Forbidden Noble Page 2

  It was practically full from the last round. Astorre poured to the rim and she said, “Wait! That’s a lot.”

  He shrugged and filled his own. “You’re on vacation. Don't worry. I’ll get you to your hotel room before I lose everything.”

  Alcohol wasn’t a good way to seal the friend-zone. She ignored the pulse in her veins that whispered he understood her in a way most people didn't. “Alone?”

  He placed his hand on his heart. “If my word means anything, then yes.”

  She pointed toward his purchases. “Then let’s open a second bottle.”

  He sipped from his full glass and relaxed into his seat as the rain grew more intense outside the stone window overlooking the rocks she’d climbed and supposedly Hercules had split. Reading had always been her only escape as she’d never had a vacation until now. He said, “Finish this and I’ll get us to the hotel where we can both enjoy the second bottle.”

  Right. She was full of energy inside as every cell in her body was aware of him, sitting calmly across the table. “I’m trusting you, Astorre. Don’t let me down.”

  “Trust? Clara, you’re probably the only woman in the world to ever say that to me.” He placed his hands on the table. "You're safe."

  Maybe in another life, she’d be his type. But for tonight and tomorrow she would learn all she could about him, and stay at his side. She’d enjoy the moment for once and live.

  Chapter 2

  Astorre had the driver bring them to the five-star yacht hotel, Sunborn Gibraltar. He'd only been here once before but Clara’s face reddened and she’d say she’d taken advantage of his hospitality again though enjoy the luxury as they stopped in front of it. She pressed her hand, so tiny in comparison to his, on his forearm. “Is this a cruise?”

  “We’re not going anywhere. The ship is stationary and the best five-star hotel I’ve ever stayed at.” The idea of sailing off into the sunset like the end of a movie played in his head.

  Perhaps he should have chosen a long ocean cruise for the end of the road with his wealth, but he figured the Strait of Gibraltar was pretty nice too. For millennia, this had been thought of as the end of the known world, so he'd thought it a perfect place to get himself drunk enough to go through with giving up his title, his fortune, and the only life he’d ever known.

  He’d only ever had whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, at any time.

  His life had both tragedy and blessings, but luxury was all he knew.

  Over the past few days Clara had somehow managed to make him see her life and how she'd suffered from her lack.

  He'd avoided women for years. Avoided might be a bit of a stretch. He'd enjoyed women for years but kept anything personal off the table other than sex.

  He hadn't so much as hugged Clara and somehow she'd coaxed a laugh out of him when they’d met in Paris.

  So he'd invited her along on his last hurrah and she’d accepted to be beside him in the end. He’d even downgraded his penthouse to ensure they had two connecting superyacht ocean suites rather than share his one room.

  They entered the hotel and Astorre checked them in as a blond, lean man he’d not seen in years leered at Clara, staring at Clara’s backside as she, oblivious, studied a painting near a flower display.

  Max Fionalli walked toward Clara, adjusting his collar so it stuck up. Astorre finished his transaction and blocked Max's path.

  Max nodded.

  Astorre asked, “Max, what are you doing here?”

  Max continued to make a beeline for Clara as he asked, “Are you marrying Clara Fortuna?”

  Clara whipped her head around and her eyes were wide at the question.

  His heart raced but he told Max, “Yes. Absolutely.”

  Clara, startled, tripped but Astorre caught her before she fell into the flowers. “Wait," she said. "What did you say?”

  Because if he didn’t marry her, some man like Max might strike and Clara wasn’t ready for a player like him.

  It was funny that he thought of anyone else right now, but his skin was jumpy and he wrapped his hand around her side. “Clara, this is Max Fionalli.”

  Max reached for her hand and acted like Astorre wasn’t there at all as he said, “It’s lovely to see such a beautiful woman tonight.”

  She pulled her hand free. “Umm, okay. Astorre?”

  He patted her back and directed them to the elevator bank. “Yes, my love. Let’s get going.”

  She trembled beside him but kept up with his fast pace. Once they were in the elevator up to their room, she asked, “Okay… who was Max?”

  Good question. Max Fionalli was in many ways Astorre’s opposite. The man had nothing, but wanted what he had no right to possess. He’d almost married his sister before Astorre had put a stop to that.

  Max’s interest in Clara wasn’t good--and his presence here was off. Perhaps Astorre had been warned but he hadn’t paid attention. “We should both listen to our voicemails.”

  The doors opened to the tenth floor as she crossed her arms and said, “That doesn’t explain who he is.”

  Thunder echoed in the air outside the metal walls of the cruise ship and for a moment the aisle went dark. However the lights returned and they continued down the hall. “Max Fionalli… he’s on the hunt to marry an heiress.”

  Inside the yacht they couldn’t see lightning to figure out the distance of the storm, but Clara didn’t seem fazed by it anyway. “Well, he’s harmless to me then.”

  Yet that wasn’t true. If Max had noticed Clara, there was a reason, and his back pocket screamed that he’d have the answer if he just listened to his messages. Not listening because he'd wanted to enjoy the day with Clara wasn’t like him. He tugged his right ear and shook his head. “No, how Max talked downstairs… that's how he asked me about my sister.”

  They neared her room and he waited for her to open it. Once she did, he pointed to the connecting door and left.

  Astorre clicked on his voicemail and listened to his friend Stephano, who'd recently married Rossie, and froze.

  Clara Fortuna wasn’t penniless.

  Her natural parents were the Baron and Baroness de Dona.

  They’d been killed during the occupation as they hadn’t fled Avce in time.

  The baroness was the one woman his father had loved. The reason he’d soured and eventually turned evil, at least that's what Astorre believed.

  Clara was the daughter of the woman his father couldn’t have.

  The second he caught his breath, he went inside his room, knocked on the connecting panel, and opened the door on his side. She leaned against the frame and asked, “So you think Max believes I have some sort of fortune?”

  They should have listened hours ago, but his mind quickly shifted away from being broke and penniless in a few hours to the present. He bowed and said, “Baroness de Dona. Listen to your voicemails, Clara.”

  Her face turned red; she scratched her neck and stared at him confused, curling the toes of her old pink sneakers. “Who?”

  The perfect vengeance on his father wasn’t giving up all his money. He took her hand. “Clara, will you marry me?”

  She didn’t pull away. “Who’s the Baroness de Dona?”

  “You.” He traced her soft skin on her wrist as her fingers couldn’t hide that she worked too hard.

  Together their lives had just changed.

  If she agreed to be his wife.

  She just blinked but then shook her head as she said, “Me? You must be mistaken.”

  Lightning flashed outside their windows with an ocean view, followed closely by thunder as if they were in the middle of the storm. The ambiance echoed the truth. “This news hit me like lightning too.”

  More lights blinked, and echoed with such a loud boom that the room shook. Clara asked, almost too quietly, “What does it mean?”

  If she agreed to marry him then he had a better way to kick his father’s casket--metaphorically speaking, as it had been buried six feet under long ago. He
met her gaze and said, “Marrying you would be fitting revenge, and then I get to keep my money.”

  She took her hand back and tucked it close to her chest like she needed to hug herself. “What are you saying?”

  How could she possibly know what had happened? He'd had no intention of telling her, even for her book. He motioned toward the blue chaise. She sat and he joined her, though it was a tight fit--he didn’t care. Not now, when things were about to change again. “My father was refused by your mother, which was why he became a traitor to Avce and eventually killed my mom. If I marry you, it’s… almost like I… win and he loses.”

  Clara lowered her head, staring at her lap like she thought long and hard. She didn’t move at all. For a moment the light was at war with the sound outside the ocean-view windows. If she said no, or the ship went down, he wouldn't have to worry anymore.

  Finally she parted her lips to ask, “And do I get money in this deal?”

  His heart stirred. Watching her enjoy the finer things this past two weeks had made him realize how well he'd been taken care of. He nodded. “Yes, and I’ll ensure no one named Max ever comes near you.”

  She laughed and the softness in her voice calmed the storm inside him as it lessened outside as well. “He didn’t seem that bad…I’m not that interesting of a date.”

  His shoulders tightened. Clara was no match for bad people like Max. Good thing that Gibraltar was the closest thing in Europe to offer the American Vegas-style wedding. This could be done fast but that didn’t mean it needed to be cheap. He took out his phone. “I’m texting my secretary to set this up for us. Do you need to buy a dress?”

  Her face was whiter than usual as she said, “I’d like a shower and to wash my matted hair before I marry anyone.”

  Did she not want to do this? He corrected her. “Marry me.”

  “Yes, marry you.” Her cheeks flushed and she picked up her foot to show him a faded pink shoe. “I’d like to not wear my muddy sneakers.”

  Right. She’d been trekking to the rock while he'd bought the phones, umbrellas, and wine. He stood fast. “Then I’ll have my secretary send up a dressmaker and shoes. Can you be ready in two hours?”

  She stood with him and he noticed the goosebumps on her arm as she said, “So no wine? I thought we'd come here to have a second bottle.”

  “After,” he said, though he’d send her a case of wine if she wanted it.

  Clara Fortuna was the only woman in the world that he'd ever wanted to marry, to be truthful.

  She licked her lips but let out a sigh. “I have no idea what really changed your mind just now.”

  And she didn’t believe his story about her being an heiress. Fair. He headed to his room to make all the arrangements, pausing to knock on the wood of the doorframe. “Listen to your voicemails from your friend, Rossie.”

  She followed him and saw that his room was identical to hers. “Even if Rossie confirms I’m some baroness de whatever you said, that doesn’t explain your abrupt change from hoping to be penniless like me, to now wanting to save me. There must be more to it.”

  He stilled. Wine. Explaining. This wasn’t the signs of full-speed ahead. “Are you stalling because you're being too polite to tell me no now?”

  She stepped backwards but then came forward and shook her head. “I’m… I’m not. I’ll marry you. Just give me ten minutes.”

  Good. He’d handle the paperwork while she showered. Her damp hair was tangled from the rain as she hadn't waited for the umbrella he'd bought. “I’ll need your passport to get the license.”

  She marched back to her room and unzipped her bag. The lightning and thunder had just passed through. Clara returned and handed him her blue book. “Part of me wonders if this is all some dream but then you say things like ‘passport.’”

  Clara’s cut-to-the-chase brain for the past two weeks had struck him hard as she was fascinating and honest. “Clara, you’re nothing like anyone I’ve ever met.”

  She tucked her hands in her pockets. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  He massaged his head. “It wasn’t…” But then he wasn’t sure how to say that she was the closest thing he had to a friend without insulting her. He changed what he'd been about to say. “So, go to your room and shower. Help will arrive soon for you to be ready.”

  She turned to leave but then dropped her shoulder, glanced at him and came back. “Astorre, I want to say one thing.”

  That she wouldn't marry him? Doubt was in her every nuance of her expression so he braced for the impact of rejection. “What’s that?”

  She ran her hand through her hair that seemed to stick to her face. “I’m saying yes because I don’t want you to ever live without a dime, nuking ramen noodles as it's all you can afford. I… I like you and I don’t want to ruin your life.”

  He deflated fast. This wasn’t what he'd expected. He walked across the room and clasped her hands. “Clara, you’re the only person I can imagine marrying--you are insightful, with your eyes wide open. I was ready to just start fresh.”

  He hugged her.

  He wasn’t sure when he'd last hugged anyone. Probably his sister, as hugging wasn’t something he usually did. Clara smelled a bit like vanilla, her clothes slightly damp. She said, “Well, I’m glad we met then.”

  As his duchess her life would never be the same. Perhaps she was the perfect choice for the job as Modena wasn’t for the frivolous. “In a few hours you won't be just a baroness with a title to pass on, but my duchess. There is money in your life. Prepare yourself by ordering a few dresses from the dressmaker until we get back to Avce. But don’t expect to enjoy the estate. Many people blame my parents' deaths on the fact the entire house is haunted.”

  Color grew on her face. “You’re seriously giving me Wuthering Heights vibes right now.”

  “What?” All he remembered about that was an old book he was supposed to read back in high school.

  She crossed her arms. “Just to be clear, you weren’t married before, and there is no wife haunting the attic?”

  His eyes narrowed. “If I had been married before now, I wouldn't have to marry again by tomorrow.”

  She let her arms down. “Right. Okay. Haunted set me off. I’m excited to meet your sister and see this house.”

  He headed to the adjoining door and slightly closed it to give her privacy as he made his calls. “Clara, you’re seriously one in a million.”

  “Good to know.” She winked at him and fully closed the door.

  Every other woman he’d ever been with would have invited him into the shower with her. Clara was nothing like anyone he’d ever met, which was good. It was better to marry someone who could hold an intelligent conversation than someone clearly after his money, or a score. Things might work out. Anything was possible.

  Chapter 3

  Clara turned off the water for her shower just as she heard her phone ring.

  Still wrapped in her towel, she headed toward her fully charged new phone, saw another missed call, and listened to the voicemails.

  Astorre had been right. Somehow her birth parents had been nobles in Avce.

  In high school it would have been nice to tell Grandmother May that she was leaving for some foreign estate and flounce off instead of just trek down the street with her backpack as she’d done. She loved movies where the American girl went to Europe because a parent or grandparent claimed them as royal.

  And now it was her life. She could sing her giddiness, like in a musical, though she hadn’t the voice to dare.

  Clara picked up her phone. If she called her only friend, she’d have to explain herself, and it was better to have an in-person conversation on why she'd married Astorre today.

  Honestly she wasn’t sure of her motives…it was true that she didn't want him to suffer poverty. She’d never been kissed and now here she was…getting married. She thought that she'd wait for love, but time for her friend Astorre was running out. This wasn’t settling. Not when she was wrap
ped in a warmed bathrobe, her skin softened by fancy lotion that smelled like eucalyptus. And she’d have time for herself to maybe write instead of fixing someone’s lawn mower. She opted for texting.

  Rossie, I haven't been ignoring you. I lost my phone at the airport.

  She dug out her hairbrush and combed back the muted brown locks that had waves in odd places and was flat and straight in others. Her phone dinged and she read the reply, Did you get my voicemails?

  Normally Clara was a better friend, but Rossie had been so happy that she hadn't worried for her and Clara had left the wedding with Astorre. She ignored how her body heated like she’d been caught doing something wrong. She typed back. Yeah. Kind of insane to think I inherited anything.

  Rossie typed back as the three dots on the screen indicated. Clara put her hairbrush away to ensure her room was tidy. Her phone dinged and she read Rossie’s answer. You knew your parents had died.

  Every unwanted child she’d met wanted a different life--but how many actually got one? It would take some getting used to, but she was more interested in marrying Astorre. Yeah. Look, I’ll be back in Avce soon.

  A knock sounded on the door and Clara stood, but her phone beeped. She quickly read Rossie’s answer, You’re okay?

  Was she? It felt like was in a dream. Her mind clouded and she couldn't explain that she was about to get married, after all the arguments she'd presented against Rossie’s impulsive marriage. She opened the door and let the dressmaker in with gowns galore on wheeled luggage meant to showcase the hanging dresses. All white caught her eye as she typed back. Great. I’m traveling with Astorre.

  The travel partner would soon be her husband. The gowns were now all in so she closed the door as Rossie dinged back, Well have fun.

  Clara put her phone down and said, “Hi, I’m Clara Fortuna.”

  “Just call me Valentina.” The woman had dark hair wound in a bun and fierce eyebrows. “Let’s get you sized. Please try this on. I want to get your measurements so we can narrow down what I brought.”