“I’ll get it done. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, doll.”
Belle dragged herself out of her cubicle and padded to the second floor to Marcus’ office. Her supervisor rarely called her in person regarding the quality of her work unless she did a very poor job. This past week had been hard on her. Usually, Armand and Hervé would help her get through the day, especially when she had to deal with Maggie’s crap and the twins, and the whole business with the police and the lawyers. With them not around, Belle felt lost.
She stopped at Marcus’ office and knocked on the door. “You want to see me, sir?” Belle heard a muffled answer. Taking that as a cue, she pushed the door open and entered. She was juggling with the folder in her hands so it took her long seconds to realise something wasn’t quite right.
Wait a minute, this isn’t Marcus’ office. As a matter of fact, this doesn’t look like the office at all. Where the hell am I?
The room was small and empty. All four walls were plastered with fleur-de-lis wallpaper and, in the corner, a tall floor-length candelabrum lit the space. The familiar scent of roses and burnt wax drifted up to her nose. There was only one place she recognised the scent from. Maison Plaisir. Belle blinked. Then who answered me earlier? How did I get here in the first place?
Armand or Hervé.
She frowned. They were the only two people she knew who could spirit someone away like this. She groped the door behind her, looking for the handle. As much as she wanted to see Armand or Hervé, she thought it would be better if she avoided them for good. Her hand felt an empty space. She turned around and found the door had gone.
Figures.
When she took a good look at the room again, she noticed the door had moved to the opposite site. Irritation started to creep on her. She’d never been a big fan of haunted houses. Hervé or Armand could call if they wanted to talk to her. That was what phones were for. They knew her number.
Exhaling a deep breath, Belle strode across the room and yanked open the door. She half-expected to see Armand or Hervé in the next room, but what lay beyond the door was another long dark corridor. She followed the length of the corridor—it brought her into a cavernous room plastered with dark wood from floor to ceiling. Study room? Library? Bookcases were perched neatly along one wall. A flickering fireplace on the other. And the masterminds of this haunted house sat behind a grand desk and in a chair in front of it.
Hervé waved at her cheerily. Armand motioned for her to sit.
“Come in,” Armand called.
Belle stepped in half-heartedly. When she didn’t walk fast enough for his liking, she found herself magically zoomed into the chair Armand had motioned and landed her butt first. Her folder fell near her feet. “Hey!” she protested. “What gives?”
Armand gave her a Cheshire Cat kind of smile. “You didn’t think we’d give up on you that easily, do you?”
“I was under the impression that was exactly what you two did.”
“Well, you’re wrong.?
?? Armand steepled his fingers. “Hervé and I have talked things out. We’d like to propose an arrangement.”
Belle abandoned her attempt to pick up her folder. “What arrangement?”
Hervé got up from his seat and placed a paper on the desk. “A prenup.”
“Who’s getting married?”
“Me. Us.”
“To whom?”
“You, silly girl.”
Belle wanted to clear her ears to see if she’d misheard. “I don’t get it.”
“We’ve fought. We’ve argued. We’ve come to the realisation that neither of us are willing to surrender our claim to you, and it seems you can’t choose one of us, either. So.” Hervé shrugged. “We ought to be content to share you between us. It’s the most reasonable way to settle our matter without us killing each other.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“These kinds of arrangements are pretty common in Seventh Realm,” Armand explained. “But since Hervé and I are members of the Royal Family, we weren’t legally allowed to marry you at the same time. So, we’ve decided that I’m to officially marry you through the city registrar since I need a wife to take over the dukedom, and my cousin will marry you through our High Priest. So then, each of the marriages will be recognised legitimately through Seventh Realm’s law.”
“Usually, people here only get married once, either through the city registrar or the temple. We’re taking advantage of the loopholes, but it’s a perfect solution, don’t you think?” Hervé traded an evil grin with Armand.
“Can’t think of a better solution than that,” Armand added. He held his fingers to his cousin and counted. “Monday, Wednesday and Friday, she’ll be yours. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, she’ll be mine. And Sunday is the lady’s choice.”