Stealing Luna

By Carla de Guzman

Cora Justa Dumagat has had enough.

She is tired of watching the corrupt, fat cats of the council override the monarchy and risk the people’s lives in exchange for a payday. Despite advice from her Queen, Cora has decided to take matters into her own hands and hit the Joaquins where it hurts—to steal their precious Juan Luna painting right from under their noses in Barcelona.

The job shouldn’t be too difficult. If only Luis Ang, her ex-boyfriend, wasn't hired to be her bodyguard.

Luis knows that Cora is up to something, and will stop at nothing to make sure she’s safe, even at the cost of Cora’s plans.

As Luis and Cora become more and more deeply entangled into each other, the more dangerous the situation becomes. Will Cora have her revenge? Or will stealing Luna be the last thing she ever does?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carla de Guzman
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463527993

Carla de Guzman

Carla de Guzman writes contemporary romance and believes in happily ever after.Her books Sweet on You,If The Dress Fits and Some Bali to Love are explorations of her favorite tropes, places and food. She is a part of #romanceclass, an online community of writers, readers and creators of Filipino romance in English, and will always say yes to a café invite.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Regent’s Ball

The island nation of Cincamarre prided itself in three things: quality pineapple products, stunning views, and the monarchy. People needed someone to love, and the Mercados bathed in that love as they ruled with firm, solid hands. The royal family has guided Cincamarre from the time it was released from Spanish occupation in 1898, generating profitable, sustainable businesses, promoting tourism and pineapple-product exports, making sure their citizens were well-governed, cared for, and happy.

So when it was time for Princess Nina to ascend to the Sapphire Throne, the entire nation was, naturally, excited. An entire calendar year was set with events to kick off the coronation: parades through the capital’s main thoroughfare, blessings from the Church for the queen’s future rule, and a series of pronouncements. But the one event that everyone looked forward to the most was strictly by invitation only.

The Regent’s Ball was traditionally hosted by the oldest living member of the ruling family, dubbed as the future royal’s debut to the social ranks that were to be her subjects. This year, the mantle of host fell on to Prince Ernesto, Lord of Alapad, uncle to the future queen, and once king of Cincamarre, until his abdication. The prince was only too happy and too enthusiastic to host, and he wanted to pull out all the stops to make the celebration memorable.

Two places were generally deemed acceptable to hold one of the biggest events in Southeast Asia’s social season. The first was at Palasyo Pacita, the seat of the Mercado throne. Beautiful, but too typical for Prince Ernie. The second was at the Basco Botanical Gardens, the site of Princess Nina’s declaration of her intention to be queen.

Poetic, but not enough for the prince.

Instead, he went to the Justa Galleries and asked if they would be willing to be the venue for the event. Traditionally, the gallery closed from June and July for archiving, but they generously opened their doors for the night. Once Prince Ernie, their patron, asked, there was nothing the Justas could do but say yes.

Largely considered one of the gems in Cincamarre’s architectural crown, the Justa Galleries were a study in French chateau glamor. A former hotel during the Spanish occupation of Cincamarre, it was purchased by the Justas when the Mercados came to power, and they had maintained it as a museum ever since, preserving Cincamarre’s art history while celebrating the art of their neighbors. It was the perfect place to hold the Regent’s Ball.

There was, however, one person who begged to disagree.

Dressed in a piña-cloth gown dyed in deep, warm magenta, Cora Justa Dumagat’s eyes were ice cold as she surveyed the revelry around her. The gallery’s Blue Room was awash with soft yellow lighting, creating a romantic glow in the room among their most precious art. The decorator brought in tall glass spires for each of the tables, with blood-red flowers spilling over the top like reverse chandeliers against the powder-blue walls. The six-piece orchestra was playing a cover of some popular song, and the well-dressed crowd was getting properly tipsy on Verve Cliquot and Dom Perignon.

This would have looked better in the Mirror Hall, she announced to nobody in particular, shaking her head as she straightened the ruffles on her dress. We’re packed in here like sardines.

Sardines? No, thank you, hija, Prince Ernie appeared at her elbow, holding a flute of champagne for each of them. He was dressed in the traditional regalia fit for a prince—a fine shirt made of carefully woven piña cloth produced in Cincamarre, with a woven sash of navy and sapphire bearing all his medals and honors. Cora instinctively reached out to straighten her godfather’s sablay, patting it down with a smile. And the committee was insistent that we use this room to highlight the galleries’ new acquisitions. They said that the galleries needed the promotion. Desperately.

Had she not been in a ballroom with three hundred other people watching the prince, Cora would have winced. Instead she scoffed and took a sip of her champagne.

We’ll be fine with or without the Sapphire Throne’s support, she insisted. This is exactly why I came back home, to keep the gallery running, bring it into the twenty-first century. We didn’t even have social media accounts until yesterday, which is mind-boggling. Did I tell you that we just discovered this entire archive of documents in the vault that nobody had ever seen before?

You came back home because my brother died and your drinking buddy had a throne to take over, Ernie told her none too gently. Or was it the other Dumagat sister who sunk that yacht off Marina Bay?

Cora smiled behind her champagne glass at the memory. It had been one of the good nights, the wild nights when she and Nina gave zero fucks about the rest of the world. The yacht had belonged to a particularly pompous businessman who was talking openly about underpaying his workers and passing below the standards of the review board in Manila. Cora hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity, and whoops, no more yacht.

I wasn’t aware that there was another Dumagat daughter, unless my father was a lot more sexually active than I thought he was.

Classy as always, Cora. Prince Ernie released a long-suffering sigh.

You helped raise me, so there’s no need to thank yourself for it.

And you’re still as naughty and light-fingered as ever, which I don’t recall teaching you to be. He lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear what they were talking about. I suppose it was just a coincidence that the 1896 Bonifacio flag ended up at the doorstep of National Museum of the Philippines two weeks before tonight’s ball?

I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ninong.

You didn’t hear about that? Huh. An original flag from the revolution, supposedly made by the Supremo himself. It was supposed to be privately sold in Paris, but someone took the flag before then and put it in the National Museum’s hands. The person who supposedly owned it didn’t want the negative press and claimed that they decided to donate it last minute. But of course, the media speculates foul play.

Right.

The thief supposedly left one item behind. A lone rosal blossom.

Ah. Interesting.

And I suppose, he wasn’t finished. That it’s not a coincidence that the National Museum agreed to loan one of their most precious artworks, one that hasn’t left their sights in thirty years, to the Justa Galleries?

You have to admit that she looks good in this light, Cora conceded, turning her attention to the end of the hall, where almost the entire group of guests had huddled over a painting of a woman lying in bed. Her hands were clasped around a rosary, her eyes boring into the soul of anyone who looked at her. Portrait of a Lady looked at the audience as if granting them a blessing; Paz Pardo de Taverna’s serene face betrayed nothing of the horrific fate she would face years later at the hands of her husband and painter.

Cora thought the painting was a bad omen. She always had, and having it hanging in her family’s gallery wasn’t something she was terribly excited about. Especially not tonight, when they were supposed to be welcoming a future monarch.

I notice your father isn’t here, he commented, his eyes scanning the crowd for Benjamin Dumagat’s face. It wouldn’t be too hard to spot him. The councilman and Cora had the same eyes, the same dislike of functions like this, and the same little crease between their eyebrows when they frowned. Cora knew that it wouldn’t be hard for Prince Ernie at all. After all, he’d known her father for about fifty years now.

According to the two of them, they were still the best of friends. But Cora knew a rift when she saw one, and the two most important men in her life had one. Cora’s father married her mother, and they still lived happily together. The prince’s plate was full with helping his niece take the Sapphire Throne. But Cora wasn’t so sure. Her godfather still talked about Benjamin Dumagat like they were teenagers wreaking havoc in the palasyo.

He didn’t want to look like he was having a good time while his constituents were still in evacuation centers. The crease between Cora’s brows appeared as she looked down at her champagne glass. Suddenly, it didn’t taste as good. Someone needed to be here to appease the Justas, so here I am.

Duty first. Prince Ernie nodded. Of course. Especially with something as bad as what’s been going on.

Cora agreed. It had been about a month since the typhoon, but she could still picture the houses with nothing but mud and floodwater inside. Could still hear the cries for missing family members, lost belongings, lost homes.

Storms hit all the time, and South Basco’s been fine. She shook her head. But the tree cover that they get from the mountainside was pretty much gone because of the subdivision they built there with that special permit.

It was easy to dismiss as a natural disaster. An act of God that couldn’t be avoided. But that wasn’t the point of view Cora took. No. In her book, all of this could have been avoided. People lost their lives in that flash flood, lost everything because someone took advantage of the upper hand they had. A subdivision shouldn’t have been allowed on Ivatan Mountain, even if it had the most stellar views.

Cora knew exactly who to blame for this.

I’m sorry. Her godfather squeezed her arm. What does he need?

"Support, mostly. Funds, almost immediately. We can’t be seen being biased toward one of the four districts under Dad’s counsel, but the emergency fund is running low, and Mamá can’t keep writing the checks herself. There is some truth to us not having a lot of money. The corners of her mouth turned down in a frown. But it’s not just that. Be sorry for your citizens who lost their homes. The ones who were never found after, because that damn subdivision was given a special building permit in the first place."

That’s why we’re here. Prince Ernie’s determined face made her smile. It’s practically in the royal job description to host parties and raise awareness, raise funds.

Of course, she agreed. Apparently the rich and famous don’t open their pockets until they’ve been wined and dined first. I’ve already spoken to three prominent architects and development firms tonight about building new homes in South Basco. The Corazons are donating a sizeable amount. Justas have agreed to fund food and semi-permanent shelters for the next month.

And Nina is going to South Basco to see the relief operations tomorrow, which will bring huge attention to what’s going on there. And of course, the people love her—it’ll be good for them to see her.

While the donations are pouring in and Papa is pulling together a team for all of that, there’s still rebuilding to be done. I have…other plans to secure the funds for that.

And here I was thinking you weren’t going to follow in your family’s footsteps.

An angry Justa is a dangerous thing.

A Dumagat even more so. Prince Ernie put down his now-empty flute of champagne. I heard about the death threats.

We’ll get you, Cora. We’ll get you before you can ever get to us.

Cora’s gaze darkened. Threats were par for the course with a family like hers, but these had been a little too direct, a little too specific. Whoever it was knew Cora’s movements, knew that she was looking into the permits and processes for the Arcadia subdivision on the hill.

First of all, Papa wasn’t supposed to tell you about that.

Your father tells me everything. He waved his hand.

Second of all, it’s going to be fine. I’m the daughter of the least-rich councilman and a very, very old Cincamarre family. I’m hardly a threat.

She said it with a casual shrug, much like a tiger would before it struck. Cora’s attention was once again captured by the Portrait of a Lady, just as Prince Ernie was pulled into a conversation with one of the museum’s patrons. She took another sip of her champagne as she considered the painting again. She turned to her godfather when he finished speaking with the guest, and she realized that he was frowning. She knew that look. She’d seen it on him when she and Nina tried to climb an old lanzones tree with Prince Felipe when they were kids.

Smile, Ninong. Tonight’s focus should be on Nina, the future queen, not a Juan Luna.

Sure there were other equally important paintings hanging in the Blue Room—a Resurrección Hidalgo they’d recently purchased from a family in Spain, a couple of Amorsolos that they had always owned. It was a good collection, but certainly not the point of the evening.

The nation has a whole year to fawn over their future queen, Ernie pointed out. I think she’ll enjoy the respite. Now if you excuse me a moment, my dear. Someone placed Councilwoman Chan’s seat facing the window, and we both know how meticulous she is about feng shui.

Oh, really? I wonder who would have remembered that she pulled funding for the schools in this year’s budget and conveniently switched her seat to the one right next to the Minister of Education’s? Cora asked slyly.

Ernie sighed, but he was unable to hide the tiny smile of obvious pride he had for his goddaughter.

You know, people have stopped asking me to be godfather to their children because the ones I already had turned out particularly…feisty.

Cora snorted. They’re missing out. You’re a particularly good godfather. Most of the time. Now if you excuse me, I think I see a banker with fat pockets who is about to start a new CSR program.

She hadn’t been alone for very long when she heard two very distinct voices rising above the din of the crowd. Cora froze when she saw them, two women draped in silk, a pair of piña-cloth fascinators with ostrich feathers carefully pinned to their coiffures. Honestly. Margaret and Arita Joaquin were only a quarter British. Fascinators were never going to happen in this tropical climate.

So tacky, she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

God, it’s stuffy in here, Marga sneered. Really, couldn’t they afford to turn on the air con?

Please, we’re talking about the Justas. They can barely scrape two coins together to run this place, let alone afford air conditioning. The prince insisted the ball be held here, which practically screams nepotism.

Well, thank god he abdicated years ago. Cincamarre would have gone to the dogs. Not that Princess Nina is a step up from that.

It would have been so easy to casually dismiss the twins. They were loud, overly dressed(badly so) and also uninvited. But as they were daughters of the councilman representing Iraya and Cora was the daughter of the councilman from South Basco, technically, she couldn’t boot them from the party. At least not without tongues wagging, and really, Cora didn’t need that tonight.

I don’t remember your names on the guest list. Cora sighed like she was utterly bored as the twins set their sights on her. In fact, I specifically requested that the devil’s spawn be removed from the list entirely.

Their faces burned as red as their fascinators at the implication, and Cora resisted a laugh. She could see the tip of Marga’s fingers turn white as they pressed against her champagne glass. Had her grip been harder, the delicate crystal would have shattered to a thousand pieces.

We didn’t want to subject Councilman Dumagat to further humiliation because of you, Rita seethed.

Cora was impressed. Rita didn’t even have