Ivy Secrets (41 page)

She looked out at the sea, out at the soaring gulls and the calm, turquoise water. A huge gray gull swept onto a yacht beyond and stood perfectly still watching, perhaps, for a fish to appear, awaiting its chance for nourishment, survival for yet another day. Marina dropped her gaze back to the envelope and tried to convince herself that whatever King Andrei said did not matter.

Slowly, she pulled out an ivory card.

In the distance, the gull screeched. She looked up and saw it bat its wings, then dive into the water headfirst. Her head began to throb again.

    Once in town, Marina found an unoccupied bench at the marketplace on Las Ramblas. All around her colors blazed—from vivid carts filled with flowers to kiosks laden with crafts and fabrics. Shoppers and tourists hustled and strolled, bickered with vendors and snapped Kodak moments. Off to one side of the promenade, an old man juggled three oranges for a small, cheering crowd; to the other side a young artist sketched a sidewalk-chalk drawing of Christ on the cross. Marina gazed around at the textures of life, and tried to rise to the pulse of the port, the beat of Barcelona. But the harder she tried, the further detached became her
spirit, distanced from the joviality that beckoned to so many, but no longer her.

A young woman with an infant approached and sat beside her. Marina closed her eyes and let the sun singe its July heat through her thin dress and into her pores. Life, she knew, encircled her. Yet it could not quiet her growing realization that what she was doing was wrong. Her years of running had not eased her pain; her quest for happiness was about to take on a new dimension, with Henry the prize at the end of the rainbow. She wondered if he would, at last, be enough, enough to erase the guilt of her abandonment.

Behind her sunglasses, Marina felt tears grow. Tears that came so readily on the mornings after, when reality rose with the sun’s light, and the glaring falseness of the night before could only be dulled when dusk came once again. But now, her tears were also filled with shame. Shame for exploiting Henry’s adoration, for using him to try to fill the emptiness of her soul.

Beside her came a small sucking sound. Marina turned and saw the infant—a tiny dark-haired infant—contentedly suckling at his young mother’s breast. An ache of envy resounded within her. Into her thoughts came one name:
Jenny
—a name Marina did not allow herself to think about, a name she did not allow herself to utter, except on rare nights when she was alone, when alcohol or drugs were not around to deaden her senses and hasten sleep.

She quickly rose from the bench and walked toward a kiosk abundant with brass and wood cages that held brightly plumed, yakking birds. She stepped close to a cage and tried to quiet her pounding heart.

“Hello, birdie,” she whispered.

“Allo, Allo,” came the response.

She touched the edge of the cage and ran her fingers over the bars. “You are in prison,” she said. “Would you not like to be free?”

“Allo, Allo.”

She stared into the small black eyes, as though searching for answers, searching for truth. The bird hopped from its perch and nibbled on seed, content with its destiny, comfortable in its home.

“Good morning, Princess,” came a voice from behind her.

Marina turned quickly and looked up into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen, deeply set into a most gorgeously chiseled, clean-shaven face. She blinked.

He extended his hand. “Jorge Gustavson,” he said. “We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting, though we’ve been neighbors forever.”

“Neighbors?” Marina offered her hand. It was not often that people recognized her in public, unless she was accompanied by her entourage of diamond-and-gold flashing friends.

Jorge smiled. Dimples on each side of his mouth sank into his cheeks. “My home is Finland.”

Marina took back her hand. Just what she needed to make matters worse. A meddling tourist who wanted to speak of Novokia. Who wanted to remind her. Suddenly, Jorge Gustavson didn’t appear so attractive. “It is nice to meet you,” Marina said coolly. “Now if you will excuse me, I have some shopping to do.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you’d be shopping today,” he said with a smile. “Does your bridegroom know you’ve jumped ship?”

Until now, Marina had not known that word of her wedding had leaked to the press.
Nowhere
, she thought.
I can escape nowhere.

“Please forgive me,” the Finn continued. “I tried to see you this morning. I delivered a letter to the yacht.”

The juggler juggled. The artist sketched. The birds yakked.

“Perhaps you would do me the honor of allowing me to buy you coffee?” Jorge asked.

“Why?”

He laughed. In the sunlight, his teeth gleamed brightly against the tan of his face. “Why? Because I’ve not had my breakfast, and I hate dining alone.”

Marina studied his neat blond hair. Even his eyelashes, she noted, were blond. “Well,” she said, glancing back to the bench where the young woman still sat with her child, “Yes. Actually, coffee would be fine.” If the king had sent him, she might as well let him return with the news of how happy she was. Perhaps then she could get herself to believe it.

They walked to a small café and sat at a round, wrought-iron table outside. Jorge ordered café con leche for
two, and
pan y chocolate
for himself. Marina declined the croissant and chocolate, and instead asked for strawberries and cream—“
fraises y nata
” Jorge said expertly to the dark-skinned waiter.

They watched a street musician set up his instruments while they awaited their order. A small group gathered around him as he began to tune his mandolin.

“I love the people of Barcelona,” Jorge said. “They are so in love with life. It doesn’t matter if they are rich or poor, it is rare to see anyone here without a smile.” He turned back to Marina. “Except, of course, for you.”

The waiter returned with their breakfast as the man with the mandolin played a raucous melody whose words Marina did not understand.

She sipped her coffee and savored the creamy white froth. “Why did my father send you?” she asked.

Jorge took a huge bite of a pastry, chewed, then dotted his mouth with his napkin. “He did not ‘send’ me. I offered to come.”

Marina reached for her cup again and pretended to drink. “And you just happened to run into me here?”

“No,” Jorge said, fixing his eyes on her, “I’ve been watching the yacht. Trying to figure out my next move.”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “I am getting married tomorrow.”

Jorge smiled. “The king mentioned that.”

“Oh,” Marina answered, feeling rather foolish. She picked up her spoon and tasted a sweet, ripe strawberry. “Then perhaps you should tell me why you traveled all this way. Are you some sort of pony express?”

“I was in Novokia. I had some business with your father.”

She set down her spoon and swallowed.

“I made a proposal to him that he suggested I speak with you about. It was his idea that I also deliver the letter.”

Marina ran her finger around the rim of her cup. She did not want to hear what this man had to say. “I have no interest in my father’s business at this time.”

“Apparently your father thought you might like to know about my idea.”

Anger ignited inside her. “Mr. Gustavson, in case you didn’t hear me, I am getting married tomorrow. My life has
taken a new turn.” She ate another berry. This one was bitter, sour. She forced it down with a long drink of coffee. “Tell me the truth, did my father send you to stop the wedding?”

Jorge shrugged. “Believe me, Princess, the king’s motives are not known to me.”

“No, I am sure they are not. But let me explain. I left Novokia with no promise to return. My father knows that.” She leaned across the table and looked squarely into his green, green eyes. “I do not know what your proposal consists of, and, frankly, I do not care. I am sure my father does not as well. He most likely wanted to use you only as a ploy to lure me home.”

Jorge picked up his croissant. “Perhaps you overestimate yourself, Princess.” He bit into the chocolate and calmly chewed.

Marina was awash with embarrassment. “The tabloids now call me ‘the jet-setting princess with the supersonic reputation,’ ” she said quietly. “I am sure that has not endeared me to my father’s heart.”

Jorge raised his cup and slowly sipped. Marina wanted to pour it all over him.

“Novokia is in great need,” he said.

“Need?”

“In the last two years, the economy has plunged. People have lost their jobs. They are suffering.”

Marina toyed with the napkin in her lap.

“They are desperate for help. Your father saw my plan as a beginning. He told me you are the one person who could give it hope.”

She thought of the king, so kind and good, so tolerant of her erratic behavior. She thought of his life now—with the helpless queen and the tedious Alexis—and now, with a country whose people were in need. If her father needed help, there was no one for him to turn to.
I shall continue to pray for your happiness
, his note had read.

Looking off at the life and the gaiety that surrounded them, Marina thought about what her future held: marriage to Henry, more laughter, more fun, more travel from one port to the next. But Marina knew that she had seen every port, that the fun never lasted, and that the worst thing about parties was trying to determine what to do in between.
She looked back to the bench where the young woman had sat, but she was gone with her child, now nourished and content. Suddenly, Marina was filled with a longing for peace, for quiet, and for home.

Jorge stood up. “Perhaps this has been a mistake.”

“Sit down, Mr. Gustavson,” she said. “And tell me what your plan entails.”

    Henry was crushed that Marina was leaving him, but he admitted he wasn’t surprised. “I never understood why you wanted me in the first place,” he said, then quickly blinked tears from his eyes and added, “But don’t worry about me, darling. I have several hundred bottles of Dom Perignon to help me grieve.”

She kissed him good-bye and vowed to herself that this was the end. No more temptations, no more expectations that men held the happiness key. No more disappointment; no more men at all. Period.

    King Andrei was deeply pleased when Marina returned. The queen, however, though she smiled when Marina entered her palace bedroom, did not know who the dark-haired creature was. Later that night, Marina sat with her father in his sitting room and wept for the mother she had lost.

“The queen would not want you to cry over her,” her father said. “She would want you to be strong; she would want you to carry on with dignity and with your head held high.” Then he closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the tall, tufted chair. “Have you come home, Marina? Have you come home for good?”

She studied the furrows that lined his brow. “Yes, father,” she replied. “If you can forgive my behavior, I am home for good.”

Just then the door burst open.

“Well, mercy me. The prodigal daughter returns.”

Across the dark-paneled room stood Marina’s twin, dressed in a long white sheath, diamonds encrusting her throat, hands on her hips.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Alexis. You’re looking well.”

“Not bad for having given birth again only three weeks ago,” Alexis commented, as she stepped into the room and preened her svelte body. “Jonathan and I have another son, you know.”

Marina crossed her legs and smoothed the rim of her boot heel. “Congratulations.”

Alexis laughed. “You’d better hurry, Marina. The score’s now three to none, in case you lost count. And your biological clock is running out of gas.”

Her sister’s uneducated use of American expressions made Marina want to smile.

“Is there something specific you want, Alexis?” the king asked.

“I heard the servants nattering that my sister was home for a visit. I came to say hello. Who knows when we’ll see her again.”

Marina uncrossed her legs again and looked at her father.

“I expect you’ll be seeing a lot of her,” King Andrei said, then smiled at Marina. “She is home to stay.”

A sigh of relief wanted to escape from her lungs. Instead, Marina returned the smile and said, “Thank you, Father.”

King Andrei nodded, then glanced back at Alexis. “Is there anything else, dear?”

Her hands returned to her hips. “Well, I expect not. I tried on this dress for you to see, Father. To see if you approved of it for the emir’s dinner tomorrow night. But now I suppose you’d rather Marina accompany you.” She turned to leave.

“There’s a dinner tomorrow?” Marina asked.

“The emir is touring the Baltic countries,” her father replied. “Perhaps as heir to Novokia, it would be more appropriate for you …”

Alexis snapped around. “This is great. This is just great. All these years, I’ve been working my ass off, trying to take mother’s place, trying to raise my own children … and I’ve been doing a hell of a job, haven’t I, Father?”

“I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Sure.” Alexis laughed. “Thanks, but your services are no longer required.”

“Stop it, Alexis,” Marina interrupted. If anyone cares
what I think, I think Alexis should go with you tomorrow, Father. She’s earned it. Besides, I’m very tired, and she looks so lovely in that dress.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” Alexis barked. Then she threw her hands to her head. “Why don’t you go back to your boyfriend and leave us alone?”

“Alexis …” the king began.

Marina rose and walked to her sister. “Alexis, I’m not going to interfere with your life. Yes, I am staying, but I have plans of my own.”

Her sister tossed back her head, chin in the air. “You can’t have Nicholas back. He’s
my
bodyguard. Mine and my sons’.” She turned to the king. “She can’t have him, can she, Daddy?”