Everything is abuzz with news of the impending betrothal of the Duke of Valrocio. Which is good for me, because I'm going to need a lot of things to go right if this is going to work.
As in everything is going to have to go right. A single thing going wrong and everything gets even worse. But I'm out of choices. And I'm out of time, because my own fiancé is sitting in my mother's parlour awaiting his bride or betrothed or whatever my father has promised him.
It's not even the fact that he's three times my age that irritates me. No, I could deal with that if he had even a droplet of goodness and care for me in his tiny evil body.
Mamá would chastise me if she could hear my thoughts. Or see my face. I've never excelled at disguising my emotions.
Everything about my attire says I'm happy, wealthy, and ready to step into married life. Mama made sure of that. But everything inside says none of those things. So I'm going to get in the coach.
And it's going to take me wherever it wants. That's how it works. One fare and one ride to wherever you need to be.
The only public coach which will not immediately alert my father and return me home. So I don't have much choice.
I really hope the rumours aren't true, but, again, no choice. If the rumours are true I hope what it thinks I need is really far away from here. Because that's what I really need: to be as far away from my father as possible.
A small crash from downstairs alerts me of my escape window. Bless my maid for being willing to risk herself for me. If I ever get out of this, I will come back for her.
Shaking, and carrying nothing more than a small bag and my shoes, I slip through my door and down the wooden hallway of my father's house. Carefully, silently, I push through the door to the servant's stairs and race down as quickly as my skirts will allow.
Thinking about it now, I probably should have asked Isa for a maid's uniform as well. I'm about as suspicious as someone can get in this betrothal get up. My mother's choice of peineta has my mantilla up twice as high as my head, like a flag shouting 'here I am!' at everyone who passes by.
But there's no time, the jingle of the bells on mythical coach grow louder and faster.
"Hurry!" Isa calls from the bottom of the stairs, head hung halfway out the kitchen door. "It's approaching."
I fly down the rest of the stairs and right out the door, with nothing but a whispered thank you to my saviour and friend.
"Take me to—" I start, before remembering the rules.
"You will go where you are needed," the driver says, tipping his hat in a small bow.
And then we're off, circling through the streets of Seville and away from my father.
Step one: successful. Now I just have to get as far away from here as possible.
~ * ~ * ~
"Here we are, Señorita," the man says, jerking me awake.
"Where are we?" I ask, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. It feels like I've barely been asleep at all. "I didn't think I'd sleep with so much anxiety," I add, more for myself than anyone else.
"Where you need to be," he answers simply. "No charge."
"No. No charge. Okay, thank you." I pick up my bag and accept his offered hand to step out of the coach.
I don't know where I am, still trying to get my bearings from my half-asleep brain.
And then the coach drives off and suddenly I can see it clear as day. I'm at the train station not even three miles from my home.
"Wait!" I call after the coach, but it's not use. Stupid coach didn't take me where I needed to be at all. But I can make my own luck. I just need to catch a train. I'm not sure how far I'll get with the money I have left, but I have to do something.
I take off across the street and into the crowded station.
The mantilla weighs heavy on my head, slowly slipping off the hairstyle my mother had so carefully constructed this morning. The train whistle blows and suddenly I know what I have to do. Lifting my skirts, I push through the crowd of gentlemen with ease.
I will surely be chastised if mother ever finds out I didn't curtsey appropriately to el Ilustrísimo duque Grossout. But I've committed enough social atrocities to last me a lifetime, so what's one more?
The train whistles again and the conductor makes his way to the engine. My mother will surely find me if I have to wait several hours for another train, so I pick up my skirts and my boots click on the uneven stone and wood until I catch up with the slow-moving train and pull myself onto the stairs.
It's only once I'm through the doors that I realize I'm not going to blend in here.
Gold lines the edge of the windows and men with white gloves serve customers in the dining car I've walked into.
I silently send thanks to my mother for making me overdress to meet... Well, that's over now. Strutting in with my chin held high, I take a seat at an empty table and lift the menu, quickly surveying the room to ensure no one will see me readjust my falling peineta.
Everything about this car brings bile to my stomach. These people have everything I will never have—wealth and power—and yet they sit here complaining over things that don't affect them. Not really. I cannot imagine what it is to have so much and scorn those with so little.
Then again, I cannot imagine what it is to have so much.
Envy is not a good look on you, my mother's voice chastises. If she were here she would surely add, 'and sit up straight, you're giving everyone a view of private matters.'
A smirk pulls my lip at the thought. There's something freeing about not following her rules for once. And, excluding her voice in my head, there's nothing stopping me from doing it, either. I release the broach holding my shawl together.
Let them look, mother. Maybe they won't want to buy me if they get their looks for free. My eyes roll in my head despite myself.
The waiter brings over a bowl of paella and I graciously dip my head as he bows. I've fooled him then. I can rest a little easier, allowing my back to gently rest against the chair.
My calm is short-lived I don't even get a bite to my mouth before the men in funny hats enter the car, asking for our tickets.
My heart leaps into my throat and my head turns on a swivel, searching for any way out of this. Perhaps a lavatory or luggage area.
The room heats as though I've been transported to the boiler in third class rather than the prestigious dining car. I would rather jump into the fire of the boiler than face the ticket collectors or return to my mother and her idea of a good marriage match.
My feet are still frozen in place, just beside the chair I used to be sitting in, when the two men reach me. His dark eyes remind me of—
"Boleto?" the shorter one asks, huffing and holding out his hand for my ticket.
"I don't have it with me." It's the first thing that comes to my mind, but I have no other options. I'm going to have to pull out all the charms. I adjust my arms so they push inward, allowing my dress to do its best work. Let's just hope these two are corruptible.
And let's hope it doesn't come to anything more. Because I don't think I can bear it.
"Which is your carriage?" he asks, as though it's a perfectly reasonable question I should know the answer to. These people have their own carriages?
"I– I'm not sure," I stutter out, confidence wavering. The hem of my dress draws my attention as my mind races to find a solution, but comes up empty. "I think it may be that way," I quickly lift my arm before returning it to my side, hoping that the movement will distract them enough to forget I need a ticket.
"Let's go," the taller one says, wrapping his spindly fingers around my upper arm and dragging me in the direction I pointed. And here I was thinking the train would be a way to get away from being manhandled by highly disgusting men.
I wrenched my arm out of his hand and pulled back from him. A quick look out the window said there was no way I was leaving this train, so I would have to deal with the two uniformed men. "I can walk myself, thank you," I said, stepping in front of them and into the next train car, hoping some method of escape would present itself.
The short one rushes up beside me and returns a tight grip to my arm. "We'll decide how this goes. If you cannot produce a ticket, we'll be forced to—"
"What is the meaning of this?" The voice booming from behind us draws me around to see a slight man who couldn't be much older than I. His hands deftly clasp his jacket and he reaches us in no more than three strides of his well clad legs. Tendrils of wood and smoke reach out to me and draw me in, skin prickling as he stops and allows his eyes to draw down my face to my dress.
The blush creeps in, so I bow my head and dip into a curtsy, hoping my mantilla covers enough of my face that no one can see the reddening patches on my cheeks and ears.
Not one minute ago I'd been trying to get these men to stare at my breasts, but his eyes drawing down my body with a fire I've never seen directed at me before sends lightning shooting through the tips of my fingers.
It's one thing when they are looking to prove my mother wrong and entirely another when he is looking like he has the ability to light me on fire.
It seems he is more composed than I am after the encounter, for he questions the ticketmaster again, "I asked what the meaning of this is?" I risk a glance up to see his eyes staring so intently they must see straight through me. His fingers point to the lanky man's hand wrapped around my wrist.
The train jostles and I stumble slightly forward, bringing my captors with me. The mysterious man comes to save me again, stepping forward and securing my elbow to ensure I do not stumble to the floor.
"We're taking her to—" the stubby man says.
"She said she doesn't have a ticket, Señor. We are authorized—"
"I think you'll find the appropriate address is not señor," he scoffs, brushing past the taller man, stopping face to face with the lanky man. My rescuer's muscular stature towers over the man in every way that matters. Gritting his teeth, he spits out, "I will not have my wife treated this way. Do you understand?"
I don't hear what the lanky ticketmaster says, because I'm too busy trying to keep the shock off of my face. Does this man think I'm his wife? That would explain so much about how he's been looking at me.
It doesn't matter, really, because his accusation has flustered the normally level-headed men before me. Something about him exudes power and control. I look down to see the small ring on his hand. Of course he's a duke.
And they've been calling him señor. The faux pas. They could actually be fired for that. At the very least they'll be ejected from first class service for... maybe forever. I can use this.
I press myself against the wall of the car and take a steadying breath before I step up behind my new husband, the duke of something or other, and brush my hand across his forearm. "Come, querido, they are just doing their jobs. We needn't be upset. The situation has been resolved and I'm unharmed. Let's go back to the coach and pretend this whole thing never happened, shall we?"
He tenses slightly at my touch. Fortunately, the men are nearly shaking in their uniform jackets, so they just nod and fumble over their words, bowing and scurrying off to the dining car to continue on with their duties.
Now we are alone, my hand still delicately holding his forearm.
My new fake husband doesn't move.
I do not move.
My free hand brushes his, and my dress is still lacking a broach that is crucial to modesty.
"Am I to know the name of my husband?" I finally squeak out, the train grinding against the rails just as I do.
"Marcos Caballero, duke of Valrocio," his voice comes out gravelly and low.
Marcos Caballero. He doesn't look how I remember him. And the real duke is about to announce his engagement. So this guy must be smart enough to travel under an assumed name.
But what is he running from?
He reaches his hands out and I let him hold me. His eyes meet mine in earnest. "Are you all right?"
I don't even know what to say. All I can do is stare into his searching eyes.
Am I all right?
I've never had to answer that question before.
Because no one has ever asked it.
~ * ~ Author's Note ~ * ~
It's here! The very first chapter of Catalina and Marcos's story!!! I'm so excited for these two and their excessive forced proximity and one bed shenanigans. I hope you love them as much as I do.
While you wait, you can check out my other ONC novellas (or other novels) all available on my profile authorelizasolares .
~ * ~ More Novellas ~ * ~
Hang it Up: Contemporary Rom-Com novella, marriage of convenience, one bed, prompt #5.
Two best friends / ballet dancers who are high on adventure and low on cash must share a small one bedroom apartment with one bed. But to do that, they're going to need to be married. Like, for real.
Christmas at the Cabin: Contemporary Romance novella, grumpy sunshine, forced proximity, prompt #13.
Intrepid outdoors woman who abhors Christmas meets grumpy CEO who loves Christmas. His arrogance threatens their very survival on the hike up a mountain and a winter storm has them running for their lives. Together.
Love, Lies & Red Eyes: Paranormal Romance novella, forced proximity, prompt #52.
Spunky Anthropologist and brooding dog-shifter cadejo form a mutually beneficial relationship, but hiding out together starts to blur the line of the professional boundaries. Okay, those were gone from the moment they kissed.
Don't Want to be Queen: Comedy-Romance novella, rivals to lovers, unrequited love, prompt #49.
Two sisters. One kingdom. An outrageous and outdated belief about queens being married. But if they're going to outwit their father, they're going to need a well-connected man on the inside. A man who happens to be the long time crush of the younger sister.