Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1) (5 page)

I noticed that none of the three men had put on their coats. “Won’t you get cold?”

“No, the cold air will do me good. Bracing wind, no better way to sober up. A little hypothermia never did anyone harm,” was Des’s reply.

As we walked through the door and headed for the steps, I suddenly remembered the critical part of “The Grand Plan.”

I leaned over to Des. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you all night that your fly is down. You’ve been flashing your tighty-whities.” I pointed to his white patch of fabric.

He looked up with a sheepish grin, embarrassed. “Now she tells me! A little hypothermia in some places could do a lot of harm,” he replied in a high-pitched yelp. I giggled.

It was then that the sun rose.
Then
I realized that it wasn’t the sun rising, it was about a million flashbulbs. Quickly, Mr. NoNeck guided us toward an open car door while politely shouting at the paparazzi to let Mr. Bannerman pass through.

“Bollocks!” muttered Des.

***

The inside of the car was luxurious. The soft leather seats that were warm to the touch; the golden glow of low lights; and the smell of heavenly aftershave. I settled myself into my seat and leaned back into the cozy cocoon. I noticed a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.

Soothing music filled the car, and Des leaned toward me. “Would you care for a glass?” He placed his hand on my thigh and moved toward me more intimately. “You have the loveliest eyes. I hate to be so cliché, but a man truly could lose himself in them,” he murmured as he leaned in to kiss me. I felt my heart pound, and all sense of time stopped. Des Bannerman was kissing me…!

***

“Charlotte, are you in there?” came a shout while a hand battered the door. My head was fuzzy, the room was too bright, my heart was pounding, and parts of my body were excessively warm… I emerged from my dream completely disoriented.

“Come in,” I called. “What’s going on?” As Marian entered the room, I asked, “Where did you get to last night?” I propped myself up and pushed hanks of hair out of my eyes.

Marian was by far the most outgoing of us all. She was from County Cork, Ireland and possessed the charm that the rest of the world associated with the Irish. “I have something for you to see!”

Pulling on my glasses, reserved only for the first thing in the morning, I picked up the newspaper she’d tossed onto the bed. “Oh my god! How can this be?”

On the cover of the local newspaper was a picture of Des and me looking very much together, with my finger pointed at his crotch. Though my French was poor, I inferred from the subtitle,
Des Bannerman Caught with His Zipper Down
.

“Oh, this is awful!” I said to no one in particular. “Can you believe this?” It was so surreal that I started to laugh.

“What’s all the commotion? Where were you last night, Marian?” Hillary asked as she opened the door to her room. After crawling into my bed and reclining against the pillows, she took the paper from my fingers and read the headline, bolting upright. “What did you do last night?”

“Nothing, darling. Our dear Charlotte was the perfect lady. I must say that I think he was quite taken by her.” Tiziana oozed into the room. “Move over,” she continued.

The four of us lounged against the headboard to read the article. It took all four of us to get through it, since our French was so atrocious. After many failed attempts, I pleaded with Marian to go get Kathleen. “She lives in Paris. She reads and writes in French every day!”

The rest of us continued to struggle through the article while muffled pleas to Kathleen were sent down the hall. Once the predicament was conveyed, she sleepily stumbled to our room to join in the excitement.

With all five of us piled on the bed, Kathleen grabbed the newspaper and read it, gasping every few seconds.

“Oh, for god’s sake, read the article!” I shouted. I was out of patience, and my heart was palpitating.

“Okay, the article says,
Des Bannerman’s evening ends very differently from how it began. He exchanged one beauty for another! Originally Mr. Bannerman arrived by private car with his longtime companion, actress Ms. Brynn Roberts. During an evening of drinking and gambling, Ms. Roberts became annoyed with Mr. Bannerman's attentions to another young lady. Ms. Roberts was seen leaving the casino alone. After her departure, Mr. Bannerman was joined by billionaire Ted Blackwell from Great Britain. Mr. Blackwell made his fortune in the computer industry and is now semi-retired to focus on philanthropic interests. Perhaps the two young ladies who joined Mr. Bannerman and Mr. Blackwell were looking for charitable donations. Mr. Bannerman emerged from the casino with his new companion on his arm and his zipper down. The foursome made a quick getaway in Mr. Bannerman’s private car for places unknown.”

My face couldn’t get any redder or hotter. “Oh my god!” I was so lost in my horror that it took a while to register that eight eyes were burning holes into me.

“Darling, what if Gianni sees this?” Tiziana demanded, for once not purring.

“How would Gianni see this? It’s in the local paper,” I replied, not caring about Gianni. But what would Brynn Roberts make of this?

“Charlotte, every online tabloid and celebrity rag in the world is going to have this for a front page by the end of the day,” was Hillary’s helpful reply.

“Oh my god!” I said again.

The remainder of the morning was spent with the five of us sipping cups of tea and reeling from shock. I simply couldn’t believe I’d ended up on the cover of a tabloid (or two).

Fortunately, the focus switched from me when Hillary and Kathleen began to give Marian a dressing down for taking off in a car with a man she’d met at the bar. In her good-natured way, Marian returned fire and did not take Hillary and Kathleen too seriously. “His name is David, he’s from Chicago. He’s traveling with a group of friends, too. We’re all leaving in a few days. What’s the harm in having a little fun?” After assurances that she would run at the first sign he was a lunatic, we all drifted into quiet contemplation.

“Well, I’m afraid I must face the music,” interrupted Tiziana. “I’m going to call Gianni and explain this silly situation.” With a little roll of the shoulders, as if to carry her breasts more purposefully, Tiziana glided from the room in search of a private place to make her plea.

We all grinned as she left. The drama of an Italian love life wasn’t new to us. We knew that there would be confessions, ultimatums, passionate pleas, and eventual declarations of undying love. Secretly, we all wished for more passion in our lives, but none of us could sustain the energy it required.

I quietly worried and wondered until it was time to get ready to go to the spa. If I was a fly on the wall of Brynn and Des’s bedroom, would they be talking about last night? Laughing it off? For a moment, I allowed myself to fantasize about her throwing something at him, yelling, “What do you mean you love her?” Then I shook off the ridiculousness of that thought and started to get ready.

We were spending the day at a local spa that catered to the corps d’élite. Hillary had booked us all the “Pampered Woman’s Package.” This meant that there would be no point to a shower or fancy clothes. I dressed myself in a warm white track suit, pulled my hair up into a bulging bun, slipped on my fleecy snow boots, and was ready to go.

We waited for Tiziana, Marian shouting up the wooden staircase dutifully every thirty seconds to notify her of our impending departure. Finally, she tromped down the stairs, looking somewhat miserable. “Men! They think everything is so simple!” she muttered while shrugging on a black form-fitting down coat with fur-trimmed hood. Flipping up the hood, her doe-brown eyes stared out at me, and her dark red lips pouted.

I threw my arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tightly, offering comfort. Assuming she was at odds with Gianni, I found myself, for the millionth time, wondering if Tiziana really knew what struggling was like. Marian materialized the car keys from her parka, and I left all negative thoughts behind. I didn’t want to be in a bad mood.

Stepping out into the cold but sunny day, I heard Marian say, “Jaysus!”

Looking up, I said, “Oh my god!” again. On the small knoll where the chalet stood, the only area not heavily landscaped by snow-covered evergreen trees, was a sea of photographers, all ready to take pictures, shouting, “Which one of you is the other woman?”

“Quick, into the car,” called Marian.

Kathleen grabbed my elbow and propelled me toward the white four-wheel drive vehicle that Hillary had rented. It wasn’t often that she was commanding, but she said just loud enough, “Everyone, duck your heads, stay in a group, Charlotte in the middle, don’t say a word.”

“How am I going to keep explaining this to Gianni?” Tiziana muttered once we were safely locked inside the car.

I lost it! I flopped down, lying across Kathleen and Tiziana’s laps in the backseat, and laughed my head off. “This is so fucking ridiculous!”

“Bloody hell! How the feck am I supposed to drive through this lot?” Marian muttered, while Hillary directed her to drive more quickly. Marian carefully maneuvered the car through the crowd so as not to hurt anyone, while the rest of us continued to avoid having our pictures taken.

“Girls, what did you
do
last night?” asked Hillary.

“Absolutely nothing,” I muttered from beneath my hood. “Can you believe this? I wonder what this is like when you’re an
actual
celebrity. I’m not sure how long I can stand this!” I complained.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry. A few days from now they’ll have forgotten all about you and will be on to the next innocent fool,” Kathleen said to console me. “Unless, of course, Des Bannerman declares his undying love for you. Then you’re pretty much screwed for the next several years.”

I was about to respond to her uplifting comment when Marian said in disbelief, “You’re not going to believe this, but a bunch of them are following us. Do you still want to go to the spa?”

“Well, unless they all have reservations, it’s probably the safest place for us to go, other than home,” Hillary calmly pointed out.

“Excellent point! Oh, well, if I have to keep doing this, I’d better get the super deluxe facial.” I laughed.

Kathleen pulled her cell phone out of her purse and spoke a quick fire of French into it. After hanging up, she gave Marian instructions to drive around to the back of the spa.

“Why would I do that?”

“I explained to the receptionist that a car with celebrities is on its way and that we’re being chased by the paparazzi. They said to come around back, and we can enter through another door.”

We all laughed hysterically, none of us quite able to absorb what had happened. Yesterday we were successful businesswomen, and today we were celebrities.

When we pulled around to the back door of the spa, we were pleased to see a gate swinging shut to block the way of unwanted paparazzi. Marian quickly pulled our rented Audi Q7 up to the door, leaving the keys inside for the valet, and we all dashed into the spa. Carefully composed faces looked up as we made our entrance. A look of confusion trickled down the hall behind us as the staff began to realize we weren’t Madonna, Gwyneth, J.Lo, or Angelina.

“May I help you?” came a heavily accented voice from a well-groomed woman of petite stature. Kathleen spoke another rapid-fire of French, and soon we were all escorted into a private waiting room. A fire crackled in one corner and a pool of calm water reflected the perfect serenity of the room; the soothing scent of lavender and eucalyptus hung in the air. We waited only moments before we were each led into a private chamber and handed luxurious, warm toweling robes. After returning to the chaise in front of the fire, I felt my shoulders settling down to where they were supposed to be.

Throughout an itinerary of mud wraps, facials, waxes, massages, scrubs, and plucks, all I could think of was what would happen next. Beyond the paparazzi, newspaper articles, and misunderstandings, I wondered once again how Brynn and Des were handling this.

THE PAPARAZZI WERE GONE
when we left the spa. We didn’t have enough celebrity power to warrant their waiting around for the better part of a day. It seemed best for us to return to the chalet rather than venture into the village for a late dinner. Only the trampled snow and shrubs provided evidence of our fifteen minutes of fame.

Tiziana whipped up a dinner of pasta, wine, and salad. Afterwards, while munching on chocolate and sipping more wine, we laughed at the day’s earlier events.

“Just think, we thought it would take a few days to leave the spotlight. It took less than one afternoon. I don’t know about you, but it makes me wonder what’s happening in town that we’re so forgettable!” Marian spoke into her wine glass. “It isn’t too flattering to go from femme fatale to just another bugger, is it?”

“I have to admit that I’ve been wondering all day what Brynn and Des have made of all of this,” I said.

“Oh, I’m sure she grabbed him by the willy and reminded him who was in charge of the relationship,” Marian continued in her colorful way. I loved her banter. The most awful event in the world could have just occurred, and Marian would soon have us all in stitches.

“Do we need anything in town?” I asked as I stood up and started to drift toward the stairs.

Looking up in unison, Hillary, Kathleen, and Marian demanded, “Where are you going?” The only thing Tiziana did was shake her head emphatically.

“You just said you wondered what’s happening in town. Let’s find out. It’s late! We’ll be like spies and hang out in the background and see what’s happening.”

Marian, Hillary, and Kathleen looked at me like I was mad for a minute, and then they hot-footed it up the stairs to get themselves ready.

I was just scrubbing down in the shower with a lemon and ginger-scented bath bar when there was banging on the door.

“Really, are you taking a shower? Some of us are almost ready,” called Kathleen.

“They didn’t get all the mud out of my hair. I had to wash it again. I’ll be out in a minute.” With curtain closed, I ran a comb through my hair, tugging mud, shampoo, and tangles free. A glass of white wine was passed through the curtain, and the evening’s party was underway.