4
Marisa straightened her back. Christian shifted his jaw from side to side, his one hand still holding her wrist. He raised an eyebrow, then let go of her and rubbed his jaw.
“A little wound up, Donati? Or is it your habit to strike anyone who touches you?”
Was that a smirk she saw on his face? Her eyes shifted to Barsetti, who sat grinning from ear to ear as he raised his glass of beer to her.
“No, sir. Sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else.”
“Someone who deserved what I got, I hope.”
Marisa could see the barest hint of a shadow beneath the bright red spot that had formed on his jaw. The captain never had stubble. It was rumored that he had to shave three times a day to keep his face totally clean while on duty.
“Yes, sir,” she said, feeling intense heat in her face. She couldn’t believe how only minutes could totally change the comfort level she had felt with the captain.
“Relax, Donati. We’re off duty, remember?”
“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.”
“That means you drop the ‘sir’.”
“Yes, s-s, I mean, Di Stefano.”
“Christian.”
“Christian.”
He leaned in and whispered, his breath tickling the tender hairs of her neck, “Great hit, by the way.” He walked straight to the bar and asked for a bag of ice.
She stood there, frozen. She had made a fool of herself. He would never choose her now. She had blown it. She swallowed hard.
Barsetti’s alcohol-laden voice whispered loud and breathy only a foot or so away from her. “Did he command you to stay put until his jaw healed?” He busted out laughing and passed her by, his hand smacking her butt as he went. After a quick glance at the captain, who was still leaning on the bar, paying her no attention, her foot whipped out and tripped Barsetti, who fell face-first onto the tile floor with a loud smack.
She turned on her heel, heading for the door to the patio. She needed some space to think. She had to make this right somehow. A bit of time would help her find a way. The captain had not seen what she’d done to Barsetti. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him leaning on the bar, looking in the opposite direction, but all around her, other eyes bored into her. She wasn’t sure if it was Vadik or Yale who did it first, but it spread like wildfire through the men. Each puckered up and blew her a kiss. She kept her eyes forward, pretending not to see, and slipped out the door.
She glanced around, making sure there were no guardsmen on the patio, then stalked to a far corner. She started pacing, muttering to herself until finally she realized the futility of it all. She was in a man’s world and would never fit in or be given a fair shake. She growled and punched out at a brick wall, stopping a fraction of a centimeter away.
“Don’t tell me,” a voice said behind her. “You only now realized you were in a room full of feral wolves.”
Marisa closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, taking a deep breath before turning around. As much as she wanted to be calm now, her heart still thumped and bumped in her chest, and she could feel a deep burning in her gut. She fisted her hands to help with all the extra adrenaline coursing through her. The woman who’d spoken was about Marisa’s age, or maybe a little older. Twenty-five at the oldest. She was attractive and dressed in a tight-fitting red dress—so, not a waitress. Probably one of the women who came to milk the young, handsome guardsmen of their wages. They were always loose with their money, especially around pretty girls. Still, there was something friendly about her face, softly framed by thick, wavy brown hair.
“Can I tell you a secret?” She leaned in.
Marisa didn’t move, afraid that simple act would erase the calm that was slowly coming over her.
“Once I accepted that fact, you know, that they are feral wolves, I was able to embrace my inner wolf and capitalize on their feral-ness.”
Marisa furrowed her brow. This woman’s analogy was a good one. She chuckled and closed her eyes before exhaling loudly. The woman laughed too, her hand landing on Marisa’s arm. It surprised her how that simple gesture released most of the remaining pent up anger and disappointment she felt.
“I know exactly how you feel, and I didn’t even have to witness whatever caused it.” She took her hand off Marisa’s arm and held it out, inviting a handshake. “I’m Tara.”
“Marisa.” She took Tara’s hand and shook it. “Thanks for that. Those guys can be such jerks. I have no idea how I’m going to ever play nice with them.” Once she started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I’m going to be stuck guarding the women’s chamber for the rest of my career. It’s the only thing they think a woman is good for. And if Barsetti grabs my butt one more time or any of the guys blow me kisses again, I’m going to have to take them all out.”
“Wait a minute,” Tara said, recognition sparking in her eyes. “You’re Marisa Donati, the woman who single-handedly brought Monterra into the twentieth century. I can’t believe I’m meeting you—you’re a famous activist!”
Marisa groaned. “I’m Marisa Donati, yeah. But I’m not an activist or anything like that. I never wanted to be a feminist poster-girl. I didn’t want any publicity, and sorry, but I’m not that passionate about fighting for women’s rights. I just wanted to be in the royal guard.”
Tara cocked her head. “Seriously? I think I’d love hitting the front page at least once a month for the last year.”
“Ugh, no. The reporters are the worst. I swear, they pop out everywhere. And they never seem to listen to anything I say, they just print what they want. It’s ridiculous the stuff they’ve made up about me.”
“I hadn’t thought about that. It sounds awful. I’m sorry.” Tara had a look of intense thought on her face.
“No. It’s okay. I just wish they’d tell the truth sometimes. They’re supposed to I believe.” There were a few beats of silence, and Marisa moved to go. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put a dark cloud over your night. I’ll get out of here and let you get on with whatever it was you were doing in this dark, dirty, manified place.”
“No, don’t go,” Tara said. “I hang around here a lot actually. I don’t think there’s an easier place for a pretty girl to get a free drink in this town.”
Marisa laughed. “Lucky you. I’m afraid I’ll never get free drinks out of those guys.”
“They’re fools,” Tara said. “Come on, let’s ditch the dudes. I have a feeling you could use some time away from those guys.”
Marisa looked through the large glass windows into the club. She hadn’t come up with anything she could do to make the captain forget how the men had treated her and how she’d almost gotten into a full-blown fight with Barsetti. And to top it all off, Carlo had never showed. The evening was a bust. It would be best for her to leave. “Sure. Why not?”
They left through the patio’s back gate and walked down a quaint street with one-story houses that most likely housed the lower-paid mine workers and their families. The wide sidewalks and tree-lined streets radiated a sense of calm and quiet. Bright lamp posts chased away the dark. Monterran master planners had always made sure to make every piece of the small country more beautiful than either of its neighbors: Italy and France.
“So, what’s your story?” Marisa asked as they walked down the sidewalk.
“Born and raised in Italy, vacationed in Monterra five years ago, and I relocated two years ago when a job I wanted opened up.”
“What job?”
“Reporter.”
Marisa stopped in her tracks.
“Just kidding. You should have seen your face.” Tara laughed openly.
Marisa waited a few beats and said, “Seriously, you’re not?”
“No. No way. Sorry. That wasn’t a very funny joke.” Tara tried to look ashamed, but failed.
Marisa relaxed. “No. It was. It really was.” She meant it. Relief swept over her. “I need to learn to laugh a bit more.” Tara was still laughing, and Marisa joined in. Tara’s lightness was refreshing, just what Marisa needed.
“I’m a researcher for Dioli and Dioli law firm.”
Marisa couldn’t hide her surprise. That place was known for its skilled and flawless representation. High stress and little relaxation.
“Now you know,” Tara said, “why I go to that club so often.”
Marisa nodded.
“So, I’m guessing your goal to be a royal guard isn’t shaping up to be what you had hoped.”
“It’s not that. I love my job, I do, but I want more. I never wanted to be stuck as a castle guardsman forever. I want to be in the personal guard.”
Tara stared at her like she had no idea what she was talking about.
“You know, the guards who are with the royals when they leave the castle.”
Now Tara nodded. “Ah, gotcha. But I’m guessing they’re the elite of the elite, and you have to pay your dues as a castle guard for quite some time before you get to move up.”
“I don’t think there’s really a time limit. I think those who are the best are advanced.”
“And you?”
“I’ve been at the top of the training leader board since I became a member of the guard almost a year ago. Not a single person has beat me, ever.”
“And you haven’t advanced at all?” A man walked by with a large spotted dog, his claws making a clacking sound on the cobbles as they went.
“No. I have. I mean, I guard the women’s chamber, which is second only to guarding the men’s chamber as a castle guard, but no matter what I do, no matter what I say, the captain refuses to promote me. He swears it has nothing to do with me being a woman, but he’s promoted two guards under me in the last two months, and he doesn’t seem to be inclined to ever promote me.”
“Sounds like discrimination to me. Seriously. If you’re the best, you’re the best.” She stopped under a large tree, spots of light and dark shadowing her face through the mass of leaves, and faced Marisa.
“Yeah. There’s nothing I can do about it.” Marisa stopped too and rocked back on her heels and sighed.
“What about the reporter?”
Marisa gave Tara a skunk look.
“Hear me out,” Tara’s hand landed on Marisa’s arm for a brief moment. “You could tell the reporter about the discrimination—you could force the captain to promote you.”
“If you knew the captain like I do, you would know he would never bow to outside influences when it comes to the guard. He would use that as another reason not to promote me.”
“Ok,” Tara said, biting her lip and looking around nervously. “I may have something you can use that he may be forced to bow to.”
Marisa frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, like I said, I’ve been around a while now, and I hear stuff, see stuff. Acquire stuff.”
“Huh?”
“Come on Marisa. Stay with me. I’ve been going to that club for a long time and have seen a lot of things. Heaven only knows that if I’d had someone on the inside to help me navigate the waters at Dioli and Dioli, I wouldn’t be stuck where I am today. I want to help you. Someone should benefit from what I know.” She put her hand back on Marisa’s arm and talked concisely and slow, her eyes burning into Marisa’s. “There are things I know about the guards that could be useful.”
“Are you talking about blackmail?” Marisa stepped back, the light of the lamp hitting her directly now.
“Let’s call it pressure, shall we?” She raised her eyebrows and dug into her purse. “I went out with the captain a few times.”
“You did?” Marisa blurted. She couldn’t imagine the captain dating anyone.
“Yeah, well, when I discovered he was off limits, if you know what I mean, I gave up on him.”
“Yeah,” Marisa said. “No marriage or serious relationships for the captain of the guard. That is strictly enforced. It’s a security issue.”
“In any case,” she pulled out a photo from her purse. “Being the researcher I am, I couldn’t help snooping a bit while at his place, you know?”
“No,” Marisa said, eyes wide.
“Yes. And I found something.” She handed the picture to Marisa, and they stopped under a street lamp so she could look at it. It was a picture of a little girl.
“Who is this?”
“Turn it over.”
Marisa did. On the back was a name and date. She looked at Tara confused.
“That,” Tara said, “is Captain Di Stefano’s daughter.”
Marisa’s jaw hit the ground. “No.” She turned it over and stared at the picture more closely. The girl did seem to have the captain’s eyes and nose.
“I’ve thoroughly researched it. She is his daughter. She lives in France with her mother. It’s the dirty family secret.”
Marisa handed the photo back, her hand shaking. Tara refused to take it.
“Look, Marisa, this is my gift to you. Use it to persuade the captain to give you what you deserve.”