Hidden Devotion

by Lila Dubois

  Franco set his glass down very carefully. “I’m sorry, you said he married a woman named Maria, and then a woman named Lucille?”

  “Not ‘and then’. I thought you said you knew about the Trinity Masters’ marriages?”

  “I thought… I assumed Grandfather made it up…”

  Juliette touched her necklace and the three-point Celtic knot symbol. “Members of the Trinity Masters have arranged ménage marriages.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Ménage marriages.” Franco stared at Juliette, trying to decide if she was joking.

  “Yes.”

  “I…wait. Lucille Smith was a family friend.”

  “Not quite. Your grandfather’s best friend, Henry Smith, was actually your great-uncle. He was your grandfather’s half-brother.”

  Franco picked up his glass and drained it. “Grandfather always referred to him as his brother but I assumed that was a term of endearment, not literal.”

  “Members learn to hide the truth about their marriages.”

  Franco whistled. “I assumed that part was just a story.”

  “No, the arranged marriages are very real.” Her tone was half-rueful, half-resigned.

  “Have you…are you married?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Have you picked your, uh, partners yet?”

  “Picked?” Juliette raised both brows.

  “Oh, right, arranged. Forgot about that. The uh, what did you say, Grand Master? That’s who picks?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t know who it will be until you’re at the altar?”

  “You get a month to get to know your trinity before the official ceremony.”

  “And what if you don’t like them?”

  “It’s not a matter of ‘like’. The Grand Master creates the trinities based on the skills and potential of each person—for example, a research doctor, college dean and hospital administrator are a strong trinity.”

  “I’m having trouble believing that the kind of people who are members—smart, driven, successful—all just meekly submit to these arranged marriages.”

  “It’s what they signed up for. The arranged marriage is the price you pay for the advantages the Trinity Masters will give you.”

  “What about you and the other legacies? You didn’t choose this.”

  “I did. Every member has to consciously join. There are some people whose parents were members who chose not to be a part of it themselves.”

  “But they know all the secrets.”

  “They know many of the secrets, and they also know the cost of spilling those secrets.” Juliette spoke quietly and firmly.

  “Should I be nervous?”

  “Because you know our secrets? Honestly, yes. The reason I came to find you was because I needed to know how much you knew.”

  That was a seriously sobering and slightly frightening statement. “I guess I knew more than I thought. I just didn’t believe any of it.”

  Juliette didn’t respond.

  “Am I…a threat?” he asked. Consciously he wasn’t, and it wasn’t as if he went around boasting about the crazy things his grandfather had said, but he didn’t exactly keep it a secret either.

  “No. The Grand Master’s main concern is figuring out why your grandfather, who did choose to join us, and who attended several of the galas in the early nineteen forties, was not called to the altar.”

  “Maybe he rejected the people the Grand Master picked for him.”

  “If he’d refused his trinity, there would have been consequences.”

  “That’s an ominous word.”

  “I won’t lie to you, Francisco. People who disobey or reveal secrets have very difficult lives. There are stories of former members who end up in prison, framed for crimes they didn’t commit. People who lost their livelihoods, homes, and families.”

  “Well that’s…terrifying.”

  Juliette laughed. “It’s meant to be.”

  “In that case, well done.”

  “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to scare you. How about we finish the bottle?”

  “That sounds like a very good idea.”

  They finished the first bottle then opened a second. They each had questions, each needed and wanted answers, yet no questions were asked, no answers given.

  As the wine disappeared they moved closer together on the couch, until they were close enough to touch.

  Franco brushed a piece of hair back from her face. Juliette gasped quietly when he stroked her. “You’re going to have an arranged marriage,” he whispered.

  “If you join, you will, too.” Juliette brushed her fingertips against the back of his hand.

  “I want to tell you a secret.” Franco leaned in, enough so his lips practically touched her cheek as he spoke.

  “What?”

  “I want to kiss you.” Brave from the wine, Franco let his heart speak. He’d never felt such strong chemistry, or such an instant connection before.

  “Why don’t you?” she replied softly.

  “Is that allowed?”

  “Allowed?”

  “Because of the arranged marriage thing?”

  “Usually members use that as an excuse to experiment and be slutty.”

  “Experiments and sluttiness? This gets better and better.”

  Juliette let out a slightly drunk giggle. She was gorgeous—eyes bright with mirth and wine, cheeks flushed, lips soft and pink.

  Franco couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Sliding a hand into her hair, he kissed her. Her lips were as soft as they looked, her body warm and supple as she leaned into him.

  Franco tugged her onto his lap with his free hand. She straddled him, sitting on his knees, her arms twining around his neck. Franco’s cock was like a piece of iron in his pants, and he both did and didn’t want her to slide forward.

  She traced his eyebrow with two fingers, trailing them down his face. He kissed her palm then tugged her down until their lips met once more.

  He hadn’t planned to do more than kiss her, but the desire she instilled in him was like a living thing, growing and growling a demand for satisfaction. Each time she gasped or moaned, he had to fight the urge to move faster, to take more.

  Juliette pulled back, licking her lips. Franco slid his hands—which were under her shirt just inches from her bra strap—out from under her clothing. They stared at one another.

  “Is it just me, or do we have some very serious chemistry?” she asked.

  “I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels it.”

  “Oh no, I feel it, too. I haven’t felt like this since… Well, it’s been a while.” Sadness clouded her face. Juliette climbed off his lap.

  “What happens now?” he asked.

  “You mean with the Trinity Masters?”

  “No, querida, I mean with us.”

  “The Trinity Masters come first. Always.” She stood. “I’ll call you a cab.”

  Franco stared after her. In the end, this meeting had raised more questions than it had answered.

  *****

  Drinking never solved any problems, but right now he didn’t want to solve problems. He wanted to get very drunk, indulge in a truckload of self-pity, and then pass out.

  Devon raised his shot glass in a toast to no one, since he was very much alone in his hotel room. Juliette had, of course, invited that guy Francisco to stay with her while in Boston. She’d never invited him to stay.

  Then again, why would she? She hated him. She probably hated him as much as he loved her.

  Deciding he was too old to just pound out some shots, Devon poured himself a glass. It was cheap whiskey, so he didn’t feel bad dropping a few ice cubes in.

  So many things had happened in the past week that he wasn’t sure what to brood about first. Juliette was the Grand Master. His trinity was gone.

  And Juliette now had access to all the Trinity Masters’ records and files. If she hadn’t hated him before, once she went through his
file, she certainly would.

  It was late—or early, depending on one’s perspective. The unplanned trip to Florida and extra time in Boston had thrown a wrench in several work projects, and he’d been up most of the night trying to get caught up, and making arrangements so he could stay in Boston until after the Winter Gala and possibly longer. He planned to be here as long as necessary.

  Necessary to do what, he hadn’t quite figured out. The one thing he was sure of was that he wasn’t going to just walk away. He couldn’t.

  His hotel room faced east, and as he worked his way through the bottle of whiskey, he remembered another hotel room, another dawn.

  *****

  Paris, three years earlier

  He hated dawn in Paris.

  Devon turned his head, taking pains to move as slowly and quietly as possible. The last thing he wanted was to wake her.

  Juliette’s hair glowed gold in the sunlight that was starting to filter through the gauzy drapes. He’d forgotten to close the heavy blackout curtains. That had been the last thing on his mind when they’d entered the hotel room. They’d thrown open the front doors and danced on the tiny balcony. Well, she’d danced and he’d watched her.

  Juliette had been drunk on Champagne. Drunk on Champagne was the only way she’d smile at him.

  He was losing her. Or maybe he’d already lost her.

  The sun rose in truth, a ray of light now arrowing across the bed. Her bare breast was the palest cream, her arms and face tanned gold. She looked older than the last time he’d seen her six months ago. It was the kind of age that came from seeing and knowing too much. He hated her work, noble as it was. Juliette had always assumed she was worldly, but had, in fact, been incredibly sheltered all the way through her first year of college.

  But the girl he’d first kissed here in Paris was gone. Little by little she’d learned how the world really worked. She’d seen horrible things, tried and failed to fix the world’s problems. And she’d—rightly—come to see exactly how much damage those at the top of the proverbial food chain could do to those at the bottom.

  The last time they’d met in Paris, Juliette had once again delivered an impassioned speech. First she decried the US government policies, ranting about the damage the CIA had done. Then she’d demanded that Devon use his connections as a lobbyist to address a laundry list of issues. He’d promised to do what he could, reminded her that he’d helped secure funding for one of the two NPOs she’d been working with at the time. He’d had to watch as disappointment filled her eyes. He’d turned the conversation to the Trinity Masters, hoping to distract her by asking if she’d be attending the upcoming Summer Gala. That had devolved into a debate about whether or not members should know more—such as who the Grand Master was, and the wisdom of the arranged marriages. The conversation had not gone well, and her disappointment had turned to barely controlled anger.

  This time she hadn’t bothered with the speech about the ills of the world, and every time he brought up the Trinity Masters she’d changed the subject. She’d plopped down in the chair beside him and drank like someone trying to forget. And she had forgotten, at least for a little while.

  Maybe this dawn would be different. Maybe this time she wouldn’t leave. Maybe he would have the courage to tell her things she needed to hear, things he was too much of a coward to say.

  Juliette, I’m not a lobbyist. Juliette, I love you.

  But there would be plenty of time for all that once they were called to the altar. Plus it wasn’t fair to Rose—the feelings he had for Juliette were on a completely different level than those he had for the third member of their trinity.

  She turned her head, stretching one arm up as she woke. In that second just before the light hit her face he leaned down and kissed her.

  Juliette’s eyes fluttered then opened. For a moment, a sweet moment, she looked happy. She smiled at him, reached one hand out to touch his face.

  Devon waited, praying, but before her fingers made contact her face went blank, her feelings locked down behind a mask that seemed to appear with the dawn light.

  Without a word, Juliette rolled away. She grabbed her dress off the floor as she rose, holding it against her chest.

  Devon clenched his teeth against the pain. He just needed to bide his time. Once they were married he would tell her everything. There would be no secrets between them.

  But he was tired. His last operation had been a total clusterfuck, and he’d needed this time with Juliette to recharge and center himself. As she passed his side of the bed on the way to the bathroom, he reached out, caught her hand.

  He held his breath, both terrified and hopeful that she would sense his feelings—need, love, fear, desire.

  Juliette froze, her torso turned away from him, one hand caught in his. They stayed that way, frozen in the midst of a pivotal moment, as the sun continued its invasion of their room.

  Finally Juliette tugged her fingers, disappearing into the bathroom. When she emerged she was dressed.

  “I called for breakfast,” he said.

  “Thank you.” She didn’t look at him.

  He went to the bathroom, and when he came out she was gone. When breakfast arrived, he ate methodically while checking his email. Then, just as methodically, he picked up her untouched plate and hurled it against the wall.

  Chapter Eight

  He couldn’t decide if the location was a deliberate attempt to intimidate him. If so, it was mostly working.

  Franco looked around the dimly lit bar—except it wasn’t a bar, it was a gentleman’s club. Not the kind with strippers, the kind with wood paneling, fireplaces, hunter-green plaid wallpaper and leather club chairs.

  The bouncer had asked for ID then checked it against a list. He could only assume this was a membership place, and that the man he was here to meet had made sure his name was on the list.

  Franco wasn’t sure what he hoped to get out of this conversation with Devon. He’d asked Juliette for the other man’s number because Devon was the only person besides her to whom he could ask his questions. The kiss had complicated things with her, and before this went too much further, Franco wanted some answers, so here he was.

  Instead of looking like a grown-up frat boy, the way he had in Florida, the man who rose from a club chair in a small alcove was six feet of intimidation in a dark suit and tie. Franco tugged on the front of his sweater vest, hoping he didn’t look like a geeky high schooler. He had a bad feeling this sweater vest actually was a piece of his old high school uniform, but he didn’t exactly have a ton of winter-weather clothes, so he’d packed everything he thought would work.

  “Francisco.” Devon held out his hand.

  “You can call me Franco.” They shook.

  “Franco. Thank you for meeting me here.”

  “I’m the one who should say thank you. To you. For meeting me.”

  Devon gestured to the other chair and Franco took a seat. The chairs were isolated from the rest of the room—a perfect place to have a conversation about a secret society.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  “What’s good here?”

  Devon’s lips twitched. “I’ve never had a bad drink.”

  “Right. Guess that was a stupid question. Uh, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  Devon pressed a small button on the wall. “Another Glenlivet, please.”

  “I can’t decide if that’s creepy or cool.” He peered at the call button.

  “Cool. Always go with cool.” Devon’s shoulders relaxed and he sat deeper in his chair.

  “I have to tell you, so far this is all exactly what I expected.”

  Devon raised his brows. “I thought you didn’t believe your grandfather’s stories? How is it that you had expectations?”

  “I didn’t believe, but I’m saying that if there were a secret society, this is how you’d want to find out about it.” Franco gestured around them. “Sitting in a dark corner of a members-only club, having a
beautiful blonde show up at your door. Hollywood would approve.”

  Devon laughed, but Franco had seen the way his shoulders tensed when Juliette was mentioned.

  “Juliette said you had some questions?”

  “I do.” Franco dug the list out of his pocket.

  “You wrote them down?”

  Franco waited for the tuxedo-clad waiter to set down his drink—which was a small glass with a finger of amber liquid in it—before continuing. “Yes, otherwise I’d forget.”

  “I’m surprised Juliette didn’t answer your questions.”

  “We got off topic,” Franco admitted. Devon’s shoulders tensed once again. Okay, there was definitely something going on between him and Juliette.

  “I’ll do my best to answer, but until you’re a member there are some things you can’t know.”

  “That’s question one. If I’m not a member, why are you telling me anything?”

  Devon raised his glass in a salute and took a sip before answering. Franco did the same and manfully suppressed a cough. It was whiskey. He hated whiskey.

  “There are actually quite a few people who know something about the Trinity Masters but who aren’t members. Most of those people are legacies, like yourself, who chose not to join. Our secrets are safe with them because they were raised knowing the consequences. Others are those who were recruited and offered membership but declined.”

  “People decline?”

  “Not often, but it happens. Joining is a high-risk, high-reward game.”

  “I’m trying to imagine how that conversation would go. ‘You seem smart; do you want to join a secret society? We offer you wealth and power but you have to marry who we say and by the way, you’ll marry two people not just one.’”

  Devon chuckled. “When potential new members are evaluated, one fact that’s assessed is whether or not they’d be open to the trinity marriage.”

  “Why a trinity marriage?”

  Franco finished his whiskey as Devon told stories about other famous trinities, including Vice-Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson, who’d been in a relationship with Lady Emma Hamilton and Sir William Hamilton. The gossip papers of the nineteenth century had called it an affair between Lady Emma and Lord Nelson, but it had been so much more. The three-way union had helped end the Napoleonic wars, and both Emma and William had mourned Lord Nelson after his death.