it was stunning, but it didn't quite seem the style for Sam. Sam looked at herself in the mirror, a determined look on her face. She was nervous. "Nice dress.”

  "You think so?" she asked in seriousness. "It's an heirloom, apparently. Iranian silk from the forties, hand pulled out of some worm's arse.” She didn't look amused.

  "It's beautiful.” It truly was.

  "This lace is worth more than my car.”

  "You don't seem to like it.”

  "It is a stunning dress. Maybe I'm just a bit uncertain. There's very little in this wedding that I've had a say over. Been hit by a tidal-wave of the St Julien family traditions, which when you're like a thousand years old, there is one for absolutely everything.”

  "Are you sure you want to go through with it?" he asked. Sam's eyes sought out his in the mirror. She wasn't certain.

  "I love Seb," she said. "I truly do. I couldn't imagine living without him. And Esme," her eyes softened as she looked down on her daughter running behind the stand-alone mirror. "But I can't stand his family. His mother is a nightmare. I can literally see her thinking of ways to murder me when she looks my way. She really doesn't approve.”

  "Screw her. Who cares what the cow thinks.”

  "His father's side isn't much better. Well, they're a little better—slightly less classist.”

  "It doesn't matter.” He’d never heard the term before, but it sounded like something that would make perfect sense to Charlotte. Being from New Zealand, the idea of class was foreign.

  "I know," she said. "It's just—it's scary, you know?"

  "You okay? You look a bit green.” Actually, she didn't—the makeup was too perfect, but something about her indicated that all wasn't well.

  "Morning sickness. I'm pregnant.”

  "Oh," Marco said with surprise. Esme was barely walking. It seemed a bit soon, but what did he know. "Wow. Congratulations.”

  Sam beamed. She was obviously not distressed about being pregnant. "I might throw up on the priest. This wasn't something we took into consideration when we planned the wedding, but what can you do? I'm glad you're here. For being a complete dipshit, you're one of the few points of sanity in this whole charade.” Sam looked at herself in the mirror. "I just need to get it over with. Are you here alone?"

  "No, I brought a date. I promise I won't get drunk and spill the punch over the bridesmaids. Not unless you want me to.” Truthfully, Marco didn't think he could handle another night of drinking just now, but he got a smile from his sister for the offer.

  "Am I finally going to meet that Alex girl?"

  "No," Marco admitted, his face drawing tight. Sam's gaze quizzed him. "I've brought a girl I work with, Charlotte.”

  "What happened to the brunette? Your Facebook was covered with smooch photos with this girl. I couldn't believe them when they first popped up. What happened?"

  Marco sighed. "We're over. It’s complicated. I screwed it up, I guess.”

  Sam rolled her eyes again. "That sounds about right. Shame. She seemed cool.”

  "She is. She used to go out with Gavin before me.”

  "Ugh, really? My opinion of her just sunk.” Sam had never gotten over her impression of Gavin as a smelly, horny teenager. Actually, she might have a point; he hadn't changed that much.

  "And Dion?"

  "He's good. He's in love.”

  "Please not with some stripper," Sam said, shaking her head and Marco laughed. Dion did tend to set his eyes on the wrong kinds of girls, but not this time.

  "No, a real girl. Australian.”

  "Could be worse, I suppose.”

  Mum returned with the elusive pin and Marco took that as his cue to leave. "I'll see you later, sis,” he said and kissed his mum on the cheek, leaving them to prepare.

  The cathedral was jam packed with finely dressed and bejewelled people. There must have been four hundred people there. "Fucking hell," Marco said as he walked into the massive space where the roof seemed to float above them, supported by gothic-looking columns and spires. Moving into the freezing cold space, the murmur of the crowd seemed to echo off the disapproving, grey walls.

  Being family they had the front pew and he found Charlotte, who had saved him a seat beside her, right in front of a row of ancient graves, just down from where Dean was sitting, and there were a few St Juliens amongst them. Dean stood up and gave Marco a hearty embrace. "Hey little bro," he said. "Looking good.” Dean, Marco's half-brother, was ten years older, which meant that they'd never really been in the same space. Now that he was getting older, they seemed to have more things in common.

  "You here alone?"

  "Yeah, we decided that Amy stay home with the boys. We're all going over to the Gold Coast for Serg's soccer tournament later in the month, so we decided that only I should come. Although Amy should really see this place. What a place, eh? How old do you think this church is?"

  Marco shrugged, having no clue. They watched as a priest approached the altar. Marco assumed it was a priest; he could have been something higher in the hierarchy, but Marco didn't know enough about the Catholic Church to say, being technically Anglican. For all he knew, it could be the equivalent of the Archbishop. It seemed like the ceremony was about to start and Charlotte leaned over to whisper in his ear. "The King and Queen of Sweden are here.”

  "Cool.” Marco hadn't known there were a King and Queen of Sweden, and he didn't really care. Looking right, he saw Sebastian's family sitting in the other pew. Marco hadn't met any of them yet, except for the man talking to Damon last night in the hotel bar.

  "She's Austrian, did you know?"

  "Can't say that I did. We Kiwis tended to focus more on rugby heroes than European aristos.”

  "He's cousins with the Countess St. Julien.”

  Family then, Marco thought with a mental snort. This was insane. What the hell had Sam gotten herself into, he thought yet again. It would make sense if this was something she aspired to, like he suspected Charlotte would if given the chance, but Sam really wasn't.

  The cathedral was so cold, Marco was surprised his breath didn’t condense. The spring sunshine outside had no chance in here. Somehow, if Marco ended up marrying, it wouldn't be anything like this.

  They had to wait a while, but Sebastian finally turned up. Marco recognised him immediately. Even though they'd never met in person, they had spoken over Skype quite a few times. He was an attractive guy and it was no wonder his sister had fallen for him. He was alright. Sebastian stood and waited at the front by the priest, two best men with him, looking calm and collected. Unlike Sam, he seemed more comfortable in this environment, which wasn't surprising as he’d grown up here. He must know most of the people here, including the King and Queen of Sweden.

  A hush came over the room and everyone noisily turned to the back. There was no wedding march, instead the whole church was silent as Sam walked down the aisle. He'd never felt as sorry for Sam as he did in that moment, having to walk out there with all of these eyes on her, many thinking she wasn't good enough to be there. It made him angry to think anyone thought she wasn't good enough. She was better than all of them wrapped together—the European plonks.

  Sam was veiled as she walked in front of the bridesmaid—Melissa—Sam's best friend from school, who was holding Esme's hand as they walked to the altar. Then followed by another girl, whose name Marco couldn't remember.

  The bridesmaids lined up on the opposed side of the men
and all attention went to the priest, who spoke in French. The priest went on for a while and Marco tuned out. Esme seemed just as interested and had a whole audience to herself, until Mum stepped up and grabbed her, pulling her over to sit with them in the pew. Marco could follow along the intent when it got to the question part, as Sebastian spoke a clear "Oui". Her hands were shaking visibly as she reached her hand out for the ring. Then came Sam's part, and her name sounded awkward coming from the priest whose accent was heavily French. "Oui" Sam said, a shake in her voice. Sebastian smiled at her reassuringly and then they kissed.

  A cheer rang through the church and everyone stood as the newly married couple walked back down the aisle. Sam was happy, and relieved, looking more relaxed than she had a moment earlier, probably because she was escaping. Sebastian led her through the church to the front and everyone followed. A car was waiting. Marco wasn't an expert on antique cars, but it was old, probably from the time when they were custom built. Marco got a vision of seeing Sam take that tank down to the supermarket.

  "It's done," Mum said.

  "Yep. Sam's hitched.”

  "She's pregnant again.”

  "She told me.”

  * * *

  Chapter 21:

  * * *

  After being urged into a car at the hotel, they were driven out of the city until they reached an old stone mansion, which was apparently the St. Julien family home. Cosy, Marco thought. It wasn't in the least homely. A large stone structure—practically a large stone box.

  "Oh my god, isn't this gorgeous," Charlotte gasped. She'd changed into another dress and gotten rid of the hat. "Time to socialize," she said with a mischievous smile.

  "Go conqueror," he replied with encouragement after they'd found their seats in the large hall, covered with paintings depicting old battle scenes. This family had probably played a part in the battles of this area throughout history. It was odd to think Sebastian was tied to that history in a very visceral way—a kind of history that didn't exist in New Zealand.