That was a relief, what with the moving people and deliveries coming through, and Abella’s needs to be considered. He made a mental note to give Iris some extra days off with pay once they were all settled in. A funny little trio, he, the baby niece and the widowed nanny. But a working unit nonetheless.
To the matter of the gala, he’d yet to conclude whether Marie was going to be a help or a hindrance. She seemed oddly unaware of his royal status so he’d made a point of not telling her. Because as soon as people found out, they acted differently around him. Either nervous to the point of flubbing up simple tasks, or going into overdrive to be perfect. Most people were flustered in the company of His Highness Prince Zander de Nellay of Charlegin.
It was surprising that she didn’t know who he was, but it seemed there were a lot of gaps in what she’d been informed of. So at least in this first encounter, he’d let her think of him only as the event chair whom she had to satisfy, without the added distraction and onus of his title. Perhaps they’d get to know each other a bit first.
He’d come off brusque when they’d met in the office. No one could blame him, though, for being frustrated that, while he was responsible for this crucial fund-raising gala, the agency had undergone a personnel change and Marie, the replacement, was unapprised on more than just his identity.
“Do you know a place?” she asked, reshuffling the weight of a tote bag filled with paperwork on one shoulder and her laptop under the other arm.
“This way.”
Reaching over to take Marie’s bag off her shoulder, an unexpected sensation greeted him. As his fingertips grazed the thin fabric of her blouse in the process, Zander stiffened a little bit. His body suddenly piqued with alertness. For a good twenty paces after that, he was unable to divert his thoughts from wondering what the skin under that white shirt of Marie’s might feel like if he slipped his hand underneath it. Soft as satin, he was sure of it.
It was a strange fascination. He hadn’t felt curiosity about a woman in a long time.
“Do you live in Cannes?” Marie brought him back to the moment with her question, looking up to him with her big and almost completely round light blue eyes.
“I come down for the social season every spring.”
“Down from where?”
“I keep an apartment in Paris. And my home is in Charlegin.”
“Where is that?”
“It’s a small principality near the Belgium border.”
“What do you do there?”
Mashing his lips together, he suppressed a response. He wasn’t used to being asked such direct inquiries. Once people knew who he was, they usually became tongue-tied or fluffed on about the weather or the rosebushes. Marie’s candor was intriguing, if unknowingly inappropriate.
“I’m involved in several charitable organizations,” he answered in absolute truth. “May I?” He gestured at her laptop, taking it and slipping it into his bag alongside his own computer.
Tucking it in, his fingers again made contact with the incongruous item he had encountered when looking for the USB drive while he and Marie were still at the office. Inadvertently squeezing the malleable plastic, a quack sound echoed through the leather. How one of Abella’s bath toys, the squidgy yellow duck, ended up in his bag he’d never know.
“What was that?” Marie asked in response to the sound.
“Oh, nothing.” He wasn’t ready to explain just yet, having learned the hard way that women tended to ooh and aah when they found out that the eligible prince was caring for a baby. And then tried to convince him that by decree of their gender they could do a better job of it than he was. When, in his experience, they were only trying to take care of themselves by worming their way into his world.
A hurtful pang reminded him that only a few months ago he’d been duped into just that.
Nothing about Marie suggested she was of that breed. But he wasn’t going to be deceived, or put Abella’s safety in jeopardy, ever again.
He led them to a pedestrians-only block where every other business was a café. Outdoor tables extended as far as the eye could see, each shaded from the sun with cloth awnings or umbrellas in a riot of colors. People sat chatting in groups, nursing aperitifs. Romantic couples leaned in close as they shared pastries.
Picking one of the cafés he thought he remembered from his time here last year, Zander instructed the hostess to seat them at one of the outside tables. With a pull on Marie’s chair, he helped her sit and then took the wicker chair opposite her.
“Café au lait?” he suggested and after her confirmation, he ordered when the waiter arrived.
Quickly perusing the menu, he chose an herbed omelet. Marie took a bit longer to decide but once the waiter returned with the coffees, they had both made their selections.
“This is so scenic,” Marie said as she surveyed the panorama from the café’s patio. Palm trees dotted the horizon beyond the low buildings that lined the block. The air was clean and the sky was blue.
“Yes, Cannes is a very special place. Where are you from?”
She hesitated before answering. “North Marseilles, originally. But I was working for the APCF in Toulouse before this.”
“And you’ve been called to service in Cannes.”
“It’s a great opportunity for me.”
“You have no children? Parents? No husband or boyfriend to consider in a relocation?”
Marie looked downward before lifting her head only slightly and answering through her eyelashes. “No. It’s just me.”
Zander felt a bloom in his gut at finding out that Marie was unattached. Which was ridiculous, as if his body was betraying him. What matter was it of his whether Marie was married or spoken for?
Perhaps he was just curious. Just a year ago he was the playboy bachelor entrenched in the social scene of young royals. Where he spent his days, and nights, in the company of stunning women.
Until the world as Prince Zander knew it came crashing down. When his sister, Princess Elise, and her husband, Prince Valentin, were killed in a plane crash. And Abella, at the time six months old, was put in Zander’s care.
The peculiar thing was, shifting from the jet-setter who dated the most desirable women in the most exotic places and enjoyed enviable pursuits of leisure was a much easier change than anyone would have guessed.
Truthfully, Zander had become tired of romping around. He was especially worn down by the people he met who were interested only in his title and his standing. Who never saw him for who he really was, what he cared about inside. As was personified by the one mistaken go-round with the woman who confirmed all of his suspicions.
After that, it was crystal clear. Tragedy was the catalyst for short-circuiting Prince Zander’s lifestyle. But it was as easy as flipping a switch for him to turn his attention to one female and one female only. One who was hopefully eating her diced peaches before readying herself for a sleep.
His sister, Elise, was two years older than him, the firstborn. Which meant that Abella, her only child, was the crown princess and heir to the throne. Zander was responsible for raising not only a child, but the future ruler of their native Charlegin.
It all added up to why Zander had toy duckies in his briefcase and diced peaches on his mind. He could have hardly been bestowed a more important task than caring for Abella. Which provided a reason for him to stop surrounding himself with untrustworthy people whom he didn’t even really know. He had to be very cautious with whom he brought into his orbit now, as he had the baby princess to protect.
Which was why, Zander reflected as the waiter delivered the food, the personal life of this lovely Mademoiselle Marie across the table from him should be of no interest of his.
So why was it?
Zander thought he’d seen a wash of sadness come across Marie’s face when he asked if there were people in her life she was concerne
d about leaving behind in Toulouse.
With those big blue pools for eyes and a rose-petal mouth, she was a natural beauty. Her brown hair was a bit of a fright, with too-long fringy bangs and unruly waves tossing her locks this way and that. Yet her porcelain skin, which was so pale it was translucent, captivated his attention.
After they’d had a few bites of food for sustenance, Zander was ready to get down to business.
“In my opinion the most unforgettable galas start with a big thematic concept. It adds magic and theatricality.”
“We had a hot-air balloon theme for a fund-raiser I worked on,” Marie offered. “We carried it through all of the details. Table centerpieces that were small versions of the balloons with flowers coming out of the baskets. And we had party favors with miniature balloons filled with chocolates.”
Zander chose his words carefully. “Marie, I’d consider that more a decorating scheme than an event theme.”
Her eyes got wide. He knew she’d felt criticized, which was not his intention. But if he was going to chair a gala that was to be on par with the lavish affairs the social season was known for, Marie was going to have to expand her thinking. “I’m talking about the no-holds-barred extravaganzas like, for example, the Carnival balls that Venice is known for. They are drenched in theme from top to bottom, with venues and costumes and dinners that take your breath away.”
“The APCF doesn’t typically do galas on that scale.”
“That’s why they asked me to chair. They need to raise the kind of money the larger organizations do. So we’ve decided that throwing the most memorable benefit of the season will be the kickoff to a new level of fund-raising.”
“I’ll do my best. I’ve worked on dozens of events.”
In reality, Zander had very clear ideas of what he wanted to do. He didn’t need a sort of event manager who might not consult with him about every facet of the party. If his name was going to be linked with the APCF, everything was going to be his way. Perhaps someone with less experience like Marie would be a plus. He was willing to spend the next couple of days finding out if they worked well together.
With a charming smile she asked, “Do you have a personal connection to parentless children?”
That reminded him that she still didn’t know who he was.
Which, actually, struck him as more than a little strange. Had she never seen his name in the news?
Sadly, Elise’s and Valentin’s deaths, and Zander’s role in raising Abella, had garnered a lot of coverage. The story was picked up by all of the outlets when the plane crash happened a year ago. Bachelor Prince Now Daddy Day Care and plenty of other embarrassing headlines dotted every gossip website on earth at the time his family was going through such an unspeakable tragedy. How could Marie have missed learning of it? Or perhaps she just hadn’t made the connection. Although she’d find out soon enough.
“Yes, the needs of orphans are something dear to my family. What about you? How did you come to work for the APCF?”
She studied him before seeming to make a decision to answer frankly, “Without the support of the agency, I wouldn’t be here. I’m an orphan myself.”
* * *
Think before you speak, Marie reminded herself as she sipped her coffee opposite Zander at the table. There was something so open and inviting about his face it made her want to tell him about all of the things she’d learned to keep private.
He was the kind of man girls dreamed of. Not Marie, because she’d learned the hard way long ago never to dream. But somebody else’s dream come true. A man with the power and know-how to bring ideas to life. To make yesterdays disappear and tomorrows look bright. In other words, he and those soulful almond-shaped eyes of his were dangerous. Because they could make a girl start to think about things that could never be.
“You’re an orphan and now you work for the Alliance for Parentless Children of France,” Zander said after putting the white porcelain coffee cup down onto its saucer. “You’re exactly the reason we need the gala to be a resounding success. So that we can continue to assist parentless children all the way into adulthood.”
She wasn’t sure that she liked being discussed as if she was a case study students were analyzing at university. Although she was quite an example of everything that was wrong in society for orphaned children. With wounds she hoped no one would ever uncover. She’d rather die with them as memories covered in cobwebs that she kept in a tattered box in a corner of a never-visited attic. Unwrapping them only in private.
“The agency helped me get a job so I could go to university and then placed me in a position afterward.”
“And event planning is where your passions lie?”
She wasn’t sure why he was asking so many questions. Was he trying to determine whether she’d be able to assist him with his gala? Was he just asking out of idle inquiry? Or another motive? Fighting the urge to confide in him, she steadied herself. It wasn’t often that anyone asked her about herself so she wasn’t too savvy at it.
“Yes, I do like helping to bring all the pieces of an event together. Being part of a collaborative effort. Working with a team.” Kind of like a family, she thought but didn’t say. Because it hurt too much. “But we mainly do educational seminars and retreats. Rolls and coffee, sack lunches, that type of thing.”
“Right.” Zander checked his phone and with, apparently, nothing urgent there he placed it screen down on the table. “Okay, then, the first thing we need to do is announce the theme to the invitees.”
Obviously, that was where his interest about her ended.
“We’ll do a follow-up invitation as if we planned it that way all along,” Marie offered.
“That’s good. Like it was a secret we decided not to reveal right away. I want to go with some kind of costume or masquerade ball. It’s classic. I think people enjoy disguising themselves with outfits and wigs so they can act with abandon. It’s an innocent enough way for the guests to have a decadent evening.”
“How do you have such insight into the psyche of the donors?” He surely seemed to know what he was doing.
“I’ve been going to charity events my entire life.”
“Were your parents big donors?”
“You could say that. They made a lot of appearances.”
“Oh, are they famous?”
“Something like that.” He flagged the waiter. “Another café au lait, please. You?” he asked her.
“Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”
Zander nodded at the waiter, who took his exit.
“A costume ball in and of itself isn’t enough. We need to tell them what they’re masquerading as.”
Marie racked her brain. She wanted to make suggestions that Zander would like. She was in uncharted waters here. He was talking about balls the likes of which she’d never seen before. But that didn’t matter—what did is that it would impress his guests.
“As I was saying earlier,” he continued, “there’s so much money in Cannes, especially this time of year. All of the Hollywood glitterati are here for the film festival and half of Europe is here to ogle them. Plus, the spring galas and balls are starting so everyone is expecting to part with their money. The APCF should be getting a bigger share of the bounty.”
Knowing she was just blocks away from the ultraluxury hotels on La Croisette, where many of the rich and infamous stayed, Marie couldn’t help but wonder about the lifestyles of the privileged class it seemed Zander was a part of.
What kind of care did these people take of their sons and daughters? Did they have happy homes, making sure their children felt loved and secure? Did they hug them close and protect them from harm? Or did they leave their care to others, without knowing if they were being treated right? Which type was Zander? How was he raised? Did he have children?
“Do you have children?” she couldn’t help asking e
ven though he had been cryptic when she pried into what he did for a living.
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Only the important ones.”
That simply drew a chuckle from him, those dark-as-night eyes taking on a bit of glisten.
Which got her out of a tight spot. Because she wasn’t one to answer the big questions, so it wasn’t fair of her to ask them.
* * *
Marie’s heart thumped in double time to her steps on the way back to the office. Zander was simply the most stimulating company she’d ever been in! She’d never met anyone like him. He was so sure of himself and he had an unending stream of ideas to which he encouraged discussion. She actually felt a bit slow-witted around him, though she imagined it was his innate confidence that contributed to his panache.
Not to mention how stunning he was, with those piercing eyes that caught her every hesitation, every pause, every downward glance. He read right into her. He was going to be hard to hide from. And Marie had plenty to hide.
Once she settled in at the desk in her office, she speculated on how someone became a self-assured and successful person like Zander. With her parents long dead, and in working for the good of other orphans, Marie often found herself trying to analyze what kind of upbringing led to a fully functioning adult.
She knew that two people might have grown up with exactly the same opportunities yet one could become accomplished in both vocation and personal relationships. Whereas the other might succumb to crime, substance abuse, mental illness or some other type of marginalized existence. While upbringing was not a complete predictor of someone’s future, it was a start.
Did Zander have a supportive childhood with parents who sheltered him when needed and encouraged risk when that was what was called for? She couldn’t help but ponder about his background. Along with what it might be like to be held in his big, long arms, though she chastised herself for that inappropriate thought as soon as she had it. Yet she simply couldn’t stop imagining being enveloped by him, swept into his sureness, giving her a sense of belonging her rootless past had never allowed.
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