Marooned with the Millionaire

by Nina Milne

  ‘No time like the present. I have meetings scheduled this morning on education, on overseas aid, and a general security briefing. I’ll need to talk to Frederick and get this cleared. Then, tonight, we’ll attend a charity ball.’

  ‘A charity ball?’

  Insidious panic touched her. The entire concept of attendance at any glitterati function as a guest filled her with acute anxiety. Too overwhelming—too much. Since Edward’s death she had avoided social occasions as if they truly could give her the plague—the thought of making conversation was too much.

  ‘Yes. It’s an annual event, hosted by Rafael Martinez and his wife—’

  ‘Cora Derwent,’ April completed. ‘Lady Kaitlin Derwent’s twin sister. The same Lady Kaitlin who was once linked with Prince Frederick.’

  ‘That’s the one.’ Marcus picked up his phone. ‘I’ll call now and explain that I’ll be taking up my plus one option.’

  ‘I... I don’t have anything to wear.’

  His look indicated that he felt she might have lost the plot. ‘You are in a shopper’s paradise, April. That won’t be a problem.’

  ‘Of course.’ Seeing his look of puzzlement, she forced a smile. ‘I’ll hit the shops at lunchtime.’

  For heaven’s sake, she should be pleased—she would be attending a function where celebrities would abound, and most importantly she’d won an exclusive scoop—the chance to shadow Marcus Alrikson for four days.

  The words encircled her brain. Shadow Marcus Alrikson for four days.

  Suddenly the sense of victory was hollow in her tummy. What on earth had made her believe this was a good idea?

  * * *

  ‘Why is this a good idea?’

  Prince Frederick sat behind the ornate antique desk in the Lycander throne room, a look of genuine bewilderment on his face.

  Marcus sat opposite him and did his best to maintain an expression of being totally in control of the situation.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Frederick continued, one blond eyebrow raised in question. ‘You have agreed to let April Fotherington shadow you for four days, including council meetings, and she is going to write an article on “the real Marcus Alrikson” as well as the wedding article?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’ Frederick shook his head. ‘I mean, I understand you don’t want April to pursue the other story, but this doesn’t sound like the usual ruthless Alrikson approach.’

  ‘Sometimes the ruthless approach isn’t the best option.’ Even to himself the words sounded lame. ‘I decided this was the best way to head off the threat.’

  Yup. More and more lame.

  The royal eyebrow rose further. ‘But at the end of the four days April might still pursue the story?’

  Marcus nodded, wondering how to explain something he didn’t understand himself. ‘I realise that. But...’

  Somehow he wanted April to choose to drop the story. He resisted the urge to close his eyes in sheer frustration with himself, and gathered himself together.

  ‘In the next four days I will close Brian Sewell down. We are close to getting the evidence we need to nail him. Once he is discredited, her story will have no foundation. I’ll also uncover any other potential sources.’

  Frederick frowned, his blue eyes shadowed. ‘Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I should simply tell the truth.’

  ‘It isn’t that easy,’ Marcus said. ‘And we both know the time isn’t right.’

  Frederick exhaled a sigh and bowed his head in acknowledgment before his lips turned up in a sudden impish smile. ‘Well, I will look forward to reading all about “the real Marcus Alrikson”.’ He shrugged. ‘Though I still haven’t grasped why you agreed to that either.’

  Who knew? Unfortunately Marcus had a sneaking suspicion that it was to do with his impulsive regret that he’d gone over April’s head to her editor—got her into trouble, betrayed her. Still...

  ‘I have no intention of giving her any interesting material, so I doubt the article will see the light of day.’

  Frederick’s smile increased in size to accommodate his patent disbelief, but to Marcus’s relief he refrained from comment.

  ‘Keep me posted,’ was all he said.

  Marcus nodded. ‘I’ll see you later at the council meeting.’ With a certain reporter in tow...

  * * *

  Two and a half hours and two meetings later Marcus watched as his colleagues filed out of the room, then turned to look at April.

  Although he had forced himself to focus on the agenda, he’d found his gaze inexorably pulled towards her, where she’d sat quietly, her expression intent as she unobtrusively took copious notes.

  ‘What did you think?’ he asked.

  ‘It was fascinating. I’ve never had the opportunity to be part of something like this. I loved it. And I was impressed—Frederick does really care, and so do you. About education and about how Lycander can play a part in the world.’

  ‘Education is central to the future, and we also owe a debt to the children who grew up in Alphonse’s reign, who have been let down by the system for years. Those teenagers, young adults, adults who didn’t get any education, who learnt their life lessons on the streets. I don’t want them to be forgotten.’ The people he and Elvira could have become. ‘I want them to be given choices and opportunities.’

  ‘Do you think it’s too late for some of them?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I know we have to try. Some of those people are the next generation; we need the teens of today to believe that the system that let them down has changed. That’s why we must crack down on crime and apathy and poverty. The whole sorry cycle.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve had three hours of policy. I won’t bore you further.’

  ‘I’m not bored at all. How can something so important be tedious?’

  Her expression showed genuine sincerity, and when he remembered her true interest in the community centre he couldn’t help but ask, ‘Have you never thought of moving on from celebrity interviews to more serious articles?’

  It was as if he’d pulled a plug—his words doused her light of enthusiasm utterly.

  ‘No. I’ve found my niche and I’m happy there.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I enjoy what I do and I don’t want the hassle of starting again. I was lucky to get this job and I’m in a good place. I don’t want to rock the boat.’

  Ever. He could almost hear the unspoken word. ‘So you want your life to remain exactly as it is?’

  ‘Yes.’ April tilted her chin in a gesture that stated defiance, yet he noted she’d folded her arms as if in self-defence. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘You’re not even thirty. Surely you have career aspirations? And presumably one day you want a family?’

  ‘Nope.’ The word held an almost bleak finality, and as if she’d realised she hurried on. ‘I’ve met all my aspirations. I don’t need any more. My life is where I need it to be. I don’t ask for or want more.’ She closed her notebook with an emphatic thunk. ‘Right. I’m off to the shops.’

  The topic of her future was clearly closed and padlocked, but that didn’t stop the questions in Marcus’s head. April was young, beautiful, intelligent, and interested in way more than celebrity chit-chat—so why on earth didn’t she want more? And had she really vetoed having a family? That didn’t make sense.

  Or maybe it did. After all, he was thirty and he’d done exactly that.

  Not, he reminded himself, that April’s life goals mattered to him. Except in so far as an understanding of them might make it easier for him to persuade her to drop the story about the night of Axel’s death. He just didn’t like to see her sell herself short...

  Not your business.

  ‘Actually, I can help out there,’ he said. ‘Sunita has recommended a boutique.’ He glanced at his watc
h. ‘I’ll take you there now.’

  An expression he couldn’t interpret crossed her face.

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘I’m quite capable of shopping by myself. There is no need to come with me.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more, but Sunita asked me to—apparently people have taken to going into boutiques pretending they have been sent by her in the hope of getting a discount. I need to come along to vouch for you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Marcus frowned. He couldn’t help but wonder what train her thoughts had climbed aboard.

  ‘Then...um...thank you.’

  ‘No problem. Let’s go. We can walk from here. It’s called Fashion Plate.’

  The short journey was achieved in silence. Marcus could sense the discomfort emanating from April, as if she were heading out to do something she found almost distasteful. It seemed clear that her claim to dislike shopping was genuine.

  Though she did stop as they approached the shop in order to study the window display—four mannequins of different race, hair colour, height and build had been posed as if they were marching around a plate-shaped display of accessories—shoes, bags and even tiaras.

  As they pushed the shop door open to the sound of a small discreet chime, a woman headed straight for them. Svelte and elegant, she epitomised chic, and her smile was the perfect blend of welcome and discretion.

  ‘Welcome to Fashion Plate.’ Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at Marcus. ‘I am Gabrielle. You are Marcus Alrikson and this must be April. Your PA contacted me, and of course we are most happy to help.’ Her eyes swept over April and she nodded. ‘We have set aside some time for a fitting, and of course to discuss what you are looking for. I understand you need a dress for the Martinez Charity Ball?’

  ‘Yes.’

  April had tensed beside him, her expression less than enthused, though her tone was polite.

  ‘But there is absolutely no need for a fitting as I am pushed for time. I am quite happy to simply browse and find a dress myself.’

  Gabrielle looked horrified. ‘No, no. I wouldn’t hear of it.’ Her expert eye travelled over April again. ‘You and Mr Alrikson will be given refreshments in our private room, and I will find a selection of dresses for you to look at. You are a friend of Sunita and I insist.’

  ‘Um...’ April hesitated and then, with a fulminating stare at Marcus—for all the world as though this were his fault—followed Gabrielle through the shop.

  Minutes later they had been seated in a small but cleverly furnished boudoir-like room. The walls held a selection of black-and-white photographs from different eras of fashion, as well as large mirrors that created a feeling of space. Another assistant served them tea in exquisite china cups, along with a plate of melt-in-the-mouth biscuits.

  April waited until the assistant had left, and then glared at Marcus. ‘Well, thanks for the help.’

  ‘What did you expect me to do? Acquiescence seemed to be the quickest way forward.’ He smiled. ‘You’re lucky I came with you and not Sunita—believe me, she would have insisted you go the whole nine yards with the fitting. The only reason she didn’t come is that Amil isn’t very well, and whilst Sunita may love clothes she loves Amil more.’

  For a second he thought April flinched, and in a movement so swift he barely noticed she squeezed her hand into a fist, almost as if she were pushing her nails into her palm, and then she relaxed her hand again.

  ‘As she should—he is her son. But you’re right. This would have been even worse if she were here. Sunita and I have a differing view on clothes. For her, they are a vocation. She is a mine of knowledge and expertise on all aspects—the design, the feel, the material, the costs, the labour. She feels real passion for clothes.’

  ‘And for you?’

  ‘They are functional.’ Picking up a biscuit, she took a small bite and huffed out a sigh. ‘Anyway, whilst we are stuck in here we may as well use the time. What’s your take on clothes?’

  ‘Same as yours. They are functional.’

  April waited, then made a ‘come on’ gesture with her hands. ‘Could you expand on that?’

  ‘Not really. There isn’t much else to say.’

  ‘Let’s try it a different way. This morning you got up and at some point changed out of your PJs into your clothes.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t wear pyjamas.’

  April closed her eyes, a tantalising hint of pink climbing her cheekbones, and Marcus couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Not even so much as a pair of tightie-whities. The technical term I think is “commando”. In other words stark boll—’

  Her eyes sprang open. ‘I get it. Thank you. Vividly. I’m sure my readers will appreciate the detail,’ she added.

  Damn. That victory had been short-lived—the idea of Lycander’s population imagining the Prince’s Chief Advisor going commando did not fill him with joy.

  ‘Touché,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘So you dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Why?’

  ‘Comfort. We decided a couple of years ago to drop the need for suits or formal clothing during council meetings. We knew the meetings could be time-consuming and sometimes stressful. Comfort seemed a priority.’

  ‘Was it your idea?’

  ‘Yes.’

  April surveyed him for a moment, her head tilted to one side. ‘But there was another reason, wasn’t there?’

  Damn, she was good at reading people. ‘Of course not.’

  With a sigh, she put down her pen. ‘Off the record?’

  ‘OK. Fine. I suggested it because I thought it would give Frederick more authority rather than less. I thought it would make him more human and indicate to the council that he was open to new ideas and not an autocrat like his father.’

  ‘So you believe that clothes can be useful?’

  ‘Yes.’

  In his childhood, clothes had been a sorry affair—unwashed, ill-fitting and scruffy. Until that magical day when his parents had inadvertently let him see a stash of goods ‘off the back of a lorry’ and he had taken a pair of designer trainers. They had been livid, but he hadn’t cared. Those trainers had shown him the power that could be wielded by clothes—the kudos he’d gained from street kids who wouldn’t usually look at him had been an eye-opener.

  ‘People judge you by your clothes, and you can use that to your own advantage. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but most people do.’

  ‘That can be a monumental mistake.’

  ‘It’s still a fact. Clothes send a message, and as such they are a tool to be used.’

  ‘Is that what you do? You personally? Do you dress for other people?’

  ‘No. I dress for myself. But if an expensive suit will prove a point to whoever I am sitting across a negotiating table from then I may choose to wear it. The image you project can matter in some situations.’

  Before she could respond, there was a knock on the door and Gabrielle entered with three dresses draped over her arm. In a deft movement she hung two up on a rail by the door and held up the remaining one.

  ‘I think this is the one.’

  Marcus glanced at the dress. His knowledge of fashion wasn’t up to much, but he registered an impression of red, stripes and lace. Turning to see April’s reaction, he clocked her panic before she shook her head in a firm rejection.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Gabrielle, but it isn’t me. It’s too obvious. I’m a writer—an observer. I don’t want to be noticed.’

  The words made a level of sense—indeed, they echoed the view he had just put forward about the importance of clothes—so perhaps he had misinterpreted the panic. And yet...

  ‘Surely tonight it doesn’t matter? After all I am your subject and I know you’re observing me already, so please don’t hold back on my account.’

  Perhaps his motivation
was selfish—he knew she would look incredible in the dress and he wanted to see her in it.

  ‘I would still prefer to be less visible rather than more. This event will be star-studded—I’d like to observe the guests without being noticed.’

  Gabrielle waved away the objection. ‘At an event like this one you will stand out if you do not wear something like this. There will be nothing that will mark you out more clearly as an observer than wearing a dull black dress that conceals your assets rather than showcasing them.’

  Her gaze swept again over April’s current outfit of jeans, T-shirt and blazer, and although she was way too professional to shudder, Marcus felt it was a close-run thing.

  It was clear that Gabrielle’s argument had temporarily stymied April, and Marcus settled back on the small spindle-legged chair to observe the action.

  Gabrielle continued with enthusiasm. ‘Take this opportunity. Tonight you will be noticed no matter what; you will arrive on the arm of Marcus Alrikson, and no matter what capacity that is in people will be looking at you. So...this dress...it is a necessity.’

  April paled, and now there could be no mistake—for some reason Gabrielle’s words had left her stricken, and without thought Marcus rose to his feet, his amusement routed by concern and an instinct to protect her. For some unfathomable reason the idea of wearing this dress clearly had April in a state...

  ‘We appreciate all the help. But I think it would be best if you could find April a simple black dress, or whatever it is April wants. After all Sunita always tells me it is important that a person feels comfortable in her skin as well as in her dress.’

  The mention of Sunita did the trick. ‘Of course.’ Gabrielle hesitated, then turned to April. ‘I apologise if I overstepped—but you are a beautiful woman and it is my instinct to want to show that to the world.’

  April managed a smile. ‘Thank you. That is a generous thing to say—and please don’t feel you’ve overstepped. I am just not very good with clothes.’

  Once Gabrielle had left she turned to Marcus.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’ He gestured towards the dresses. ‘If you don’t like them then you don’t like them. That’s your prerogative. You should wear whatever you want to wear.’