Hidden Devotion (11 page)

He was in no position to question her, but something about her reaction to him asking about her life raised that same protective urge he’d felt at the museum when Devon showed up. “That’s fair.”

She settled into the corner of the couch, propping one elbow along the back. “Your great-grandfather
was
the son of General Garcia.”

“You know that for sure?”

“No, but the photos, along with the last name and the fact that he was targeted for membership, makes that the most logical assumption.”

“I’ll accept that.”

“Pedro Garcia Fernandez immigrated to the US in 1900 when he was only sixteen. He spent a year living in a hotel owned by a member of the Trinity Masters.”

“Not exactly the normal accommodations for a young man just arrived from Cuba.”

“And in 1901, Pedro came here, to Boston, and was inducted into the Trinity Masters. That I know for sure.”

Franco shook his head ruefully. “He was only seventeen and had already had a far more interesting life than I could dream of.”

“I don’t know about that. I’d say this past week your life has been fairly interesting.”

“Can’t argue with that. So what happened to Pedro after he joined?”

“He fought in World War One—there’s a copy of his service record in the file I have.”

“Teasing me again.”

“You’ll be disappointed, because there’s a lull in the records until 1920, when he was called to the altar.”

“Called to the altar?”

“That’s when the Grand Master summons members to be married.”

“Arranged marriages.” It was both a statement and a question.

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “I assume you know about the Trinity Masters’ marriages?”

“Yes, those were always the craziest of the stories my grandfather told. He always claimed that was why he married so late in life. He was waiting to get his two wives from the secret society.”

“We need to come back to that, because I have some questions for you about your grandfather, but let me finish with your great-grandfather’s story first. In 1920 he married Maria Cruz, the daughter of a prominent family who was herself recruited in 1919, and Lucille Smith, a Trinity Masters’ legacy who lost both her husbands in the war.”

Franco set his glass down very carefully. “I’m sorry, you said he married a woman named Maria, and then a woman named Lucille?”

“Not ‘and then’. I thought you said you knew about the Trinity Masters’ marriages?”

“I thought… I assumed Grandfather made it up…”

Juliette touched her necklace and the three-point Celtic knot symbol. “Members of the Trinity Masters have arranged
ménage
marriages.”

“
Ménage
marriages.” Franco stared at Juliette, trying to decide if she was joking.

“Yes.”

“I…wait. Lucille Smith was a family friend.”

“Not quite. Your grandfather’s best friend, Henry Smith, was actually your great-uncle. He was your grandfather’s half-brother.”

Franco picked up his glass and drained it. “Grandfather always referred to him as his brother but I assumed that was a term of endearment, not literal.”

“Members learn to hide the truth about their marriages.”

Franco whistled. “I assumed that part was just a story.”

“No, the arranged marriages are very real.” Her tone was half-rueful, half-resigned.

“Have you…are you married?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Have you picked your, uh, partners yet?”

“Picked?” Juliette raised both brows.

“Oh, right, arranged. Forgot about that. The uh, what did you say, Grand Master? That’s who picks?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t know who it will be until you’re at the altar?”

“You get a month to get to know your trinity before the official ceremony.”

“And what if you don’t like them?”

“It’s not a matter of ‘like’. The Grand Master creates the trinities based on the skills and potential of each person—for example, a research doctor, college dean and hospital administrator are a strong trinity.”

“I’m having trouble believing that the kind of people who are members—smart, driven, successful—all just meekly submit to these arranged marriages.”

“It’s what they signed up for. The arranged marriage is the price you pay for the advantages the Trinity Masters will give you.”

“What about you and the other legacies? You didn’t choose this.”

“I did. Every member has to consciously join. There are some people whose parents were members who chose not to be a part of it themselves.”

“But they know all the secrets.”

“They know many of the secrets, and they also know the cost of spilling those secrets.” Juliette spoke quietly and firmly.

“Should I be nervous?”

“Because you know our secrets? Honestly, yes. The reason I came to find you was because I needed to know how much you knew.”

That was a seriously sobering and slightly frightening statement. “I guess I knew more than I thought. I just didn’t believe any of it.”

Juliette didn’t respond.

“Am I…a threat?” he asked. Consciously he wasn’t, and it wasn’t as if he went around boasting about the crazy things his grandfather had said, but he didn’t exactly keep it a secret either.

“No. The Grand Master’s main concern is figuring out why your grandfather, who
did
choose to join us, and who attended several of the galas in the early nineteen forties, was not called to the altar.”

“Maybe he rejected the people the Grand Master picked for him.”

“If he’d refused his trinity, there would have been consequences.”

“That’s an ominous word.”

“I won’t lie to you, Francisco. People who disobey or reveal secrets have very difficult lives. There are stories of former members who end up in prison, framed for crimes they didn’t commit. People who lost their livelihoods, homes, and families.”

“Well that’s…terrifying.”

Juliette laughed. “It’s meant to be.”

“In that case, well done.”

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to scare you. How about we finish the bottle?”

“That sounds like a very good idea.”

They finished the first bottle then opened a second. They each had questions, each needed and wanted answers, yet no questions were asked, no answers given.

As the wine disappeared they moved closer together on the couch, until they were close enough to touch.

Franco brushed a piece of hair back from her face. Juliette gasped quietly when he stroked her. “You’re going to have an arranged marriage,” he whispered.

“If you join, you will, too.” Juliette brushed her fingertips against the back of his hand.

“I want to tell you a secret.” Franco leaned in, enough so his lips practically touched her cheek as he spoke.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.” Brave from the wine, Franco let his heart speak. He’d never felt such strong chemistry, or such an instant connection before.

“Why don’t you?” she replied softly.

“Is that allowed?”

“Allowed?”

“Because of the arranged marriage thing?”

“Usually members use that as an excuse to experiment and be slutty.”

“Experiments and sluttiness? This gets better and better.”

Juliette let out a slightly drunk giggle. She was gorgeous—eyes bright with mirth and wine, cheeks flushed, lips soft and pink.

Franco couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Sliding a hand into her hair, he kissed her. Her lips were as soft as they looked, her body warm and supple as she leaned into him.

Franco tugged her onto his lap with his free hand. She straddled him, sitting on his knees, her arms twining around his neck. Franco’s cock was like a piece of iron in his pants, and he both did and didn’t want her to slide forward.

She traced his eyebrow with two fingers, trailing them down his face. He kissed her palm then tugged her down until their lips met once more.

He hadn’t planned to do more than kiss her, but the desire she instilled in him was like a living thing, growing and growling a demand for satisfaction. Each time she gasped or moaned, he had to fight the urge to move faster, to take more.

Juliette pulled back, licking her lips. Franco slid his hands—which were under her shirt just inches from her bra strap—out from under her clothing. They stared at one another.

“Is it just me, or do we have some very serious chemistry?” she asked.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels it.”

“Oh no, I feel it, too. I haven’t felt like this since… Well, it’s been a while.” Sadness clouded her face. Juliette climbed off his lap.

“What happens now?” he asked.

“You mean with the Trinity Masters?”

“No,
querida
, I mean with us.”

“The Trinity Masters come first. Always.” She stood. “I’ll call you a cab.”

Franco stared after her. In the end, this meeting had raised more questions than it had answered.

*****

Drinking never solved any problems, but right now he didn’t want to solve problems. He wanted to get very drunk, indulge in a truckload of self-pity, and then pass out.

Devon raised his shot glass in a toast to no one, since he was very much alone in his hotel room. Juliette had, of course, invited that guy Francisco to stay with her while in Boston. She’d never invited
him
to stay.

Then again, why would she? She hated him. She probably hated him as much as he loved her.

Deciding he was too old to just pound out some shots, Devon poured himself a glass. It was cheap whiskey, so he didn’t feel bad dropping a few ice cubes in.

So many things had happened in the past week that he wasn’t sure what to brood about first. Juliette was the Grand Master. His trinity was gone.

And Juliette now had access to all the Trinity Masters’ records and files. If she hadn’t hated him before, once she went through his file, she certainly would.

It was late—or early, depending on one’s perspective. The unplanned trip to Florida and extra time in Boston had thrown a wrench in several work projects, and he’d been up most of the night trying to get caught up, and making arrangements so he could stay in Boston until after the Winter Gala and possibly longer. He planned to be here as long as necessary.

Necessary to do
what
, he hadn’t quite figured out. The one thing he was sure of was that he wasn’t going to just walk away. He couldn’t.

His hotel room faced east, and as he worked his way through the bottle of whiskey, he remembered another hotel room, another dawn.

*****

Paris, three years earlier

He hated dawn in Paris.

Devon turned his head, taking pains to move as slowly and quietly as possible. The last thing he wanted was to wake her.

Juliette’s hair glowed gold in the sunlight that was starting to filter through the gauzy drapes. He’d forgotten to close the heavy blackout curtains. That had been the last thing on his mind when they’d entered the hotel room. They’d thrown open the front doors and danced on the tiny balcony. Well, she’d danced and he’d watched her.

Juliette had been drunk on Champagne. Drunk on Champagne was the only way she’d smile at him.

He was losing her. Or maybe he’d already lost her.

The sun rose in truth, a ray of light now arrowing across the bed. Her bare breast was the palest cream, her arms and face tanned gold. She looked older than the last time he’d seen her six months ago. It was the kind of age that came from seeing and knowing too much. He hated her work, noble as it was. Juliette had always assumed she was worldly, but had, in fact, been incredibly sheltered all the way through her first year of college.

But the girl he’d first kissed here in Paris was gone. Little by little she’d learned how the world really worked. She’d seen horrible things, tried and failed to fix the world’s problems. And she’d—rightly—come to see exactly how much damage those at the top of the proverbial food chain could do to those at the bottom.

The last time they’d met in Paris, Juliette had once again delivered an impassioned speech. First she decried the US government policies, ranting about the damage the CIA had done. Then she’d demanded that Devon use his connections as a lobbyist to address a laundry list of issues. He’d promised to do what he could, reminded her that he’d helped secure funding for one of the two NPOs she’d been working with at the time. He’d had to watch as disappointment filled her eyes. He’d turned the conversation to the Trinity Masters, hoping to distract her by asking if she’d be attending the upcoming Summer Gala. That had devolved into a debate about whether or not members should know more—such as who the Grand Master was, and the wisdom of the arranged marriages. The conversation had not gone well, and her disappointment had turned to barely controlled anger.