The Poet Prince (54 page)

As Petra escorted the others out, she stopped Peter at the door.

“For the others, this conversation about soul mates is entertaining but not useful. They have found each other, after all! But for you, I think, it is far more important. If you would like to continue it, we should grab a bottle of wine.”

Peter laughed. “How can I say no to such an offer?”

“I was hoping you couldn’t,” Petra said.

Maureen entered the roof deck and inhaled the panoramic beauty of the Florence skyline, which surrounded her. She stopped short as she saw the figure standing at the far corner. His back was to her as he faced the Duomo, but she did not need to see his face to know who he was. The warm breeze rustled his dark curls, and his broad shoulders under his shirt tapered into a perfectly formed back and waist.

“Hi.” It was all she could think of to say as she approached him from behind and ran her hand up his back.

“Good Lord!” he cried out with surprise, as he had not felt her coming up behind him. Maureen was confused at first as he drew back from her sharply. She looked at him and blinked, shaking her head for a moment. The man standing before her looked like a nearly identical copy of Bérenger. But . . .

“You’re not Bérenger,” she said, embarrassed. “I’m sorry . . .”

The man laughed now. “Don’t be. It has happened all my life. I’m Alexander Sinclair, Bérenger’s brother. You must be Maureen.”

Maureen was still in shock. “You could be twins.”

“Bérenger is two years older, but we have always been mistaken for each other. We used to play that game as kids until Bérenger realized that he got the worst end of the deal, as I was the one who was always getting into trouble.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

“He does now,” said a similar voice, as Bérenger walked out onto the terrace.

“The charges were trumped up, totally fabricated,” Alexander explained to his brother. Maureen had left them to speak privately on the roof deck after Alex’s surprise appearance. Bérenger was dying to speak with her, but the appearance of his brother was completely unexpected. Exhausted, Maureen went to bed with the promise to have breakfast with him in the morning. She needed to try to get some sleep before making critical decisions about her future.

“It is clear that they won’t stick, which is why they released me so
quickly. I should never have been arrested, and they know that. Now we just need to determine who was responsible for creating that chaos. And who had the power to have me arrested.”

“And why.” Bérenger was listening carefully, trying to put the pieces together. Alexander was the president of Sinclair Oil, but he was a far less controversial figure than Bérenger. While Alex was powerful in industry and society, he was not known for making enemies. And to arrest a leader in the British business world was no easy task; it required airtight evidence, which was clearly not present here.

“Do you have any idea of motive, Alex? There has to be someone who would want you out of the way, even temporarily. Who?”

Alexander looked down at his shoes for a moment, clearly embarrassed. “There is, which is why I came here. Not just to see you, but to clear things up with Vittoria.”

“Vittoria? I don’t understand.”

Alex squirmed a bit before blurting it out. “Vittoria and I slept together three years ago. In March, after a party in Milan. Bérenger, it was forty weeks to the day before Dante was born. And two months before she seduced you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that Dante is indeed a Sinclair but he isn’t your son. He’s my son. Vittoria was two months pregnant in Cannes, and I think she seduced you because she wanted to force you into marrying her and accepting Dante as your heir.”

“But you’re a Sinclair too.”

“Yes, but I’m not
Bérenger
Sinclair. You’re the glamorous man of mystery, not me. I’m the boring businessman. She has always been infatuated by you, and in fact I know that the only reason she wanted me was because I was a substitute for you. And of course, you are the esoteric heir, aren’t you? The Poet Prince.”

Bérenger sat back for a moment and allowed the reality of this to wash over him. If Dante wasn’t his, everything changed. The child was a Sinclair and a Poet Prince, but he was not the heir to a far more disturbing element of prophecy.

“But the baby . . . he was premature. He could be mine in that
case.”

“He wasn’t premature. He was underweight. Vittoria is a model. She starved herself and smoked when she was pregnant. Dante was small and ill when he was born, but he was full-term.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’m not an idiot and I can add. I knew when Dante was born that he was mine, but Vittoria wouldn’t return my calls and never has. And I think she is the reason I was arrested.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

Alexander explained patiently. “I was arrested the day she announced that you were Dante’s father. Vittoria knew that I would call you immediately and tell you the truth, so she had to create a scenario that would immediately remove me from her game. I have no doubt that her family pulled some strings to make that happen. They’re capable of it.”

Bérenger nodded his agreement. “But they didn’t anticipate your getting out this quickly. Certainly not before tomorrow after two o’clock.” Bérenger thought of the fate that awaited him in the Red Room of the Palazzo di Signoria and shuddered.

“Clearly. So I came here because I knew you were here, and therefore it was also likely Vittoria was as well. Have you seen her?”

“No,” Bérenger replied. “She has barraged me with requests to meet, but I have put her off. I wanted a few days to consider my strategy. But I have an appointment to see her tonight.”

“Where?”

“She has an apartment just down the street, off the Via Tornabuoni.”

Alexander smiled at him conspiratorially. “Do you mind if I keep that appointment in your place?”

“Not at all. But what is it that you plan to do?”

Alexander hesitated for a moment. “I know this is crazy after all that has transpired, but I am going to ask her to marry me.”

“What? Have you lost your mind? That woman is poisonous. Deadly.”

Alexander shook his head. “No, Bérenger, I don’t believe that, even after what she has done to me. I think she is lost, and I think she has been brainwashed by her parents and is in her own way a victim of this secret society madness that we all know so well.”

Alexander did not share Bérenger’s passion or commitment to their heretical family heritage. He never had. Alex had watched as Bérenger was spirited away to France every summer of their childhood for “training” that he neither understood nor received himself. Bérenger was the golden child, the Poet Prince, and Alex was just a normal little boy. And while he had never blamed his brother for his lesser treatment, it
had left an indelible impression upon him.

“Vittoria is also the mother of my son. I want to be in his life, and the best way to do that, to ensure he has the education and upbringing that is best for him, is to marry Vittoria. I want to protect him from the madness and provide him with a normal life. And, as sick as this may sound, I am completely besotted with her. Always have been. I could do worse than to marry the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Bérenger spent the better part of the next hour attempting to talk Alexander out of this idea, but it was useless. He was snared in Vittoria’s web and could not be saved. How many times had he watched otherwise brilliant men lose their wits over a woman’s physical beauty? And he understood here that there were other elements in play for Alexander. Perhaps Bérenger had never entirely understood the depth of his brother’s jealousy. This was a way for Alex to get something back on
the bloodline side of the family. His son was now the prince with the bluest blood in Europe. Marrying Vittoria and raising Dante, while nightmarish for Bérenger, was a dream come true for Alexander.

Bérenger gave Alex the address and the scheduled time for the rendezvous. Alexander would go in his place, at eleven p.m., and surprise Vittoria.

Bérenger Sinclair hugged his brother and wished him luck. But as Alexander left him, he could not help thinking that this was a very bad idea.

Maureen had a headache and was exhausted from days of sleeplessness and turmoil. She was too restless to truly rest, sleeping in small bursts and waking often. She was also a vivid dreamer and always had been. Many of Maureen’s dreams were prophetic and had led to amazing discoveries in her life, so there was a blessing to be found within this curse of restless sleep.

It looked like tonight was going to be no exception.

“Oh!” Maureen squealed and sat up in bed. She ran her hands over her face and looked for the clock. It was 10:50 p.m. She had been in bed for an hour. Her cell phone was on the nightstand next to her, and she grabbed it and hit the speed dial for Bérenger.

He answered the phone on the first ring, clearly excited that she was phoning him. But there was no time for lengthy discussion.

“Nightmare. Bérenger, something is wrong and it involves Vittoria.”

“Why? What did you see?”

“Fire. An explosion of some kind. I thought it was you at first; I saw him from behind. But he turned and I knew it was Alexander there
with her.”

“And you think it is happening now? Here? In Florence?”

The dream had had an intensity to it, an urgency, that Maureen had never experienced before. “Yes. Call them. Now. We have to warn him. And Vittoria. Do you have her number?”

Bérenger said yes and immediately dialed Alex. He was hopeful when the phone rang, but after four rings it went to voice mail. He sent a text message to Alex, hoping that would get to him more quickly. It was often difficult to get cell phone reception behind the heavy stone walls of ancient European buildings, which the Palazzo Tornabuoni happened to be.

He tried Vittoria next. She was notoriously hard to reach, as she only turned her phone on if she wanted to call someone and never, ever answered. He dialed her number, but the phone went immediately to her bilingual voice mail.

“Dante,” Bérenger said suddenly, realizing that the boy would be in danger as well.

He speed-dialed Maureen. “I’m going down there. It’s just a few blocks down the street. I have to get to them.” He never doubted Maureen or her visions. Believing in her was as natural to him as the instinct to save his brother and his nephew. And Maureen didn’t know about Alex and Vittoria yet, which made her dream that much more chilling in its accuracy.

He was out the door before hanging up.