by Erika Kelly
Her mother’s features tightened. “That would mean waiting a year.”
She watched the silent communication pass between her equally strong and stubborn parents.
“As long as the date is set and invitations go out before the vote,” her father said. “We can wait for the actual ceremony.”
“Really?” Since when did her family break from tradition? “Then I’d prefer a date in the middle of June, so that if we don’t get enough precipitation and the flowers bloom later, I won’t miss out.”
“Then, that’s what you’ll have,” her father said.
She could hardly believe it. “It doesn’t have to be in the church?”
“I would prefer the church,” her father said. “But I’ve learned to pick my battles with my oldest daughter.”
The comment swiped across her heart like a claw. She knew her father wasn’t referring to what happened all those years ago. Intellectually, she knew her single act of rebellion hadn’t caused his heart attack, but the two would forever be tied in her mind.
“What if, instead of having the wedding in the meadow, we fill the church with the lyantha?” her mother asked.
Rosalina reared back, as if her mother had suggested burning the castle to the ground. “We’re not cutting my flowers.”
Her father tried to suppress a grin. “Not to worry. The ceremony itself is far more important than the location. No harm will come to your precious lyantha.”
“You’ll be the first in six hundred years to marry outside the church.” But her mother sounded like she’d accepted Rosalina’s decision.
“I know, but it’s my one and only wedding, and the meadow just fits me.”
Her mother broke into a luminous grin. “Then, the meadow it will be.”
“This makes me so happy.” Her parents were being awfully accommodating. Maybe… Her fingers curled around the glass jar. But, instead of presenting her idea to them, she found herself blurting, “I think I’ll go to the States for my fitting.”
They looked at her like she was the fly that had just landed in their soup bowls.
Spin it. “Marcel’s in Zurich for the week, and we’ll want to plan the wedding together, so the timing works out well. Besides, asking the designer to fly all the way out here seems ridiculous. I’m not her only client.”
Her mother pressed a hand to her shoulder. “That is enough, Rosalina. You take your life and your position in this country for granted.” She had a fierce look in her eyes. “But we face a formidable opponent with the People’s Party, who are passionate in their plea for an egalitarian society. Every minute you’re out of sight, still unmarried, still not pregnant with an heir, you reinforce their position that the monarchy’s dying out. When they liken us to ‘an ancient tree that no longer bears fruit,’ they’re not only referring to my inability to produce a male heir but to our oldest daughter, who shows no sign of settling into her role.” She glanced at her husband—not with an apologetic look because she’d had to stop bearing children after two girls but with a look that said, Back me up here.
“You’ve traveled the world, had your experiences, and now you must come home and embrace everything that entails,” her father said. “You must live here to understand the needs of the people so that you can choose a cause you feel passionate about. You need to stand with us in showing that our family may be small, but we’re devoted to our country’s well-being.”
“I understand.” With her sister at university, the eyes of the people were on Rosalina. She needed to be seen with Marcel, moving forward with wedding plans, so when the voters went to the polls, they went knowing the monarchy would continue.
And she was fine with that. She didn’t need to go to Calamity right now. She would have plenty of time to travel, once she set up her philanthropy, got married…and had a baby.
Marriage, baby…what was this resistance deep inside of her? Why couldn’t she just go along with what was required of her?
It’s not like you’ve ever had any other expectations for your life.
“It’s fine. Besides, the designer’s scheduled to come out here next week, so she’s probably already bought her ticket. Okay, well, now that we’ve set a date, I really do need to go.”
“Won’t you at least have a look at the invitations?” her mother asked.
Oh, dear. But she appreciated her mother’s efforts, so she stepped closer to the table, skimming the choices. “Any of those are fine.” Honestly, they all looked the same.
Her father laughed, before shaking open his newspaper.
“I’m glad my choices please you,” her mother said with an unfortunate amount of sarcasm. “But you still need to work out the wording, the font…the color of the envelopes.”
“Of course. Let me talk with Fabiana, and we’ll set up a time to go over all the details.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Mama, for doing this for me.”
The moment Rosalina left the library, she opened the jar and let the fragrance fill her senses. She waited just a moment for the two scents to merge—the lotion and her mother’s perfume. And…yes. Perfect match. Given the complex mix of ingredients—the shea butter and ceramides and acids—recreating the exact scent had been difficult. But she’d gotten it. And, even better, the lotion was sumptuous, so it fit their brand.
She made her way up the stone staircase that led to the business offices. At the landing, she glanced out the rectangular window and got that familiar rush of joy.
Villeneuve Castle sat atop a ridge overlooking the capital city. Wildflowers carpeted the hills, and the snow-covered Alps created a cozy fortress for her picturesque little town. Below, the two-lane highway snaked through the valley like a black river. Heavy mid-morning traffic meant the businesses were thriving, and it made her proud to think how well her father ran this beautiful, safe country.
Hushed, urgent voices upstairs drew her attention. A woman and a man.
But the urgency wasn’t anger or frustration…it was passionate. Yearning.
An office romance? Not many employees worked in the castle—only the finance department—and most of them were married and had held their positions forever. She would be devastated to learn someone was having an affair.
As she climbed the steps, she let the soles of her ballet flats slap on the stone to alert them, but their impassioned conversation didn’t stop.
“But you don’t love her.” The hushed, fervent voice came from behind the closed door of a supply closet.
A spike of recognition hit the base of her spine. Fabiana. But her personal assistant and friend wasn’t dating anyone.
“You don’t marry someone you don’t love.” Fabiana sounded overwrought. “It won’t work. Not when you’re in love with me.”
One single second had never held so much tension. Who’s she talking to?
Who?
A man let out a rough exhalation. “It’s a different kind of love, Fabi. It might not be wild and crazy like I feel for you, but I do love her. I’ve known her all my life.”
Marcel.
Chapter Two
Rosalina went into freefall. Her mind scrabbled to grab hold of something, anything, but she plummeted.
This isn’t happening.
Marcel and Fabiana?
Beads of perspiration popped out on her hairline. Her skin went cold, then hot.
“You love her like a sister.” Her assistant had never sounded so emotional. “You can’t marry your sister. It won’t work. It can’t.”
“Fabi, I’m going to marry her. You know that. You’ve always known that.”
This was a Marcel she didn’t know. Desperate, pleading.
Her fiancé wore pressed khakis, starched button-down shirts, and leather shoes. He kept his hair short and neat, his jaw clean-shaven. He was steady, reliable.
The voice of the man hidden in a closet with his mistress wore rumpled clothing, had several days growth, and showed up late to work hungover. She’d never met this man.
<
br /> Her palm pressed against the cool wall. Nothing made sense. She’d become a piece dropped into the wrong puzzle.
“Marrying her won’t flip some kind of switch,” Fabiana said. “You’ve never been so crazy for her that you took her up against the wall or…or threw her down on the bed and ripped off her clothes. All the things you talk about with me…? You’re not going to suddenly want to do them with her just because you’ve exchanged vows.”
The man she’d known her whole life, the only man she’d ever been with…
He doesn’t love me?
She felt so small, so…insubstantial.
So sick.
“Fabi, stop. God, just stop.”
“No, I won’t stop. The wedding planner is here. We have to talk about it right now, before things go too far and you can’t undo them.”
Rosalina pressed her hot cheek against the stone wall. She felt dizzy, disoriented. How had she not seen this? She’d hired Fabiana during her first year at university, because she hadn’t been able to keep up with her duties as well as her studies as a chemistry major at the Sorbonne. Over these seven years, they’d become good friends.
Or so she’d thought.
The truth hit her bloodstream like ice water. This entire time, her closest friends had been lying to her.
Her stomach lurched, twisted, and she thought her knees might give out.
“Listen to me, Fabi. I do love her. I’ve always loved her.”
“You’re a passionate man. You need more than she can give you. What will happen a year from now? Two? Ten? When she’s involved in raising children and her lab work, when there’s no time for you. Will you find someone else to pull into closets and send desperate text messages to?”
Every word struck her heart like a mallet, smashing it to a pulp.
He doesn’t love me.
He’d never spoken to Rosalina as though the possibility of losing her felt like his soul was being ripped out of his body.
Shame spread in a rush. All of their intimate moments were a lie. He’d been making love to her, while imagining Fabiana.
“We can’t discuss this here,” he said. “We’re at work. Someone will hear us.”
“For God’s sake, we have to tell her before they announce the wedding date.”
“Would you just stop? Stop touching me. You’re turning me inside out. I can’t call it off. I’m marrying her. I want to marry her.”
“Out of duty, not out of love. Just answer me this, have you ever once kissed her the way you kiss me? Are you desperate for her the way you are for me?”
Rosalina held her breath, her body suspended over a bed of needles. The wrong answer would pull the lever, releasing her, leaving her skin pierced and bleeding.
“No, okay? What you and I have…it’s exciting and…I can’t sleep at night for wanting you, but I am going to marry the princess. I mean, the passion fades in all relationships, but at least with Rosalina, I’ll be left with my best friend. Please, please understand. I never meant to mislead you.”
Every word slapped across her skin like a whip, leaving her raw and hurting. A pain unlike anything she’d ever known.
“She’s not capable of passion. She’ll never satisfy your needs. You don’t want her sexually, so let her go. What kind of life are you going to give her, when you’re lusting after me?”
Rosalina couldn’t take it anymore. Climbing the last two steps, she grasped the doorknob.
“You’re only marrying her so your family can become the royal bloodline. That’s all you care about.”
“Of course that matters. We want our due, but it’s not the only reason. I love her, and she’s my dearest friend.”
Their due? The Allards had worked for her family for generations. They’d been like cousins, included in all the celebrations and dinners and special moments. They were paid well, given housing and all kinds of benefits.
Nobody owed them anything.
“I could never hurt her by calling it off. And I do think we’ll be happy.”
Enough. Rosalina flung the door open so hard it slammed against a cabinet. Both of them whipped around to face her. Fabiana—the woman who’d held her hand through a pregnancy scare, who’d shared the most important moments in her life over the last seven years—looked horrified, and Marcel—her best friend, the only man she’d ever been intimate with—rushed toward her.
“Oh, God. Rosalina.” But the threatening look she gave him made him freeze.
She could only stare helplessly at her assistant. “I trusted you. In every possible way.” God, she hated how weak she sounded. But she couldn’t process it. She wanted them both to break out laughing. Tell her the scene had been staged. They’d pulled a prank.
Gotcha.
But their expressions told the truth. Anger, hurt, disbelief created a mix so toxic it burned her skin. “Fabi, how could you do this to me?”
Marcel reached for her. “It’s not like that. Nothing’s happened. We haven’t—”
“Shut up.” She couldn’t even look at him. Her friend, wearing a plain wrap dress and beige and white heels, stood there with her shoulders slumped, the energy drained out of her.
Rosalina wished so badly she had the presence of mind to find the right words to cut them both down to size, but she was too discombobulated. Nothing made sense.
“I’m sorry.” Fabiana looked down at the floor. “I never meant for this to happen.”
“You never meant to fall in love with my fiancé? You never meant to kiss him in closets and sext him?”
“No, I didn’t.” Her gaze snapped up. “I resisted it for so long. You have to believe me. I didn’t want to fall for him. But you’ve been away so long, and we spend so much time together…it just happened.”
Energy started flowing in. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Nothing just happens. Every step you took toward each other was a choice. And don’t talk like I’ve been out of touch all this time. I’ve come home from school often. You’ve both come to visit me plenty of times. We still have sex.” She turned to Marcel. “Does she know that? Or have you been playing the role of neglected boyfriend?”
“What? No.” He had the nerve to sound outraged. “It’s not like that at all. Look, give me a chance to—”
“Give you a chance? Marcel, I gave you my trust, and you tossed it in the garbage.”
“Rosalina, listen to me. It’s not what it looks like. I haven’t slept with her.” His tone was pleading.
“Do you think that’s what matters? Whether you stuck your penis in her? God, Marcel. What you did is so much worse. A random hookup is bad enough, but all of this emotion, this passion?” She felt gutted. She wanted to crash. Fall to her knees and hide her face in her hands.
Only, she couldn’t. Not yet. She needed to finish this.
“I’m sorry.” He looked miserable. “I don’t know what to say. Everything got so out of hand.”
“I don’t know what you heard,” Fabiana began.
“I heard everything I need to see who you really are.” The very core of her trembled, like a palm tree in gale force winds. But she needed to stay strong, say what needed to be said. “As my friend, you should’ve walked away the moment you realized you had feelings for my fiancé.”
“Walked away where?” Fabiana said. “I work for you.”
“Then you should have quit.”
Her assistant’s eyes widened, like the suggestion was as absurd as telling her to move to Jupiter.
Rosalina couldn’t take it anymore. Not one more second around these people who’d, in an instant, become strangers to her. “You’re fired. Get your things and leave the building.”
“Rosalina, no.” Her former assistant turned teary-eyed.
Rosalina reached out to Marcel. “I need your phone.”
He immediately pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over.
It struck her, the moment she touched it, that this simple piece of hardware had countless word
s and images of betrayal stored on it. After shooting off a text to her head of security, she literally threw it at him. She couldn’t be rid of it fast enough.
“We haven’t been together like that,” Fabiana said. “It’s nothing more than words and a few kisses. I swear it.”
“It’s so much more that it makes me sick to my stomach to even hear you say that. You looked me in the eye as though you were my friend, while going after my fiancé behind my back.”
When Fabiana looked to Marcel for support, he cast his gaze to the floor. “Marcel.” But even her plea didn’t get his attention. She stood there, each second stretching to the point of snapping. “I’m sorry. Rosalina, please, you have to know I never meant for this to happen.”
“You were just trying to talk my fiancé out of marrying me. Your intentions are perfectly clear.” Heavy boots pounded up the steps.
“You called security?” Fabiana whipped around to face the door.
“Do you think I trust you in any capacity?” she said.
Just then Harrison, six-seven, two-hundred and sixty pounds of hard muscle, stormed into the room. “What’s going on?”
“I found my assistant begging my fiancé to dump me.” Tears stung, and she frantically blinked them away.
Her bodyguard had been with her for most of her life, so when he went rock solid, her tension loosened just a fraction. He’s got me. He watched her for a long, heavy moment, then shifted his attention to Fabiana. “Let’s go.” With a jerk of his head toward the door, he got the woman moving.
Her former assistant cut one more look to Marcel. “Are you really just going to stand there?”
Apparently, he was. He didn’t even look at her.
With a disgusted look, Fabiana led Harrison out the door.
That left her alone with the boy she’d grown up with. Trusted. And loved. The boy who’d snuck out of his boarding school and boarded a train to be by her side after her dad’s heart attack.
