“The blue is lovely on you,” Zander voted in.
Flushed by his flattery, Marie ran her hand along the scooped neckline of the dress. Its needlework and seams were expertly hidden. The inner layer felt smooth against the delicate skin of her décolleté. With a slight tug to the thin straps, she lifted the bodice of the gown a bit higher for modesty. As quietly and quickly as a stealth weapon, Pati the sales manager, a tiny woman with arthritic fingers, pinned the straps to Marie’s satisfaction.
“Thank you, Pati.” Zander acknowledged her handiwork.
“Perhaps you’d like to wear your hair up with this gown,” Pati suggested. “May I?”
Marie allowed Pati to lift her hair with a few clips to see how it would look. With the low cut of the dress’s front and her hair out of the way, Marie’s neck looked tall and stately. An unfamiliar description.
A couple of Marie’s coworkers in Toulouse were into clothes and always encouraging her to dress more daringly or trendily. She paid them no mind. Having spent most of her life not knowing whether she’d even have clean clothes for school the next day, fashion was the furthest thing from young Marie’s mind.
As an adult, she’d settled into practical and inexpensive pieces. It rarely occurred to her to replace or add to her current wardrobe unless something was so worn it would appear unprofessional. On the rare occasions she did shop, it was surely not at a store like the one they were in now.
The boutique carried formal wear from both world-renowned and local designers. Once again reminding Marie that she was in the French Riviera where sun and money informed the lifestyle. If she got the job at the APCF permanently, it would all take some getting used to.
She’d no doubt need to find her place on the other side of the tracks, as the saying went. Just as her ex-boyfriend, Gerard, never hesitated to remind her, she should keep her expectations low. But hopefully, there would be somewhere she could afford to live in a working-class neighborhood. Maybe she’d meet some people there. The La Croisette crowd was not her kind. Never were and never would be.
In fact, the combination of trying on the gown coupled with Prince Zander’s observant eye was overwhelming. The way he looked at her was nothing like Gerard, or any other man, had. He’d picked her up earlier this morning, after deciding last night that she’d accompany him to some of the swanky fund-raisers that were on his calendar. And presto, with a snap of his fingers, she was suddenly shopping in Cannes and living in a different universe. One she could hardly fathom.
To pull off the magnitude of event Zander wanted to for the APCF, Marie was going to need an education on how events of that scale were mounted. She was grateful for the prince’s invitation, although intimidated to move in a social circle she knew nothing about. Joining him for some hands-on learning was an opportunity there’d be no substitute for.
“Zander.” Marie moved from the three-sided mirror over to the settee where he was sitting. She waited until Pati was well out of earshot before asking, “I appreciate your confidence in me but... I don’t know how to say this...isn’t it kind of obvious that I’m not the type of woman who would go to a ball on a prince’s arm?”
“What kind of woman would that be?” He leaned back in his seat, legs parted as he scratched his chin.
“Don’t you have well...people you live among?”
“Have you been talking to my mother?” he joked.
Although his smile was flirty, Marie pressed on.
“But aren’t you supposed to be seen with women from your...planet?”
“And you’re not?”
Perhaps he didn’t know what a hot-button issue like belonging was to someone like Marie. Whose parents weren’t capable of creating a nurturing home for a child. And who, after they died when she was eleven, was tossed from one foster home to the next. And mercilessly teased, ridiculed for being homeless and rootless. Never being around people she trusted or felt accepted by. No one to catch her if she fell or celebrate her when she thrived. Although she was doing great by any standards in her adult life, those weren’t scars that ever healed.
If Zander thought she was just as good as the selective crowd his life was built around, why did he grab Abella’s sippy cup out of her hands last night as if she was infected with the bubonic plague? She could appreciate that he might not like Abella’s things to be handled by strangers, but his actions surely spoke louder than his words.
Noticing that she was flustered, Zander said, “First of all, I’ll bring whomever I want to a party and dare anyone to tell me otherwise.” More words. “Secondly, you look fabulous, and chic, in that gown. You’re not going to be wearing a sign on your back that tells everyone how much money your father makes.”
“I’m an orphan. My father doesn’t make anything.”
“Forgive me, yes, I know that. It was just meant as a figure of speech.”
“But do you think...”
He reached out and took Marie’s hand. His was so solid and sturdy, tingles tracked down her body at his touch. Her neck and throat, exposed in the gown, must have turned beet red. She didn’t know if she was really going to be able to hold herself together. Not only was this entire shopping expedition way out of her frame of reference, Zander himself was too much. He awakened something in her. She was hyperaware of herself in his presence and analyzing his every move.
As she had learned in counseling, when life became too much to bear Marie knew to deepen her breathing. After intaking plenty of extra oxygen, she was able to hear the words Zander spoke while he held her hand.
“This is a good idea, to give you firsthand knowledge of how these events are done. And I’ll tell you something else. If you’re going to stay in Cannes, I suggest you get comfortable mingling with the hoi polloi here. This is a moneyed town, full of people who have it and more who want it. An effective fund-raiser knows how to swing in the right circles.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course.”
Pati moved toward them holding a couple of bottles of water. “Why don’t we get you out of that dress and into another. Can I offer you a drink while you’re changing? This, or a coffee?”
“I’d better take the dress off first!”
“Indeed.” Pati turned to Zander. “Your Highness, we’ll be right back.”
“Zander.”
Pati bowed her head. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Zander is fine, really,” he said with a smirk.
Marie was completely taken aback by his warmth and humor as she followed Pati. Whatever preconceptions she might have had about the reserve of royalty was quickly being thrown out the window. But she had to caution herself not to read anything into his friendly demeanor.
A prince was never going to spend his time with the likes of her other than for the sake of his own goals, so it would be dangerous to get close to him. He had a means to an end and she was here only to serve him. That his ultimate aim was to bring as much money into the APCF as possible was certainly noble. And, she had to admit, added to his charm.
Not to mention those almond-shaped eyes that were always watching. There were those defined lips. Her eyes rolled back in her head when she allowed herself a split second of imagining what his mouth might feel like on her bare neck. Then there was that physique of his that today looked so taut under the tailored pink shirt and black jeans he was wearing. It might be heaven on earth to be in his embrace.
Pati ushered Marie back into the dressing area. Dressing room, singular, was the right word for it, as it was about the size of the bedroom Marie would be staying in. The walls were covered in textured wallpaper with black velvet fleurs-de-lis in a pattern. A black dais stood in the center of the room for pinning alterations.
There were mirrors everywhere. Antique armchairs upholstered in gold taffeta were arranged in a couple of groupings. Gowns on rolling racks were placed just so, as to not touch each other. A
tall shoe stand with many rungs could accommodate a dozen pair. A glass case held evening bags and hair accessories. Marie had never given any thought to what a dressing room in a shop like this would look like, but it was magical.
With Pati’s help, Marie stepped carefully out of the first gown. Sipping from the bottle of water, she felt uneasy seeing herself in all the mirrors with her low-cost cotton underwear amid the finery of the shop.
“The prince is very handsome, isn’t he?” Pati stated rather than asked as she brought out the next dress for Marie to try.
“He is at that.”
“And are you a...friend of his?”
As discreet as the manager of a designer shop in Cannes was expected to be, apparently even Pati couldn’t resist prying out any data she could on Zander’s relationship status. It must be awful for him, Marie thought to herself. People foisting themselves onto him not out of any genuine like but for self-centered reasons. In a funny way, she felt protective toward him.
“We’re colleagues,” she said flatly.
Marie’s modeling the pewter-colored gown with the train got a “Yes!” from Zander when Pati brought her out to show him. “That will be perfect for the reception at the Carlsmon.” He’d mentioned that they’d be attending a screening and party during the film festival at a hotel that was known as one of the centers of the action.
With Zander ten steps ahead of everyone else, as seemed to always be the case, he’d obviously contacted Pati ahead of time to explain what clothes Marie would need. And he was here with her making sure the selections were to his satisfaction. Marie wondered what typical days were like for His Highness, as a prince, a philanthropist and a royal baby’s guardian.
Did he have an office somewhere that he reported to daily? A staff? Was it in Charlegin? Paris? With all his traversing of the world, she supposed a physical office would be impractical, not to mention unnecessary with today’s technology. She considered how much about his lifestyle might have changed after the crown princess was put in his care.
Marie had to stand up very straight and force her shoulders back to wear the pewter dress properly. It was a gown for a confident woman, bold in its fit that left nothing to the imagination. It had halter-style straps with a V neckline. Under the bustline were two triangular cutouts that exposed bare skin. The geometric cutouts were echoed in the back. That little bit of skin peeking through was uncharacteristically daring for Marie. She was surprised at how much she loved it.
Having never walked in a gown with a train before, Marie got a quick course on how not to trip on the extra fabric.
“Thatta girl,” Zander approved of her new posture. “You look just like one of the Hollywood stars who will be at the party.”
Although Marie tried to breathe her heartbeat into not pounding, she feared it was. In a gown that probably cost more than she made in a month, Marie was going to a soiree where movie stars would be in attendance. That a girl from the quartier nord, as the worst streets of North Marseilles were called, with parents like hers and with the parade of incompetents who defined her adolescence after they were killed, was standing here today was unbelievable.
“Pati, what are we envisioning for the Laublie Foundation breast cancer research benefit? The theme is ‘A Night in Mexico’ and the dress is Mexican black tie,” Zander declared and snapped Marie out of what could have had her looking back on a dark road.
“Your Highness—” Pati began.
“Zander.”
“Zander,” Pati finally managed with a cough, “I was thinking of black lace with some added color. May I show you what I had in mind?”
Back in the dressing room, nothing could have prepared Marie for the next dress Pati brought out, explaining that it was made from antique black lace. Marie touched the exceptional fabric, and thought it was romantic and current and timeless all at once. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Her heart fluttered when Pati zipped her into it.
The fitted bodice was sleeveless with a sweetheart neckline. It skimmed her torso down to her waist. On top of the lace in a diagonal from the décolleté on the left to beyond the waistline on the right was a swath of brightly colored hand-embroidered flowers. Yellow, red, green, blue and purple against black added up to making this a dress Marie could not have imagined existed. With the help of several petticoats underneath, the skirt portion poufed out and extended to floor length.
It was a ball gown of the highest order.
Marie’s jaw dropped at her visage in the mirror as Pati slipped her feet into black high-heeled sandals with a red leather bow on each. Somehow little girl dress-up had become a reality.
Prince Charming included.
As a warning, though, she shook her head at her own reflection in the mirror. There was no prince to be hers. She was only doing the job she’d been asked to, which, bizarrely, entailed wearing these exquisite clothes.
A shiver shot through her as she realized that if Zander knew any details about her, about her parents, he wouldn’t want her on his arm or anywhere near him. Or near Abella. Marie hated constantly dragging her past along with her wherever she went. How she wished to not be limited by it any longer.
For now, it was all professionalism. Detached. Reveal nothing of herself. That was all she had to do. And to keep her attraction to Zander in check.
To complete this gown’s look, Pati gave Marie a pair of red satin gloves that extended past her elbows. “For that dramatic effect,” Pati chirped. “And perhaps a necklace. With His Highness’s approval, of course.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Marie couldn’t help but skim one hand along the other arm to experience the shiny glide of the gloves. She surely hoped Zander liked this outfit because she knew it was the most beautiful she would ever wear as long as she lived.
After they’d finished at the dress shop, Zander led Marie toward La Croisette.
“Where are we going now?”
“Let’s walk down to the beach.”
He craved the sea breezes. Iris was still with Abella so he could afford a little more time out.
Zander directed them to an exclusive beach club where his family had year-round access.
“These beaches are private?” Marie exclaimed. “How is the ocean only available to certain people?”
Although he chuckled, he could grasp how strange this must all seem to her, as it would to the majority of people in the world. “Beach clubs, ball season, the film festival, Cannes can seem like another galaxy. Are you still game for taking this rocket ship with me?”
He’d noticed her habit of opening and closing her fists, which she was doing at the moment. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for me to see Cannes through your eyes. I’ve never been on a private beach before.”
“If you’re going to get good at creating fund-raisers that bring in the big-money players, you should be inside their circle.”
At the entrance, an attendant quickly greeted Zander. “Welcome, Your Highness. Will you be dining or in need of sporting equipment?”
“No, thank you, and you can call me Zander. We’re just having a quick stroll on the beach today.”
“I’ll have towels and chairs for you immediately.”
The afternoon had turned to dusk as they walked the length of the club’s boardwalk, past the outdoor restaurant and cocktail bar, the lounge chairs and yellow-and-white-striped umbrellas set in precise rows.
Sun worshippers had begun to pull clothing over their tiny bathing suits to make their way up toward the cafés and hotels that lined the Croisette. They’d have their cocktails and change into their evening finery, emerging after dark for whatever plans were on their agenda in this fantasyland of a beach town.
“Do you want to take your shoes off and walk in the sand?” Marie asked.
“Absolutely.” The way she asked thrilled him, like he was a mischievous schoolboy who was supposed
to be in class but had snuck out for a short taste of freedom.
She quickly kicked her off her sandals. Zander untied his oxfords, removed his socks and cuffed his pants a couple of turns up his leg. Of course, he had fashionable beachwear back at the penthouse but they were here now, spontaneity not something Zander typically had much of. They stepped down from the boardwalk into the soft, warm sand, flashing each other a clandestine nod.
“See,” she said, “even a prince can set his toes free sometimes, can’t he?”
He felt his grin spread from ear to ear.
An attendant magically appeared to lay a stack of thick towels down onto a couple of loungers for their return.
“Even if he has to have his own private beach,” she kidded.
As they walked toward the sparkling blue water, Zander found himself with a yearning he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
There was something so genuine about Marie. It touched his heart.
Certainly the shopping excursion was a feast for the eyes, watching such a comely young woman model stunning clothing that she looked so good in. But even more fun was how innocent she was toward the whole thing, as if she herself couldn’t believe she was wearing them. Hardly like the entitled girls he’d grown up around.
“What did you think of the dress shop? I take it you’re unaccustomed to formal wear.”
“For the events I did at the Toulouse office, I wore a black suit. With my only accessory an earpiece to keep the event running.”
“At the APCF function we’ll have someone else wear the earpiece. You should mingle and impress the guests. You know, you look stunning in those evening gowns.”
She looked down to the sand, obviously a little embarrassed by his compliment. Which, of course, made her all the cuter.
“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble for me already.”
He winked. “I’m sure my investment will pay off.”
“Hey, are princes allowed to wink?”
“I’ll check the handbook. Probably not.”
Zander’s phone chimed in his pocket. It was a personalized ringtone he couldn’t ignore.
The Prince's Cinderella Page 6
