Discovering You (Indigo Series #1)

By Kate McBrien

For fans of "Love on the Edge of Time" and "A Knight in Shining Armor" comes an epic romance that proves true love can never die.

Do you believe in soulmates?

A shy art historian. A sexy rock star. A mysterious medieval cross that holds a secret.

Lucy Bianchi has a plan: finish her PhD in art history and land a coveted job at a prestigious Los Angeles museum. Then—maybe—she’ll find time to start dating. Her controlled and predictable world begins to unravel when she chases a runaway dog on the beach and meets a gorgeous stranger.

Justin Hamilton is the charismatic lead singer of the British band Indigo. Years of touring and partying have won him notoriety, and he can have any woman he wants, but who he really wants doesn’t seem to exist.

Until now.

From their first look—their first touch—Justin and Lucy have a connection that defies logic and deepens their desire for each other. When they see the Varangian Cross at a museum exhibit, they’re flooded with inexplicable shared memories that draw them even closer together.

Justin has to return to London just as a salacious scandal explodes that could tear them apart. Lucy must choose between the safe life she’s cultivated, or go to Justin and discover a never-ending love.

"Discovering You" is the first book of a contemporary romance trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate McBrien
• Release date: Jul 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463171080

Kate McBrien

Kate McBrien writes sexy and witty contemporary romance.She has an MA in art history and has taught art history at a local college. For many years, Kate has worked as a dental hygienist, courageously offering encouragement to her non-flossing patients.She has always enjoyed writing but became more serious after being encouraged by a friend to participate in National Novel Writing Month. She began writing historical fiction but soon realized that the romance was taking over the history.Kate is a San Francisco Bay Area native who lives near the beach with her husband and Lola, their spoiled Labrador Retriever. When not writing, she enjoys cooking, music, movies, reading, and fangirling over Jamie Dornan.

Book preview

DEDICATION

To Doug. You never, ever gave up on me.

PROLOGUE

Constantinople, April 1204

I will come with you, my lady, Anna mumbled, followed by a huge sneeze.

Don’t be silly. Francesca placed her palm against Anna’s forehead and frowned. You have a bad cold and should go back to bed. I’m only going to Mass and will return right away.

But there is so much to do today.

Which is why I’m going to the early Mass. Francesca handed her a cloth to blow her nose. Anna was old enough to be her grandmother and had been taking care of her since Francesca’s birth.

Your father gave me strict instructions to— Anna protested before sneezing again and wiping her nose.

Don’t worry, Francesca said with a tight smile. Let me manage my father.

Francesca’s wedding would take place tomorrow, on her eighteenth birthday. Her father, Gregorios Bryennios, was one of the emperor’s most prominent admirals. He had wanted her to marry when she turned sixteen, but Francesca had used every means necessary to put off the inevitable. Since her mother’s death when she was a young child, her father had relied upon her to manage his substantial household. Francesca had to learn quickly, and now her father depended on her for all his entertaining and management of his household staff. She was a dutiful daughter, and in return her father had indulged her desire for learning, including a tutor who taught her several languages. With her tutor’s guidance she had acquired an impressive collection of bibles, psalters, and chronicles of ancient history. She had been quite content to manage the busy household during the day and stay up late with her studies until Anna scolded her to put the books away.

But no more. Tomorrow she would marry and begin a new life in her new husband’s home. Today she would attend Mass, see her confessor, and spend the remainder of the day in prayer in her private chambers. There would be feasting tonight, but she would not be expected to attend. Tonight, she would slip away and be with the man she loved, Stefanos.

Zeno won’t like you traipsing about the palace, Anna groused, rubbing her nose.

He is not my husband yet, Francesca snapped, searching the bedchamber for her silk purse.

A small vase of red roses on a nearby table captured her attention. How did these get in here? Francesca scrunched up her nose as she picked up the vase and tossed the flowers out the window before letting out a large sneeze. Zeno never remembered that roses made her sneeze until she couldn’t breathe, and he regularly had them delivered to her bedchamber.

She was betrothed to Zeno Gabras, a navy captain her father was considering naming as his successor. Zeno was a rising officer in the navy, but he had a reputation for being cruel to his men; they feared him, but they didn’t respect him. Francesca was terrified of Zeno, and how he stared at her with dark eyes that followed her every movement when he was near. She had pleaded with her father to choose another man, but he was resolute and ignored her tears.

She rummaged through a wooden chest that was packed with piles of gowns and ready to be shipped to Zeno’s home. Ah, here it is, Francesca said, finding the purse and opening it to make sure the coins were still inside. She sighed when she saw her favorite books, piled neatly inside a chest against the wall. Her beloved books would not be shipped to Zeno’s home. He abhorred the idea that she was educated, often mocking her interest in reading. Perhaps in time he would change his mind.

Don’t be long, my lady, Anna said, sneezing again.

Go back to sleep. Francesca guided her maid back to her small adjoining bedchamber and tucked her into bed with a smile. I’ll be back soon.

Francesca walked as fast as she could through the palace, her gown rustling behind her. Her soft leather shoes were quiet on the stone floor, so hopefully she would leave undetected. It was not quite dawn, but the servants were already up, as evidenced by the clamor in the kitchens even at this early hour. She had an important errand this morning, but it was a secret, so she couldn’t risk being seen by anyone, especially since she was unescorted. Today was the only day she would have a moment to slip away undetected for an hour.

She pulled a plain black cloak over her head. She had to be careful what she wore, because she didn’t want to attract any attention. Watchful eyes were everywhere, and there were many who would curry favor with the emperor to expose her father for anything unseemly. And what Francesca was about to do was scandalous. 

Francesca reached a rarely used door that exited out onto a small alley. She pushed it open as slowly as she could, grimacing when it made a loud squeak, and glanced around. The monks were already singing their early morning prayers in a nearby church, so she would have to hurry. It was cold on this April morning. The weather had been harsh for weeks, but now the sky was clear, with bright stars, and it looked like it would be a fine day. With her head down, she scurried down streets, avoiding any second glances from curious strangers.

Despite the early hour, trade never slowed down in this bustling port city. She passed by two traders and overheard them sharing the latest news about the crusaders’ army that was gathered outside the city gates. The crusaders had been there for over a year, and despite a few skirmishes, the city held. The crusaders were on their way to the Holy Land and were waiting until money arrived to fund their quest. Because Constantinople was currently experiencing government instability, the city was vulnerable, and people were on edge.

Francesca’s father explained to her if any fighting did break out, it would be quickly contained. And even if the worst happened, she was safe, because the Venetians controlled the crusade. Her deceased mother had been a member of the Venetian nobility, and Francesca could, if necessary, seek asylum from her mother’s cousin, the powerful Doge of Venice.

But none of that was important now as she finally arrived at her destination. She stopped in front of the goldsmith’s shop to catch her breath. Paulus was the craftsman for the many pieces of jewelry her father had commissioned for his wife.

She knocked three times on the door, as she had been instructed to do. An old man opened the creaking door, his eyes darting around outside. Lady Francesca, he whispered. Come in, he said, closing the door behind her.

The shop was humble: worn wooden shelves filled with tools and a battered workbench by the window. But appearances were deceiving. Paulus was known to be one the finest craftsmen in Constantinople. He was celebrated for making exquisite jewelry, diadems, and brooches that dazzled the eye and delighted the owner.

I appreciate you agreeing to see me this early, Paulus. Francesca removed the cloak from her head, her hair curling around her shoulders as she waited to see what Paulus had made for her.

Paulus removed the cross from a leather bag, holding it up for her inspection.

It’s beautiful, she said, taking the cross in her hands. It was perfect in size, and not too heavy. Instead of an ornate chain, she had chosen a simple chain, one stronger and more suitable for a soldier. Running her fingers over the bright blue lapis stone, she smiled.

Did you…? she hesitated, looking up at Paulus.

Paulus gave her a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Turn it over.

Francesca turned the cross over. Just as I requested, she whispered as she gazed in wonder. In a soft voice, she read the inscription aloud: May my cross provide courage and protection for Stefanos Varangopoulos Sebastos. Stefanos was a foreigner—an Anglo-Saxon, born in England to a noble family that had lost its fortune. He was orphaned when he was a youth, but because of his height and strength, he was selected to be trained as a soldier in the elite Varangian Guard. Stefanos was initially assigned to the imperial family, but her father was able to persuade the emperor he had need of a fierce warrior to protect his daughter.

Glancing out the shop window, Paulus said, Engraving a cross like this is most unusual. I only made this for you as a courtesy for the favor your family has shown me over the years. But I beg of you to be careful.

Francesca looked up into the old man’s face. It was creased with lines, and his eyes were watery and tired. Don’t worry, Paulus, she said, patting his arm. No one will know because I won’t say anything.

These are dangerous times, my lady, he said in a low voice. Many citizens are worried about the size of the crusaders’ army that is gathering.

She took the silk purse out of a hidden pocket in her gown and placed some coins on the counter. My father says there is nothing to worry about, so I’m going to take him at his word.

I pray that’s true, he said with a wan smile. But Stefanos, he frowned, pausing before saying, He is a soldier. This gift is far too extravagant.

Stefanos has been a trusted member of my father’s household for years, Francesca said with her shoulders back. This gift is a token of appreciation before I marry and move to my husband’s home, she said with an air of confidence she did not believe. 

Thank you, my lady. Paulus nodded, picking up the coins. Congratulations on your marriage. I look forward to continuing to make beautiful things for you in the future. He tucked the cross back into its leather pouch and handed it to her.

Francesca pulled the drawstring tight, then returned it to her pocket, leaving the shop as discreetly as she had arrived.

As she rushed home, her heart soared with happiness. She couldn’t wait to meet Stefanos and give him his gift. She found herself humming one of the tunes he had been whistling recently. He always entertained her with clever songs he invented.

Francesca slipped back into the palace by the same door. She had been gone less than an hour, but there were more people about now. Turning down a hallway, the scent of roasting meat and baking bread came from the kitchens. The staff was preparing the morning meal but also food for tomorrow’s wedding feast. Her heart sank as she thought of her impending marriage. Tomorrow, she would be a married woman. But tonight she would be with Stefanos, and maybe he would find a way to save her.

CHAPTER 1

Lucy

It’s here, Lucy, Greg said, hanging up his desk phone. I’ll meet you down the hall, he called over his shoulder as he walked away. 

I’ll be right there. Lucy made the final changes to the spreadsheet and logged out of her computer. She stood up from her desk and brushed the curls out of her eyes, pulling her long hair into a ponytail as she rushed down the hallway to the receiving door.

She pushed open the door to join the crowd of staff gathered for the arrival of the Preston Art Museum’s latest exhibition. Treasures of Byzantium had taken years to create. It was a collaborative effort between several museums with significant Byzantine and medieval holdings. This was the last stop of the tour.

She held her breath as the many icon paintings, carved ivories, manuscripts, and rare textiles were unpacked with meticulous care. The gold sparkled even under the dim lighting used to protect these treasures. And the icons, even after many centuries, still retained their vibrant colors.

But despite how beautiful these objects were, it was the Varangian Cross Lucy longed to see.

Hoping to get a better view, Lucy moved in as close as she could. Standing on her toes, she lost her balance and grasped the shoulder of one of the exhibit installers.

Sorry, Lucy muttered with a weak smile.

The installer turned and gave her one of the nastiest side eyes she’d ever seen.

Greg was with one of the art handlers, who pulled a plastic-wrapped object out of a small crate. The handler nodded and handed the object to Greg.

Here it is. Greg held out the wrapped cross to Lucy.

Lucy’s eyes widened. You’re going to let me hold it? I’m only an intern.

I’m your supervisor, so I say it’s okay. He grinned, handing it to her.

The installer grudgingly moved aside for Lucy to pass by.

Lucy smiled at Greg as she put on a pair of white cotton gloves. I can’t believe it’s here, she said as she took the plastic-wrapped cross. Measuring just under two inches in height, it fit comfortably in her hands. Lucy had focused her research on lapis lazuli, the intense blue semi-precious stone used since antiquity. The Varangian Cross was an almost flawless example of lapis, and therefore extraordinary.

She removed the plastic with care and laid it gently on an examining table lit with an overhead conservator’s light. It was a double cross that consisted of a solid gold vertical bar and two shorter horizontal bars. It was small, but it was a luxurious devotional object. The front of the cross was raised and outlined in gold and inlaid with the deepest blue lapis lazuli. She ran her fingers over the surface to feel the thickness of the lapis.

When she touched the small notch at the top she wondered if the owner had used a simple leather band to suspend the cross around his neck, or if it had been attached by a chain of some kind. Lucy turned the cross over on the table and looked at the ancient Greek inscription, which had been translated, "May my cross provide courage and protection for Stefanos Varangopoulos Sebastos." Stefanos was a ‘Varangian,’ which was a Byzantine description for an Anglo-Saxon mercenary soldier associated with the Sebastos, a Greek honorific title for a Roman emperor. In other words, this Anglo-Saxon mercenary was part of an elite Byzantine guard based in Constantinople.

Holding the cross closer, Lucy ran her gloved fingers over the deeply carved ancient Greek characters. How could a soldier afford such an extravagant object? And why was it engraved? Her vision got a little fuzzy. She blinked a few times, and tried to re-focus on the cross. Her ears buzzed, and she could feel a rush up her spine as her head pounded in pain.

She became dizzy, and gripped the cross tighter in her hand. A series of images flashed before her eyes—it was as if someone was flipping through the pages of a book. She was unable to make out anything specific, just fragments that made no sense. She caught a glimpse of a bearded man who reached out to her, and then just as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone.

Lucy dropped the cross onto its nest of padding as she fell to the ground. Curling her knees into her chest, she pulled herself into a fetal position and wept, overcome by a sense of profound loss that was so intense, she wanted to let herself fall into the deep abyss of sorrow. Suddenly, her body jerked as if a jolt of electricity shot through her, and her eyes flew open.

Lucy! Greg kneeled beside her and grabbed her arms.

The cross!

The cross is fine. Greg furrowed his brow in concern. Are you all right?

Greg gently squeezed her arms as he helped her get to her feet. Lucy surveyed the room. A few employees glanced in her direction, but they returned to their work when they realized she was okay. She looked down at the cross sitting on the examination table. What the hell just happened? Her head throbbed, but the sensation of grief began to subside.

Lucy took the gloves off and wiped the tears from her eyes. I’m okay, she murmured, confused by the experience and her lingering headache. She never got headaches, even after hours of using magnified loupes to analyze the minute details of a work of art.

Did you eat anything today? Greg asked.

Um, no. I worked through lunch. 

I thought so, Greg said. Let’s get some fresh air and something to eat.

Okay. She still felt a little dazed.

After eating half of a turkey sandwich, Lucy wiped her mouth and tossed the napkin on the teak wood slat table. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she scanned the gardens surrounding the museum’s patio café. It was midsummer, which meant the garden was an explosion of flowers in full bloom. Tour groups crowded the courtyard and the shouts of children reverberated off the surrounding buildings.

What’s on your mind? Greg asked, pushing his empty plate away. We’ve finished eating and you’ve barely said a word.

She massaged her temples. I’m sorry. My head still hurts a little.

He nodded in sympathy and shook the ice in his glass before taking a final sip of his iced tea. Any plans for the weekend?

Not really. She evaded his question, because she didn’t like discussing her limited social life.

Greg leaned back, placing his hands behind his head. Don’t tell me you plan on working on your dissertation over the weekend?

Okay, I won’t tell you, Lucy answered with a smirk. My parents are hosting Fred Hanson’s retirement party Saturday night. Does that count? Her parents had been involved in fundraising for the Preston for years. Lucy took pride in the fact she had landed an internship at the prestigious museum without her parents’ influence. And even though her internship was in the education department, she hoped to get a coveted job in the Preston’s research department after completing her Ph.D. in art history.

Greg snorted. Spending a Saturday night socializing with the Preston Board of Directors is not what I would call a good time. That’s work stuff. Although, he said, raising his eyebrows, you’ll get to meet Edward Pierce.

Have you met him? Fred Hanson, the former director, was a rigid traditionalist who lacked the vision to guide the Preston into the twenty-first century. The staff hoped Edward Pierce would bring a fresh perspective to the museum.

Greg shook his head. No, he’s kind of a mystery. He’s got an East Coast pedigree, but he’s only worked at smaller museums. This will be a big leap for him, so we’ll have to wait and see.

Lucy sipped her iced tea.

Oh, I almost forgot, Greg chuckled. He’s single.

Lucy choked as she swallowed her tea. Don’t start, Greg. She coughed, wiping the dribble from her chin. I don’t need a matchmaker.

And I hear he’s quite handsome. Greg waggled his eyebrows.

Lucy picked an ice cube out of her glass and tossed it at him. You’re as bad as my mother.

He dodged the ice cube and changed subjects. So, the research for your dissertation is almost complete.

Hardly, Lucy said in a sarcastic voice.

Lucy, I check in with your adviser every month. Greg tilted his head, looking up at her. I know you’ve turned in your outline and drafts of the opening chapters. Ahead of schedule, I might add."

Lucy held his gaze. That’s right. So, what’s your point?

Leaning his elbows on the table, Greg said, You have a promising future, but you push yourself too hard. Trust me, the work will be there, but your personal life might not. Finding a balance between the two is important. I’ve been at the Preston for twenty years. I know what I’m talking about.

I love doing research. I have friends and I go out whenever I want to. This statement wasn’t entirely true. She did love her research but lately she preferred to stay home. How about you? Do you have any plans this weekend?

Me? he laughed, running a hand through his thinning hair. I’m a forty-nine-year-old, overweight man who married his college sweetheart. We don’t have an exciting life. When I’m not at work, my wife has a mile-long to-do list and my four boys are involved in baseball. All we do is go to baseball games during the summer.

I bet that’s your idea of fun.

Fun? Greg laughed and shook his head. The games are fun, but the amount of driving we do every weekend is ridiculous.

And yet you do it anyway, Lucy said with a smile.

I’m a happily married man and a proud father. He shrugged and grinned. I wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. Greg’s smile faded as he studied her for a few moments. Seriously, though, what happened when you held the cross?

It was nothing, she said, looking away. I hadn’t eaten, and I got a headache, that’s all. Lucy opened her purse and took out a small bottle of ibuprofen.

You fell on the floor, Lucy. You turned white as a sheet and your eyes were wide as saucers.

She shook out two tablets and swallowed them with her drink. I was just deep in thought.

You didn’t look like you were thinking. Greg’s brow furrowed. You looked frightened and you were crying.

Lucy stared at Greg because she had no idea how to answer his question. She stood, but her legs were shaky. Tucking her purse under her arm, she said, I should get back to work.

Work, Greg said, rolling his eyes.

When they returned to the office, Greg said, I want you to take the afternoon off.

Lucy sat down at her desk, shuffling through a pile of papers, finding it difficult to concentrate on exactly what she was looking for. I’ve got to finish updating the information for the children’s tours. It’s due next week.

It can wait until tomorrow. Greg reached over and turned off her computer. He crossed his arms before saying, Your work here has been excellent. You never refuse an assignment, no matter how small. Your passion and dedication to this museum has been noted. But at this rate, you’ll burn out just as you’re getting started. Go home, get some rest, and start fresh tomorrow.

Really, I’m—

Fine? he said, finishing the sentence for her. Go home.

Her headache had subsided, but she was still a little frazzled. Okay. If you insist, Lucy said, taking her purse.

See you tomorrow, Greg said with a smile as he returned to his desk. 

CHAPTER 2

Lucy

Lucy was fortunate to have an easy commute to and from the museum, navigating the winding back streets in her old Mercedes-Benz SLK as she arrived at the cottage in Santa Monica. Her great-grandparents bought the property during the 1930s as a family vacation home. At that time, Santa Monica was no more than a sleepy village, but soon the town became a haven for the wealthy