With Lilliana in bed asleep, Mariella booted up her computer at the oak desk in the corner of the living room by the stairway. The faint odor of grilled cheese and tomato soup, at her daughter’s request, lingered from dinner and was surprisingly comforting. They rarely had anything like that at the palace. From the window off to the side of her desk, the snow fell in big fat flakes outside, making the yard a pleasant winter scene.
She sat staring at the screen, thinking of Dr. Dubois’s assignment.
A two-page paper, written on some ethical issue you feel strongly about. The topic doesn’t have to be a legal one. And only write it once. No editing or revising. Write from the heart. You can even tell personal stories, but know you’ll read them aloud in class.
He’d been amused when the students grumbled, his sea-blue eyes showing his mirth, his full mouth turning up a bit at the corners.
So, what should she write about? What was an ethical concern of hers? Infidelity was the first thing that came to mind. For personal reasons. Very personal. While she was pregnant with Lilliana, Arturo, her beloved husband, had a one- night stand with a waitress at the restaurant he ran with his parents. Mari was in her ninth month and they’d stopped having sex. She never found out about the peccadillo until six months after Lilliana was born. He’d confessed because he was plagued by guilt. By then, they’d only been married a year, but they’d been betrothed since they were thirteen and had fallen in love soon after that. He contended since he’d never been with anyone else, he wanted one fling before the child was born.
Crushed, Mari had packed her bags and gone back to the palace to live. It took him six months to convince her he was sorry. And for her to admit that during those months before the baby was born, she’d been a real bitch. The pregnancy, which happened pre-marriage, had been unplanned and she was not happy about it. Tearfully, they’d reunited, but had only another six months together before a stove at the restaurant blew up in his face. He’d died five days later. And still, to this day, she’d regretted the fact that she’d wasted those precious months when they could have been together.
She drummed her fingers on the desk. What would make the writing of it easier? She smiled. Sometimes the imp inside her rose up without warning. No one expected she had a mischievous side, so they were always surprised when it surfaced. Instead of typing the paper in English, she clicked into French software. That might please Dr. Dubois. Might make him laugh.
Her fingers tapped away on the keyboard:
Infidelity is not only an ethical issue, it’s a psychological, social and highly personal thing...
When she finished, she sat back, loosened the knots in her neck with several shoulder shrugs, then checked the clock on her phone. The two pages had taken only an hour to write. She even felt a bit better getting all that out, as only her parents knew about the separation. They’d told her sisters Arturo had come to the palace with her because they needed help with the baby. But now, writing about her feelings must have been cathartic, even though she hadn’t directly included her personal experience.
She wondered what Dr. Dubois would think of the issue? She wondered if he’d ever been unfaithful to Yvette’s mother. She wondered why he was in the U.S. without her. Lillianna had said her mama lived on the French Riviera. That’s all Mari knew.
She pressed print and stood to go to bed. It was none of her business what had happened in her teacher’s life. She wasn’t a snooper, nor did she like when people snooped into her private matters.
* * *
Jordan awoke with a start. Looking around wildly, his hands bunched in the sheets, he tried to get his bearings. Was it Yvette? Had she cried out? Then he realized his cell phone, muffled some under the pillow on his bed, was ringing. He fished blindly for it. “Allo.”
“Hello, mon amour. Did I wake you?”
Damn it to hell. “Yes, you woke me, Elise. It’s five a.m. here.”
“I just went out.”
“Of course you did.”
“Don’t be cranky, Jordan.” She pronounced his name Jor-dán.
Sleep vanishing, he asked, “What do you want?”
“The strangest thing happened.” Her teasing voice took on an edge. “I went to get money at the casino and the machine said I had no balance.”
He sat back against the padded headboard. “Money was transferred to your account on Monday, as usual.”
“I’m afraid I had some bad luck earlier in the week. And I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the amount. I want it doubled.”
Jordan had family money. He had scads of book earnings that were regularly coming in. Still, he said, “No.”
Silence. Then, “Ah, well you know I’m missing Yvette.” Her voice dropped lower and took on a sinister tone. “Perhaps I’ll call my avocat tomorrow and see about bringing her to Monaco on a permanent basis.”
He gripped the phone. Counted to ten. Drew in a breath. He suppressed the emotion so much, his chest hurt with it. And did what he usually did with this impossible woman. “All right, whatever you want. I’ll make the arrangements for your blackmail tomorrow.”
“Why, whatever do you mean?”
When he said nothing, she hung up.
Jordan lay back down and closed his eyes, thinking about how he’d fucked up his family situation. Beginning with his marriage to Elise Bisset. God, he hated the mistakes he’d made. He’d been paying for them all his adult life.
Stop it! He told himself. You have Yvette. You have a career you love. You’ve had success. Don’t be ungrateful.
For a while, he stared out the window and at the tree there, laden with snow. The moon was still up, and it was almost full. Then he checked the bedside clock and decided he might as well rise for the day. Once in the kitchen, he found Yvette already awake and at the table. Her braided hair was messy, and she wore pink fleece pajamas with unicorns on them. “Bonjour, papa.”
“Bonjour, ma petite trésor. You’re up early.”
“I’m so excited about going to Lilliana’s house. I packed.”
“You do remember that’s not until tomorrow.”
“Yes, Papa. But I wanted to be ready.”
He kissed her head on his way to the coffee pot. He’d set it up last night, and Yvette had taken to turning it on for him if she rose first. The strong brew filled the air. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
She scraped the chair back, got up and crossed to him. Hugged him around the waist. “I’m so happy you’re letting me go to Mari’s house.”
He didn’t tell her he wasn’t the stumbling block. Life was. Mariella Moretti was. He only said, “De rien.”
As he sipped his coffee and his daughter ate Cheerios, he wondered what Ms. Moretti had written about for this week’s assignment. She had more self-confidence in class than he expected her to have. She was so delicate, in build and stature. But she’d volunteered in discussion frequently. And showed amusement at the asshole Walker, even dared to contradict him. He liked having her in class.
And he was thinking about her again. Banishing her from his thoughts, he sat down at the table with his daughter. “Let’s go over our day. Maybe we’ll have dinner out tonight.”
“Anything, Papa.”
She couldn’t be more different from her mother. And she was worth every penny he’d had to pay the selfish bitch to keep her.
* * *
Barclay Williamson read his paper. “To me, the biggest ethical consideration in schools is curve grading. We shouldn’t be compared to others. It’s unethical to make judgments on our work by comparing it to classmates. Georgetown has several classes that grade on curves...”
Anna Carrington was next. “How can anyone write about anything but governmental lack of ethics? James Manwaring campaigned on ejecting all cheaters and liars and pilferers out of government. Yet our Congress...”
Ahmad Bashir read his paper. “Prejudice against Muslims is abhorrent. Blaming them for every terrorist attack is unfair. Personal bias is unethical...”
Mariella Moretti’s paper said, “This has nothing to do with the law. It isn’t even about the Ten Commandments. It’s personal and private and can ruin you and your family’s lives. Marital infidelity may not be illegal, but it’s against common decency...”
Jordan listened to all the students read, and by the end of the two hours, he had pretty solid insight into each of them. And some of the papers shocked him. Like the boy who’d sat at the end of the horseshoe in front of him and hadn’t said a word. His scathing commentary on governmental ethics belied his quiet demeanor. One other less-vocal student had also written passionately. An interesting phenomenon came in the fact that two of the students who’d dominated the first class discussion wrote on superficial topics.
And then there was Mariella Moretti. He wondered
briefly if she could possibly know things about him, then dismissed that. Could infidelity have happened to her? She was hardly old enough for that, though he knew from Yvette her husband had died when Lilliana was a year old, so she must have been a young bride. And why the hell would anyone cheat on her? Maybe she was the cheater, though he doubted that.
When the last student finished, he addressed the class. “Good job to those of you who went deep and argued passionately. Some of you who took no risks might consider broadening your minds. We have a few minutes. On the back of your papers answer the two questions on the whiteboard. Whose paper did you agree with most and why? Whose paper did you disagree with most and why.
“When you’re finished, hand them into me, and you can leave for the night.”
Two students left immediately. Three more left after five minutes. Mariella followed them, and he nodded to her. She nodded back.
He picked up her paper and laughed out loud. The remaining students were startled. Hell, he needed to be more circumspect, but the fact that she wrote in his native language was funny and heartwarming at the same time. She was full of surprises.
* * *
Mariella arrived at Dr. Dubois’s office for her independent study at four p.m. on Thursday. She knocked on the ajar door, heard, “Come in,” and stepped inside. The room smelled like something very male—aftershave or cologne. It was subtle but...sexy, she guessed.
“Boungiorno, Ms. Moretti.”
“Bonjour, Dr. Dubois.”
“Sit down at the table.” Picking up his coffee cup, he offered to get her some espresso.
She wrinkled her nose.
“What?”
“I’m afraid I’m spoiled. Mamá sends us all the rich, dark beans from Casarina to make our coffee.”
“You are spoiled then. But we have some good espresso in France, and I need coffee at work. Would you like to try a cup?”
“All right.”
When he sat down adjacent to her, she asked, “Do you find it boring? Teaching here?”
“Not at all.” Staring into her eyes he said, “I find my students invigorating. Especially those who write in French.” A very male grin. “I enjoyed your paper immensely. Thank you for taking the extra time with it. I only need coffee because I’m hooked on caffeine.”
“As far as vices go, that’s the most harmless.”
“Why is it you’re fluent in French?”
“I liked language growing up, and was always looking up words in foreign languages. Because of that, my parents brought in tutors for three other languages. I was able to speak in Italian, of course, but also French, Spanish and German by the time I was seventeen.”
“An impressive accomplishment. You are a very interesting woman.” He cleared his throat. He held up her paper. “The topic was heavy.”
“Aren’t most ethic subjects heavy?”
“Not all the writers in the class thought so.”
“I agree. But some wrote meaty papers.”
“So,” he said more professionally, “tell me what interests you most about French Law. We’ll guide your independent work in those directions.” He winked at her. “I can even pick out some books.”
“Students are rigid here, probably in any law school. They like routine; they need the security of knowing exactly what they are to do.”
“Is that true for you?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “I used to need security very much. I’ve grown out of that. I find it...invigorating to get challenging and interesting assignments.”
“Ah, well, a return compliment.” He bowed his head.
“But to answer your question, I’m interested in Commercial Law, Anti-Discrimination Law, Family Law and Environmental Law. I could go on but that’s a lot, I know, for one two-credit independent study.”
“We have sixteen weeks together. We can either touch on each subject, or do a deeper study into a few. Three maybe.”
“The deeper study. I took several commercial law classes in undergrad and my first two years in law school. How about Anti-Discrimination Law and Environmental Law for my father, and Family Law for me.”
“I’m confused.”
“I’m going back...home after this semester to work with him.”
“And I go back to France, then, too.”
“Then we should make the most of our time together.”
His eyes darkened to almost navy. Mari wondered why. Then the mood shifted, and he took up the pen and legal pad on the table. “Let’s break things down some today.”
“Personally, I’m interested in family laws of different countries.”
His face paled a bit. She wondered why. But since he picked right up on her suggestion, she didn’t ask.
* * *
“God bless you two.” Raven’s comment came with a hint of exasperation. She referred to the bursts of noise coming from the living room of Brie’s house, accompanied by occasional thuds and some godawful rock music.
“What?” Mariella asked. “You don’t like the sound of children having fun?”
“What are they doing?” Raven asked, ignoring the question.
“Believe it or not, they’re playing the old Twister game we insisted Papá find for us. Dante bought it for his niece and nephew because it had been a favorite of his.”
From the stove, Brie looked over her shoulder at her sisters. “I love that game.”
“You love everything these days.”
Brie’s face glowed with inner joy and contentment. “I guess I do.”
Raven gave a rare smile. Her hair had grown faster than any of theirs and already fell past her shoulders. Months ago it was short and spiky. “I’m glad, sweetie.”
“I know. Your sourpuss comments are a sham.”
“Sometimes.” She sipped the deep-red merlot and continued to address Brie at the stove where she was cooking. “So, what’s going on with the man in there supervising the little monsters?”
“Dante’s probably playing with them.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do.” Brie turned from the marinara she was stirring and came to sit at the table with Mari and Raven. “Things between us are wonderful. His lease is up next month, and he’s moving in with me.”
“Wow, that’s news.” Raven’s brows knitted. “And a little soon.”
Mari grinned. “I think it’s great. You’re not around to see them together. That relationship was meant to be.”
“Are you sure you’re not rushing things, sis?” Now Raven’s voice held concern.
“We might be. But we don’t
care. If I had my way, I’d...”
He appeared at the doorway. “You’d what, love?”
Brie’s light complexion blushed to the roots of her blond hair. “Nothing.”
His gait was easy as he walked over to the refrigerator. He asked over his shoulder, “Who’s Lilliana’s friend, Mari?”
“The daughter of one of my professors. They met at the after-school program at Georgetown and have become fast friends.”
Raven’s brows rose. “I didn’t know about that relationship. Are you sure it’s a good idea to become involved with a prof’s family? How did that happen?”
“They’ve been clamoring for a sleepover for six months. It’s hard to explain to an almost seven-year-old the...decorum for those kinds of relationships. Dr. Dubois tried to squelch it from his end, too. We finally gave in.”
Brie bit her lip.
“What?” from Raven.
“You should see Dr. Dubois.” She giggled. “His looks would make even you swoon, Raven.”
Dante turned from the fridge where he’d gotten a beer. “You wound me, Gabriella.”
“Aw.” She got up and went to him, looped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear. He burst out laughing.
“Uncle Dante,” his niece shouted to him from the other room. “Come back in. It’s your turn.”
“Duty calls.”
When Dante left, Raven turned to Mari. “So he’s gorgeous?”
“He is. But our relationship is purely professional.”
“As it should be.” Raven ran her hand along the rim of her glass, making it sing. “Not that I want you to do anything with him, Mar, but it’s been five years since Arturo died. I worry that you haven’t dated at all.”
“I’m a bit sick of it myself.” She held up her left hand.
Raven’s jaw dropped. “Oh, my God, you took off your wedding band.”
“I did. I thought I’d begin the new year that way. I’ll never forget Arturo, and I still get sad sometimes, but not nearly as much.”
Her sister squeezed her arm. “That’s good to hear. Just remember what I said about the professor.”
“I will. I know better than that.”
Gales of laughter erupted from the living room again. Amidst it, Mari’s phone rang. She checked the ID. “It’s Yvette’s father. Hello.”
“Hi, there. I have a bit of time before my presentation tonight. I called to see how Yvette’s doing.”
“She’s doing great.”
“Thank you again for having her.”
“She’s a delight. No thanks necessary. Would you like to talk to her?”
“Yes. But first, how are you?”
“Great. My two sisters are here and some other kids. They’re having a ball. Hold on, I’ll get your daughter.”
Mari got up and went to the doorway. “Yvette, it’s your father. You can go into one of the bedrooms and take the call.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Moretti.”
She showed the girl the spare room, and when she came back to the table, Raven and Brie were in deep conversation. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Dr. Dubois.”
“Okay, ladies, now, we’re going to change the subject away from me. Raven, tell us about the art show.” Her sister’s work would be the main attraction at the opening of a modern art wing at a prestigious gallery.
Her face was no longer animated. “There have been some changes in the time frame. Apparently, the matching flooring to the rest of the gallery, which is a special kind of marble, is on back order. You’d think they’d go with something different since the new wing is such a radical change from the collection, but that was a nonstarter.”
“When will the show be?”
“End of May.”
“That’s not too long a delay.”
“No, I know. I’m just excited for it to come.”
“So are we. Being the debut artist at the Parker Gallery is a big deal.” Mari squeezed her hand. “My sister the star!”
“Said the two princesses.”
“Who’s a princess?” Yvette Dubois stood in the kitchen, Mari’s phone in her hand.
Raven asked, “She doesn’t know?”
“No one at school does. Or did. Until now.”
* * *
Jordan drove directly from the airport to pick up Yvette. He was anxious to see his daughter, although the trip had gone well. He gave two separate presentations at Harvard Law, and did a book signing on Saturday, which was mobbed. It did his ego good.
Mariella Moretti lived in a nice, middle-class area of D.C. Even here with smaller, less showy houses, real estate was exorbitant, and she probably couldn’t afford more. Jordan was sincerely grateful for his background and financial wealth, which allowed him to live in Georgetown. As he pulled into her driveway, snow had fallen in light flakes, landing on the driveway and grass and making the setting picturesque. He got out and hurried to the front door.
Yvette opened it with Lilliana behind. “Papa. I missed you.”
Bending down, he hugged his daughter tight. She felt solid and real. “I missed you, too, ma petite chérie.”
From behind her, Mrs. Moretti said, “Welcome back. Come on in.”
He walked inside and was surprised. Her place was homey, but he noted the expensive white oak furniture, high-quality flooring and exquisite paintings decorating the living room. “Thanks. We’ll get out of your way, now.”
“I was wondering if you could stay a bit. I want to discuss something with you.”
His pulse sped up. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, not at all.” She stepped closer. He caught the scent of her—something fresh and flowery. She wore a pretty pink sweater and wool pants to match. “Let me take your coat.”
Shrugging from his outerwear, he handed it to her. She said, “I made coffee.”
“Great.”
“Can I show Papa Lilly’s room?” Yvette asked. “She has the coolest—”
“After I talk to your father, honey. But you two could go upstairs and play one last time before you have to leave.”
Yvette mumbled, “Adult talk time.”
Lilliana rolled her eyes. “Mama does that, too.”
Holding hands, the girls headed to the steps. Mrs. Moretti served him coffee and anise toast and they took seats at the table. He raised his brows when he sipped. “I thought you were exaggerating the coffee flavor, but it’s absolutely amazing.” He set down his cup. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?” He thought maybe school.
“We spent Friday night with two of my sisters and some kids her copain brought over.” Copain was French for boyfriend. The American term was silly for a companion of adult age.
“That sounds like fun.”
Her eyes lit. “Yes, it was. We always have fun with my family. In any case, I was in the kitchen talking to my sisters when Yvette got off the phone call she had with you. When she came out, she overheard something I asked Lilliana not to share with anyone. But I would never ask your daughter to keep something from you.”
“We also have private things she’s not allowed to share.”
“It’s not bad.” She drew in a breath but there was an impish smile on her face now. “My father is the king of a sovereign state. The island of Casarina off the coast of Italy.”
Surprised, he sat back a bit. “That makes you a princess and Lilly a lady.”
“Yes. I choose to keep my background private, but it’s not a big deal if choice others know.”
“Royalty is always a big deal, Princepessa.”
She chuckled. “Merci bien, monsieur.”
“May I ask why you’re in the United States? And apparently two more princesses live here.”
“Actually, all seven of us are here.”
“Seven sisters? Mon Dieu. How...daunting.”
“My family is a bit overwhelming. Two of us are returning to Casarina to live. Well, Evangelina is there now. It’s a long story why.”
“Yes, you told me Friday you planned to work with your father.” A brow arched. “You left off the part that he was the king of your country.”
“I didn’t mean to mislead you.” She cocked her head. “Were you born in France?”
“Yes. Truthfully, the Dubois family has some royalty way back.”
“How nice for you.”
“My parents passed five years ago, and I have no siblings.”
“And you lost your beloved grand-mère last summer.”
“How would you...ah, Yvette told Lilliana.”
“She let it slip.”
“That’s fine. I’m not hiding that.” He had other secrets, though, that could ruin him.
They heard, “Papa, come up!”
He stood.
“Before you go, I let Lilliana pick out her furniture from catalogs before we moved here. Her décor is a bit unusual.”
“I can’t wait.” He went to the steps, then turned to her. “Thank you for sharing your background with me. I won’t let that slip, I promise.”
“Thank you, Dr. Dubois.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Moretti.” Using their formal titles seemed crazy at this stage in their relationship, but it was a way to keep his distance from this very interesting woman.