In Search of Passion

By Michelle McGriff

Having a life where everything you need is at your fingertips what isn’t his brought to you can get old after a while. This was how Pashon Llovere felt anyway. From his safe and secure life on a chateau on a hill in Languedoc-Roussillon France, Pashon only dreamed of seeing the world. But instead most of the world was brought to him. Masters in all fields were brought to him to train him in art, sports, and music all of which, by the age of twenty-five—he’d mastered.
Pashon’s life was not planned out so carefully for nothing. You see, upon the death of his father King Ahmad Abindani the Prince Island in the Mediterranean near Africa, Pashon was to take his rightful place as heir to this kingdom. He was to return there with his wife and daughter and rule this island as did his grandfather. Along with him also would come all the wealth of his father who had accepted his mother as a gift from the King in order to bear a son and had for many years supported Pashon’s upbringing financially. Finally, the time came for Pashon to leave France with all of his inheritance. Before heading to the Island his father and mother had business to tend to in New York. Pashon was to finally see a bit of the world and the life he only lived in by name, for the first time.
Jealous of all this, his half sister Camille watched, schemed and planned for ways to get rid of this younger troublemaker. She felt he’d stolen her life—as well as the love of her father. Pashon was nothing but an interloper in her world. This trip to New York was to be her coming out adventure. He had everything that was rightfully hers.
...and so, she set about a plan to get it all back.

Author Notes: In the feel of many of your favorite fairy tales, In Search of Passion is a fun loving carefree read. Not designed for close scrutiny and deep researching for details, Author Michelle McGriff stretches her literary license to bring readers something uniquely, and refreshingly entertaining.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle McGriff
• Release date: Dec 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301276332

Michelle McGriff

Native Californian, Michelle McGriff shares her love of storytelling with readers.

Book preview

Prologue

Once upon a time, on an island in the Mediterranean near Africa, there lived a small group of tall, beautiful, brown skinned, grayish-green eyed people. They were being ruled by the gentle hand of a quite affable King. King Kiman Abindani.

According to tradition, this king was to have only one heir, a son, and that son was to have one son, and so on. The son born to the royal family would find their wives among the women of the island. This way the bloodlines would stay close.

The royal son of King Kiman Abindani was easily identified however by his hip length tresses that were never cut—for they contained what seemed to be magical powers that no one else on the island possessed (the practice of magic was forbidden on the island—so who would ever know the truth behind the hair). Additionally the royal family also wore a hand carved amulet around their neck.

King Kiman was different from many of the kings of that island. To start with—he had a daughter and not a son. Instead of trying again—since they were only to have one child—many men on the island thought they would have an opportunity at being king. The decision was yet to be made when suddenly there was an attempt at a brutal take over by Britain. The King sought help and thereby gained alliance with France.

As a gift for their salvation, the King offered a brave soldier his daughter in a marriage union. The young soldier, Philippe Llovere, was a widow who had left behind, in France, a small daughter. This type of marriage alliance was unheard of on the island and many wondered what was to become of things now that the bloodlines were being expanded.

There was lots of murmuring on the island. So the king made the brave solider promise that the child born of this marriage would be a son and that son would one day return to this island, where a marriage would take place from among the native people, returning the island’s bloodline to purity.

Never anticipating anything going wrong with this plan, the affable King Abindani sent his daughter, Jovana, back to France with this soldier. For added assurance, the King showered the solider with wealth beyond the young man’s wildest dreams.

As luck and chance would have it, Jovana did give birth to a gifted son, with grayish green eyes, and whose hair grew long and thick, just as his bloodlines dictated. She named him Pashon. And to him, she was devoted, raising him to be quite affable in his temperament.

But as life’s comedy would have it, the young prince Pashon married Brigitte, the daughter of the family physician and Brigitte promptly gave birth to a daughter. The daughter was named her Colette.

Time was approaching where, according to tradition and promise, Pashon would be returning to the island of his mother’s birth. He was to be crowned King, and his daughter, Princess Colette. When news reached the island of the Prince’s return with his daughter, the men there, again, found hope in one day being part of the royal family.

Chapter 1

Languedoc-Roussillon France - Spring l990—

The south wing was quiet as Pashon climbed into bed. Colette, his daughter, had been asleep for hours in the next room. He’d only gone to check because of a driving need to kiss her cheek one more time. He’d already kissed her cheek once upon returning home from another video concert

Removing his topcoat as he entered her room, he could hear her soft breathing. He could see her comfortable looking wriggle upon his touch. It made him smile. He looked around for Catharina, the nanny. She normally caught him and would shooo him away. But tonight, she didn’t come out of her adjoining room; but then again, he had entered as quietly as he could.

Catharina had been his nanny, and now she was the nanny for his child. She was a lifesaver, for Brigitte was so busy now with the social obligations that came with being his wife. The dinner parties, the entertaining alongside his parents, and the making of public appearances in his behalf, there was no way she would be able to tend to it all without help. Why, just keeping up with his video concert engagements, could take up most of her time. They were also so complex and required so much involvement of security and secrets; often they wouldn’t even know where they were to be filmed until just an hour or two before.

Needless to say, however, Brigitte had not missed a performance since long before their marriage five years ago. His mother called her—a groupie. Pashon would watch Brigitte’s eyes when his mother would say that. To this day he wasn’t sure how Brigitte felt about being called that.

His mother, Jovana, approved one hundred percent of their marriage. She felt it was a good match. She had all but arranged it, since Pashon didn’t get out much for personal enjoyment. But then again, he was not being groomed for frivolities. Everything he did had a purpose. Nothing in his life was designed by chance. Even the parties held at the chateau, where he would often entertain, were mostly for business. Most of his outings were linked with more business than pleasure. Even his concerts were so well planned; they left no room for schmoozing afterward, even the photographs taken by the paparazzi were captured and destroyed. He had no friends outside of the Chateau Llovere. He often wondered who Brigitte could stand such a sheltered life. He’d grown used to it, but she…

…he wondered sometimes.

Pashon was a walking piece to an elaborate puzzle. Even though he was aware that his life had a lack of spontaneity, never having had it, it was difficult to miss. His life left little to want in the way of material things. Yet, he had to admit he longed to see more of the world outside—New York City perhaps.

He was tired of merely hearing stories of how well his music was doing in New York, or his horses winning in races, or the wine from his father’s vineyard gaining raved reviews. He wanted to watch the races, sit and enjoy a meal, while sipping the wine of his father’s vineyards, with those Americans who listened to his music.

Pashon had a loving family, a beautiful wife, a happy child who adored him and thousands of people all over the world who loved to hear him play piano. What else could a man want? Pashon wanted it all.

You were marvelous tonight, my darling, Brigitte whispered, after apparently watching him undress in the dim light coming from behind the heavy drapes that covered the high window.

Merci, ma belle chérie et doux amour, Pashon replied kissing her tenderly. He settled into the bed, content with life.

The performance of Bach’s Moonlight Sonata had gone well—perfectly, actually. He was told that everyone stood in applause while Pashon blew them all kisses, in the direction of the camera, in his normal reciprocation of their praise.

He was often called ‘Prince Pashon, the strange’ by newsmongers who could find no negative gossip to report about his ever so private personal life—short of the fact that he was untouchable by fans. His exotic looks and affable temperament puzzled many as well. He was so polite, despite his pampered lifestyle. So regal and proud, yet kind to everyone he would meet. He was very different from most artist of his caliber.

Is Colette sleeping? Brigitte asked him.

Yes, he answered, pulling her close. I wanted to play with her, but she wouldn’t wake up for me He almost pouted.

Why do you always want to play with Colette? You should, once in a while, play with me, your wife, she said, taking his large hand in hers, then placing both hands on her face.

His hands were always soft to the touch. After a performance he would painstakingly complete the ritual with his hands, soaking them, warming them. Brigitte loved to kiss them. She would kiss each finger and stroke them against her face. Pashon loved this ritual of hers. He loved Brigitte. She was the only friend he had ever had outside of the many servants that lived on their land and in the chateau.

When his parents decided it was time for him to have a wife and start his family, he could have only imagined that they would have brought him someone as beautiful as Brigitte. He had someone to talk with, and to sleep with. Before long, there was Colette—the best playmate of all. They were both the most wonderful additions to his life.

Pashon knew his life had been set out for him but it hadn’t been so bad going along with it. It could be a lot worse.

Chapter 2

Brigitte’s family was not as well off financially. Her father was the family’s physician and therefore a respected and welcome addition. Rene Bouchard was more than excited when Jovana had proposed the prospect of Brigitte being Pashon’s wife and he accepted without hesitation.

Life with Pashon could perhaps be viewed as lacking for some young women but Brigitte didn’t seem to mind the fact that giving up her life to serve a handsome perfect specimen of a man was expected, or perhaps she didn’t realize it when she agreed to go along with her father’s request.

‘No matter. As Pashon’s wife, she would be taken care of for life and her father as well. As long as my beautiful son, Pashon, is happy, that was all that was important,’ Jovana would often think.

Brigitte was a beauty, with her soft features against dark hair and dark eyes. She was smart and very well educated, too. Speaking fluent English and German in addition to her native tongue of French made her an asset in Pashon’s life and education. Nonetheless, although she was a loyal and dutiful wife, Jovana could see clearly a familiar independent streak running through Brigitte. Perhaps that’s what had attracted her to this girl. She wanted someone strong to be a wife to her son-and a mother to her grandchild.

Jovana loved Pashon dearly. I love you Avec plus que tout mon coeur, she would say, This meant ‘with more than all of my heart.’

Those words Pashon had heard and clearly believed ever since he could remember and Jovana was a loving, doting mother who meant them. He was her little Prince, and no matter how old he became he would always be so. She longed for the day she would take him back to her homeland to meet her father, King Abindani. She fantasized about the day he would serve as king island—just as she remember her father doing. She longed for that island; an island she only remembered now, in her dreams.

Pashon had grown to be very eccentric, absent-minded and childlike. Even at twenty-five, he needed so much attention. Perhaps it was the artist in him, but as long as she could remember he seemed very unconcerned about the world around him.

Naïve.

Innocent.

All he paid attention to was his piano and his music. Since he was big enough to climb onto the piano stool, music had been his only friend. Jovana was glad he had Brigitte and Colette now, to watch over him—and Catharina of course.

There was always a certain amount of fear his safety. This fear belonged only to Jovana, carried over from her homeland, which she fled with the assistance of Philippe Llovere, Pashon’s father. Sometimes Philippe didn’t seem to understand the importance of Pashon’s life’s calling. He was to be king of a nation—a small nation—but nonetheless, many lives depended on him. He needed to carry out his destiny. It was the way it was and how it would be.

Philippe was a wealthy widower, made wealthy by the gifts of her father. Sometimes Jovana felt Philippe forgot about the promises made. Jovana sometimes felt that Philippe forgot who she was too. Falling in love with this young exotic Island Princess, he’d found a new meaning in his life. He’d been able to escape the grief that wore heavy on his heart after the loss of his dear wife. He was more than agreeable with her father to bring her back to France with him. He had to have figured that this marriage would not only save her life but his own as well. Jovana would become mother to his child and he would be able to start a new life. He’d be able to rebuild his broken down chateau and start a business. Yes and all this of course was a decision eased by the fact that Jovana was beyond beautiful.

After the birth of Pashon, Philippe seemed as though he’d found true joy—a son, a fresh beginning. He had no idea that in finding that joy in this gentle, loving woman, and his beautiful and gifted son, he had neglected Camille, his daughter from his first marriage. In doing this, he created a cold and hate-filled young woman in Camille—one who even Jovana believed could easily turn out to be quite dangerous. Camille hated Pashon… with more than all of her heart. It was in her eyes and Jovana saw it clearly.

Everything evolved around Pashon. Everything was always for Pashon’s betterment—education, marriage, and children. His entire life was that of being groomed for kingship.

Additionally, hours a day, every day, his music filled that chateau—Mozart, Beethoven Rachmaninoff, Bach, etcetera. Upstairs, downstairs—there was a piano once each floor. East Wing and West, every inch of that castle like abode catered to his talents. By the age of six there were concerts every week, where her parents forced her to sit in cramped booths where his music was being recorded. Yes Camille had to have hated him—a hated that had nothing but years to grow and fester.

After the death of Philippe there was to only be a small allowance for Camille as the wealth Philippe had acquired came from Jovana’s father and therefore belonged to Pashon. It would be by Pashon’s order that Camille would receive more than a pittance. Jovana was sure he would gladly share his mass wealth with her, but it wasn’t for her to assume aloud. When the time was right, Pashon would make the order.

Now in the case of Jovana’s will, if she died before Phillippe he would have all she owned materially –which was quite a lot, and so with that, if Phillippe died after that, Camille would inherit what was left. It was a slow both to wealth but eventually she would have something…

Considering the poor choices that girl makes in men, she should be glad she’s been allowed to come home after each disaster. She acts as though she’s tortured here or treated as a poor relation, Jovana said to her mirrors reflection. Smoothing back her hair then she stepped out onto the terrace for the morning meal.

Chapter 3

Camille threw open the drapes to face the day. She felt the growl come up under her breath looking down on her father and ….that woman. Ugh and ‘her’ son, she huffed.

Why was it he and only he who would inherit the wealth and the title and the power, with her only subsisting on an allowance? Why, because of some alliance made by her father and the father of