Forbidden Count

Chapter 1 One day Sheena Marceau wanted a wedding as divine as the one she’d poured her heart and soul into creating today. The monochrome color scheme, including all the guests in white, had been her idea. She hadn’t missed a detail of her fantasy, if money was no object in creating a dream. For the aisle, inside, she’d had white cherry trees wrapped in Spanish moss, and in front, white hydrangeas with pops of palest pink peonies gave the aisle a magical feel as flowers surrounded the blue runner, like the bride would walk into a mystical garden for her big day. Weddings were not her usual artistic venues, but she’d been pressed into it by her best friend Chelsea, who had helped coordinate the affair. Since she had no plans to marry, this was as close as she’d come to ever planning her own wedding. In her real life, she’d have a much smaller budget. And no one would import cherry blossom trees about to bloom for her. And if that day ever arrived, she hoped to find a groom hotter than Matteo Korbel, today’s groom, and a friend of a friend. Sure Matteo Korbel, the Count of Golchin, was attractive, and more so now that he was older. In school, he’d been both a jerk and one of the nicest guys she’d ever known. She wanted her own true love to be sexier than him. That might be a tall order. She’d settle for a guy who made her laugh. Matteo was getting married today, and then she’d move on. Finally. He’d never noticed her like that anyhow, so she should have stopped hoping before now. Until he’d shown up in Paris last month she’d thought she had. Her gift to him on his wedding day was to make it beautiful. Tomorrow she would return to her art studio and work like none of this had happened. She’d create the fairy tale and then move on. For now, she glanced at the clock. Hmm. The wedding was already late, and Matteo hated delays. Sheena headed to the bridal suite. Patrice, the bride, had been absentminded when it came to planning the wedding. Sheena had stopped asking why. She knocked on the door to get the nuptials started. No one answered. She popped her head in and found Patrice staring out the window toward the street with her phone in hand. Sheena was about to say hello, but Patrice turned, lifted her chin and said, “I can’t do this.” Wait. Was she leaving? Matteo? Who would do that? Sheena’s heart raced. What was she going to do? She entered completely and closed the door behind her. “Your wedding is right now, Patrice.” Patrice wiped her eyes but then her phone beeped as a car stopped on the street outside the window. Patrice fisted her hands and faced Sheena. “The flowers are amazing. Everything is beautiful, but I can’t do this.” Sheena’s mind buzzed. This didn’t make sense at all. Patrice was supposed to marry Matteo and save his fortune while securing her own. “Why not?” Patrice walked past her and headed toward the door. “Because I love Gaston.” “Who?” Sheena asked. No one she knew had that name. Patrice smiled and glanced up at the ceiling in the bridal suite. “Gaston. I can’t marry Matteo.” Sheena felt a bolt of adrenaline and jumped in between Patrice and the door. “You have to tell Matteo. He’s already at the altar.” Again Patrice’s phone beeped. “I can’t, Sheena. You’ve done a magnificent job of fixing everything. So, fix this.” Matteo needed to get married or he lost his inheritance. Sheena put her hand out to stop Patrice, who twisted the knob on the door. “Wait. What?” Patrice held up her phone in her free hand like that explained everything. “That’s my car.” “People will see you leaving.” Sheena followed her out. “Not if I take the back door.” Patrice raised her hand in the air and waved. “Goodbye.” Sheena stood in the hotel’s elaborate hall and listened to the clip-clap of the bride’s high heels until Patrice was truly gone. Her heart thrummed faster. No one knew—everyone, even Chelsea, was waiting for Patrice. Matteo awaited his bride at the altar. He’d be humiliated. She remembered many years back at the boarding school dance when his friend, Stefano, had ruined her dress and then laughed at her for being at the party when she wasn’t an aristocrat. She’d blushed with embarrassment. Until Matteo had come over and taken her to the dance floor, dancing with her. He probably didn’t remember, but he’d stopped her tears that day. She needed to help him now. It was time to pay him back. She pulled out her phone and texted her friend with police car emojis as she said, Chelsea! Sheena paced back and forth between the hall and the bridal suite. The wedding music she’d picked out for Matteo and Patrice softly played. She’d designed today to be a fairy tale, not a disaster. Chelsea arrived in the hall, and Sheena waved her toward the bridal suite. Chelsea came in and closed the door, searching the room for Patrice. Her eyes widened as she asked, “What’s wrong?” Her heart thundered right now and she patted her chest. Chelsea had to know what to do. Sheena’s hands shook as she said, “Patrice… left.” Chelsea crossed her arms. “What do you mean she left? It’s her wedding.” Sheena pointed toward the door, ignoring how her limbs trembled. “She just…left.” Chelsea covered her mouth in stunned comprehension. Sheena stood, waiting for directions. “Someone has to tell Matteo,” Chelsea said. Right. Mission one was to get Matteo out of here without embarrassment if it could be helped. He’d figure out his life later. “Yeah. He doesn’t deserve this.” Chelsea shrugged. “He was the one signing contracts to marry someone he didn’t love. It could be for the best.” But they’d worked so hard together to plan this wedding, just like old times. “Chelsea!” Chelsea put her hands to her sides. “Look, I married a man I love and life is better that way.” Sheena couldn’t judge. Neither should Chelsea. Sheena’s inheritance was going to be her father’s restaurant and some insurance. She wouldn’t get anything else. But Matteo was different. He had a fortune, a home, a title, all riding on this wedding. Sheena massaged her arms and took a deep breath as she glanced at the veil on the table where Patrice had her hair and makeup done. Sheena saw no choice. She picked up the veil. “I’ll tell him.” “Once you are in the room, there is no hidden exit for this venue.” Chelsea put the veil around Sheena’s head. “People will know that you aren’t Patrice when you walk down the aisle.” “Maybe. I have to take that chance.” Chelsea smoothed it over Sheena’s hair. “Are you serious?” The music would change from this piano to her favorite melody as she marched down the aisle. No one would see her face. If she kept the veil on the entire time, no one would ever know that Patrice had run out on Matteo. Besides, most of the guests in the room were his friends or models. If someone did find out that it was her that had walked down the aisle, she’d live it down—a benefit to being a regular person. She nodded, feeling the gossamer fabric around her head. “Yeah. It will give me his ear for one minute and that’s all I need.” She hadn’t realized that having everyone dress in white would save her since she was wearing a white gown as well, with minimal lace and no beads. Chelsea helped her pin the veil to her head as she said, “ I don’t know why you care so much. You don’t even like Matteo.” Granted, boarding school had been a miserable experience for the most part. Her father was a chef and she attended school with foreign nobles, dignitaries and billionaires. Sure, her father’s restaurant was the nicest one in all of Paris, but she was still related to the help. Veil on, she picked up the bouquet she’d made and glanced at her best friend. Chelsea had grown up knowing she was a lady. No one questioned her, ever. She wouldn’t understand Sheena’s need to help Matteo. She fixed the veil around her face like a beautiful ghost. “He was the nicest of those boys. He stood up for me more than once. Now, I’ll pay him back.” “The veil makes you invisible, like some old-fashioned hand maiden or medieval bride.” Chelsea opened the door for her. “Even if they realize that you are not Patrice, they won’t recognize you.” They walked toward the hall together. At the door, Sheena stared at the white petal from one of the trees that must have fallen into the lobby. Soon, people would forget her actions today and only talk about Matteo and Patrice and the scandal of whatever happened next. Sheena clutched her bouquet and nodded. “Perfect. Chelsea, stay by the door and get me out of there the second you can.” Chelsea opened the door. The music changed, announcing to the guests that the bride was about to make her appearance. The bride was now her. Wow. Chelsea whispered, “Not a problem. I’ll circle the room and get my sister to help me. We’ll head upstairs to our rooms in the hotel.” “Sounds good,” Sheena whispered back. Once Chelsea was gone, she pivoted and stared right at Matteo. He stood in the center of the aisle, ready for his bride. The smile on his face told her that he had no idea Patrice had left him. He’d never look at her like that, ever. Sheena took a step toward him. Cameras flashed as people whispered around her. Somehow, she walked in time with the music. She listened for awareness in the crowd of her more curvy figure instead of Patrice’s skinny form. Murmurs of her beauty sounded. Everything was almost like her dream with the exception of this stupid veil. As she made her way closer, for one moment, she wished this was her wedding for real, and the flowers trembled in her hand. Silly, yes. She glanced back and saw her own father standing at the rear of the crowd. He didn’t know it was her behind this veil. Sheena turned her full attention onto Matteo and reached for his hand. He squeezed it. How did he not know from one touch she wasn’t Patrice? He must. She held still as every cell was alive inside her. Matteo lifted her veil. She ignored the beat in her heart that rushed faster than the music. “Matteo.” “Sheena?” He pulled her by the upper arms close to his body. The heat of him and those hard muscles sent a different thrill but he likely wanted an explanation. She whispered in his ear, “Patrice is gone.” He let her go and stared down his regal nose at her. His sculpted cheekbones reminded her of Michelangelo’s David, only Matteo was more virile and strong than any Renaissance statue. His face went white. “Where did she go?” Nerves sparked below her skin because she had to tell him something hurtful. She lowered her head and looked at the beautiful peonies in the bouquet she held. “Out the door. She doesn’t love you.” Matteo took a step back. All the romantic decorations probably made him feel silly as he glanced around the room and she couldn’t help but watch him. He met the gazes of Stefano Durnovo, Marchese of Normanni, and Astorre Manfredi, Duc of Modena, both of his best friends. The men would leap into action and take over--her one moment alone with Matteo was about to end. He’d never see her again. Her face would bring the reminder of being left at the altar, humiliated and possibly the moment he lost his entire life. For her, life would return to normal, in her small apartment above her studio. She prepared to move aside but he stepped toward her and took her hand. “Will you marry me, Sheena?” She stilled. Never in a thousand years would she have believed that Matteo would choose her--she wasn’t supposed to be his lady. The melody of her heart changed its tune. She couldn’t let him down. Not now. Not ever.