by Jina Bacarr
Yet that doesn’t stop me from challenging myself.
I’ve had an education in life and, thanks to reading script after script, I’m familiar with the classics, but I realize deep down I’m still that little girl from the convent.
Jock doesn’t care where I come from. He’s impressed with my film career, how I started out at sixteen and fought my way to the top.
Over the next few days, as I drool over this millionaire rogue, I’m fortunate Emil is tied up with meetings with British film executives and, after letting the bodyguard go for failing to keep track of my whereabouts, he’s willing to loosen the leash as long as I show up for press events. (I don’t miss any of them.) He doesn’t want any scandal attached to my visit to Monte Carlo, something that could upset the Brits during his negotiations for the English film deal. He’s well aware how touchy they are about scandals.
All the more reason for Jock and me to keep our relationship away from the press (my black wig becomes de rigeur on our jaunts around Monaco).
My favorite moment, the one I’ll always remember, comes at a time when I least expected I’d suffer such a romantic reaction to a man. An undeniable attraction to having him in my life for as long as I live, an attraction that threatens to unseat my current state of stability. I’ve worked so hard making my films, fulfilling my publicity obligations, writing to my fans. Every time we’re together, the sun feels warmer on my face, the moonlight makes everything brighter. My need for him surges like a great sea, ebbing only when I lie in his arms and know I’m safe… then surges again until I see him.
Tonight, Jock whisks me away in a ‘borrowed’ Mercedes, into the deepening night. Somehow he arranges for us to visit a villa high on a cliff surrounded by orange groves and overlooking the sea – just us, no servants or attendants. A cold buffet laid out for us. Wine. Champagne. Sparkling lemon water. (I’m not induced to imbibe alcohol when I’m with him.) Beautiful roses and daffodils. He says he wants me to see something I’ll never see anywhere else. I thought he may try to take advantage of us being alone together, and if he does, well, I’m more than tempted.
The seduction he has in mind is the lovely illumination of—
Fireflies.
Hundreds, thousands of them nestling near the tall, marble fountain in the sumptuous floral garden and glowing like live fairy dust. We stand holding each other as we look out over the lighted city of Monaco, so bright, and filled with no tomorrows. Surrounding us is the beauty and brilliance of nature’s little torchbearers.
‘I can’t tell you how much this week has meant to me, Sylvie,’ Jock whispers in my ear, ‘as if the rest of the world and its mayhem don’t exist.’
‘I wish we could stay here in Monte Carlo…’ I leave the rest unsaid, raising my hand to run my fingertips over the stubble on his face. My man is in rebel mode this week, pushing aside society’s rules. No tie. No hat. I unbutton his white shirt and get a peek at that broad chest and start drooling again.
He’s never kissed me. Why?
‘And live here with me in this villa?’ He heaves out a heavy sigh. ‘I’d like that. No schedule, no telegrams, no rules…’
‘Oh, there’d be rules,’ I tease him, tugging on his collar. ‘You’d have to kiss me at least once an hour. Morning, noon, and night.’
‘You know I want to kiss you,’ he says, reading my mind. ‘Kiss you madly, take every inch of you into my arms and smell you, taste you… make you moan with pleasure.’
‘Then why don’t you?’ I ask now.
‘Because I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Hurt me? How?’
‘We’re complete opposites. You’re wild, unpredictable. I’m a moody Brit. Always by the book. You believe in love at first sight. I find love to be complicated… and messy.’
I feel let down, but not crushed. Jock’s honesty makes me want him more.
‘Alors, mon chéri, I have a plan. We agree to enjoy each other’s company without any expectation of seeing each other again. No questions about our private lives. But no holding back either… no putting what we have in a box. Instead, we’ll be like the fireflies… lighting up each other’s lives with a dazzling brilliance and when it’s over… we’ll have the memory of a glorious time that will never dim.’
He studies my face. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘I want you…’
‘Even if it can’t last?’
‘Yes, I want you and if you think I’m going to shy away and play hard-to-get like the proper ladies you’re used to, you’ve got the wrong girl. I make no excuses for who I am,’ I admit, though my hands are trembling. ‘And I’m no angel.’
‘Oh, but you are, Sylvie,’ he murmurs as he brushes my lips with his mouth. ‘The angel who dared to confront me to right a wrong.’ His voice goes deeper. ‘At first, I thought we could have a few laughs, enjoy each other’s company in this paradise. It didn’t turn out that way.’
I arch a brow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m falling in love with you, Sylvie. You’ve turned me into a mad, crazy, impetuous fool and I can’t stop myself.’
‘Then don’t, mon amour… kiss me.’
I lean into him as we enjoy a searing, burning kiss in the moonlight that doesn’t end even after our lips part. The kiss turns into a passionate rhythm as our bodies move against each other, exploring, probing… then resisting the temptation. He holds back, though barely, insisting he’ll wait to take me in a bed of silk and satin when I ask him to… but not until I’m sure it’s what I want. I can think of nothing else when I’m with this gorgeous man who tells me he loves me, how for the first time in my life I’ve bared my soul to a man and he doesn’t try to change me or take advantage of me. My heart has been broken before. Not this time. I want to believe I’ve found true love with Jock and nothing can change that, our bodies bathed in the glow of tiny fireflies, their nocturnal lights slowly fading as dawn cast her spell over them.
And us.
I’ll never forget I’m wearing my favorite red shade of lipstick from my Toujours, Sylvie collection when we shared our first kiss on this night of nights.
I shall keep it always.
I never find out how Jock arranged for us to visit the villa.
Business connections, I imagine. As agreed, we made a pact not to discuss our private lives. I don’t talk about show business and he doesn’t mention where he made his money. I guess manufacturing. His cool calculations at the roulette table suggests a mind used to making quick decisions and his esteemed knowledge of the gambling principality suggests he visits here often… business, politics? It’s well known that certain British lawmakers and royals aren’t shy about stopping here on their way from Cannes to Paris.
I don’t care where he comes from. I want to be with him, though I’m not about to make the mistake of falling into bed with him. I don’t need sex. I need a man’s love. I know he’s rich. So am I. I don’t see that as a problem, which gives me hope this time I can fall in love.
Even if I’m scheduled to return to Paris. I’ve done my job for the studio, promoted the picture, even Emil is pleased with my efforts. The head of production wants me back in France.
But how to tell Jock?
Has it been three weeks already since I came to Monte Carlo?
‘I hear the Duke and Duchess of Windsor might be stopping by here at the Hôtel de Paris next week,’ I begin after tea is served in my suite by a uniformed waiter. Jock is sitting on the divan reading a British newspaper. ‘It’s a shame I won’t be—’
‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle Sylvie…’ Winnie bounces into the hotel room with a burst of energy. ‘I can’t wait to tell you what happened today.’
I admit I’m relieved to put off telling Jock and hug the girl warmly. ‘Come and join us for tea, Winnie.’ I notice a brunette following behind her, a shy girl looking at everything in the opulent suite with curious eyes. ‘And your friend, too, mademoiselle…’
The girl mutters her name but I don’t ca
tch it as Jock grabs me round the waist and Winnie, too. ‘I’m a lucky man with three beautiful women for tea.’
‘I’m the lucky one, Jock,’ I say with a twinge of guilt for not telling him I’m going back to Paris. ‘You two girls have a seat while I pour the tea and tell me about your day.’
‘Sit?’ Winnie laughs. ‘Not after spending the morning trekking up the hill on a donkey to visit a ruined old castle.’ Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she accepts a steaming demitasse of tea with milk. ‘Then the loveliest thing happened. We went to the Palace of the Prince of Monaco and his official secretary asked us to sign the guest book.’ She hugs her teacup to her chest, swooning. ‘Maybe we’ll get a royal invitation to a party. Wouldn’t that be grand?’
‘What’s grand,’ says Jock, ‘is you’re keeping your promise not to gamble in the casinos.’ He nods toward her friend sipping tea, alerting me the quiet girl is a classmate from boarding school and a local resident. ‘Citizens of Monaco aren’t allowed to gamble.’
‘I’m proud of you, too, Winnie,’ I acknowledge, but resist the urge to tell him I saw a glint in her eye that tells me she’s up to something. Because I’m up to something, too. I just don’t have the courage to tell him.
I’m leaving in two days on the Calais-Mediterranée Express.
The Blue Train.
‘Has my brother kissed you yet?’
I shake my head at Winnie, amused. A simple, direct question only a teenage girl in love with love would ask.
It’s late and the two of us are in the middle of a wild, jazzy move when she tosses the question at me. Winnie asked me to show her the dances we do in Paris so she can impress her friends back in London, turning on the radio and the two of us raising a ruckus in my suite.
‘Ah, ma chère Winnie, your debonair brother is a wonderful kisser,’ I tell her in a playful manner, and she lets go with a long, wistful sigh. I’d never tell her his kisses are not brushes on my lips, but hot kisses on my jaw, my dimple, the side of my neck… everywhere.
‘I knew it!’ She reaches toward me and squeezes my hand tight. ‘Jock is quite a catch, you know.’ She bites her lip, baiting me, waiting to see what I’ll say.
I ignore her probing. ‘I bet you have a beau, Winnie, n’est-ce pas?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, Mummy doesn’t approve of me dating and since she’s not well I’d never go against her wishes since I haven’t been presented at court yet—’
‘Pardon?’ I raise a quizzical brow and she tries to change the subject like she’s said too much.
‘Is this how you do the dance step?’ she asks, batting her eyes as she pirouettes then shimmies her hips.
‘Très bon!’ I give her a thumbs up, chalking her comment up to her earlier remark about hoping for a royal invitation to the Palace of the Prince of Monaco. ‘You must come visit me in Paris… you and Jock.’
‘And you must come to London.’
I cross my fingers. ‘I may have a voice-dubbing deal at a British film studio soon.’
‘Brilliant. We’ll have a swell time. I’m certain Jock will invite you to our country house during the hunting season. Do you ride?’
‘Did you see me in Madame Le Noir? It’s about a female highwayman.’ I let out a big sigh. I’m already picturing me riding alongside Jock on a high-stepping bay mare like a proper English lady. ‘I spent more time in the saddle than in a corset.’
My pipe dream of spending time in London with Jock takes a wrong turn the next day when Jock and I stroll arm in arm along the Boulevard Albert 1er. I’m scheduled to leave for Paris tomorrow but if Jock asks me to stay, I plan to tell Emil about us and beg him to understand since I don’t start a new film for two weeks.
I’m filled with a familiar desire to please this man who’s captured my heart, wearing a slim, silk floral dress with a billowing overskirt, wide brim hat, white gloves, and holding a small, ivory lace parasol over my head. I dance over the stone walkway like a fairy princess walking on a cloud, not knowing what’s waiting for me around the corner. Jock looks devastatingly handsome in a white summer suit with a blue tie. He’s hatless and the sun embraces his handsome, tanned features with a glow, his dark eyes holding mine until—
‘I didn’t know you were still in Monte Carlo, Your Grace,’ says a dowager British woman approaching us, her sagging bosom matching her chin.
I spin around. Who’s she talking to? I don’t see anyone behind us. Oh, she was addressing Jock…
‘We thought we’d missed you,’ she finishes, laying a hand on his sleeve and confirming my suspicions, making my heart palpitate like firecrackers popping.
She’s well dressed, with a pointy nose. Her friend is about the same age with the same sagging bosom, but she’s more interested in looking me over.
We nearly ran into them… or did they go out of their way to run into us?
‘We had the pleasure of chatting with your dear sister when we checked into our hotel.’ She clears her throat. ‘Lady Revell said you’d returned to Kyretree Castle.’
I double blink. Lady Revell… Winnie?
Who are these women? Why did Winnie tell them Jock had returned to England?
They look horrified at me hanging onto him in a most intimate manner. My dress reveals my curves, ruffles emphasizing my décolletage, and my lipstick is red… too red for their pale tastes.
‘You must invite us for tea, Your Grace,’ asserts the first woman. ‘When you’re not occupied with other matters.’
I’d like to wrap my parasol around her neck. No doubt those ‘other matters’ refer to me, talking about me as if I’m not even here.
In her mind, I’m not.
‘Lady Hensworth, Lady Devon,’ Jock begins, his voice pleasant but firm. ‘May I present Sylvie Martone, famed star of French cinema.’
His mouth tightens as he digresses into a mundane nonsense one says to women of that ilk, all the while knowing they’re cataloging me in their minds and not in a nice way.
A Frenchwoman, my word. And an actress. What next?
That isn’t what sets every nerve in my body on fire.
They addressed him as Your Grace.
A term I came across in a British script Emil wanted me to read to prepare me for dubbing my films into English. A royal term for—
It has to be a mistake, a game he’s playing with me. My eyes plead with him to tell me so. He smiles at me, shining love at me that doesn’t go unnoticed by the two women.
I have no idea how we get back to the hotel, but everything changes between us as we enter the lobby and head for the lift.
‘You didn’t tell me you were a duke.’
‘You didn’t ask.’
‘As if I go around asking every man I meet if he’s a duke.’ Now I know what Winnie was hiding from me: her family’s royal blood. ‘You told Winnie… I mean, Lady Revell, not to tell me, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, Lady Winifred Revell. I call her Winnie. I didn’t want to scare you away, mon bel ange.’
‘That’s why you were so careful not to let anyone see us together. And I thought you were trying to help me avoid the press.’
His voice lowers, rich and heavy with the emotion of a man who’s used to getting what he wants. ‘I planned to tell you who I was on my terms, when the time was right.’
‘And when would that have been? After I was back in Paris?’
Jock senses my frustration mixed with a pinch of drama regarding the direction of this conversation. He tilts my face up to his, giving me that wicked look of his that makes me sigh like a handmaiden summoned to his bedchamber.
He ignores my question. ‘It’s not a sin to be a duke.’
‘It should be.’ I force a smile and refuse to squirm in front of him. ‘The way you go around seducing women with your inimitable charm, you act more like a king.’
‘Then you shall be my queen,’ he dares to cajole me, setting his big hands on my shoulders and pressing my flesh with his fingers. The effect of his touch on me
is instant. Mesmerizing. I can’t resist him. I close my eyes, letting my anger diffuse, waiting for him to kiss me and make me swoon…
Instead he presses a soft, gentle kiss to my forehead. ‘Now will you stop acting like a child before I—’
‘A child?’ I sputter, my eyes shooting open and my adrenaline spiking. ‘You’re the one who said you were falling in love with me without mentioning you’re a royal pain in the ass duke. A minor detail you omitted. No doubt to test me. See if I’m a gold digger out to snag you and your title.’
He runs his hand through his dark hair in frustration. ‘I admit I should have told you sooner, Sylvie, but you’re so damned independent, I didn’t know how you’d act. Well, I was right. You’re acting the way I thought you would. You can’t accept the fact I fell in love with you, the angel with a heart, not the shimmering blonde film star.’
‘You did?’ I ask, hopeful.
‘Yes, I did. And nothing you say will change my mind. Ever. I love you, dammit. And whether or not you want to admit it, you love me, too.’
I should turn my back on him, not let him see the heat flaming my cheeks, not only in anger but desire. I don’t.
Instead I walk away from the lift and head for a shadowy corner, then tell him what he wants to hear with one powerful word, not caring if I appear a fool, for that’s what I am. A crazy, loving fool who can’t let this wonderful man, duke or whatever he is, walk away without knowing how I feel.
‘Yes… oh, yes.’ I can’t believe that husky, powerful word came out of my throat, that tense awareness that I mean it with all my heart. I do love him, but I don’t want my heart broken. I don’t want to end up at the bottom again.
This time I won’t make it back.
‘You make me happy, Sylvie, what does it matter if I’m a duke? I inherited a blasted string of names. It doesn’t make me who I am.’
