The Prince's Cinderella

by Andrea Bolter

  “‘... Are a Girl’s Best Friend,’” Zander finished the set list she hadn’t been listening to, so fixed was she on the tones in his voice.

  As much as she’d tried to forget the kiss on the cheek and his arm around her shoulder at the Mexico benefit, those were nothing compared with the kisses at his apartment after the Carlsmon party. Because, with a reasonable amount of feasibility, the peck and the arm around her shoulder might have been chaste exchanges between colleagues. Although, really, even those encounters were tinged with flirtation and romance, unless she had imagined it.

  But at his apartment? No way were those kisses between coworkers, or even friends. As she watched Zander bring his lemonade to those sumptuous wide lips, her body shuddered at the recollection of his mouth on hers. Those lips that, with the smallest of movements, had taken her on a wild ride of yen rewarded with pleasure.

  At the stem cell research fund-raising yacht party last night, they’d moved together as a choreographed unit. She’d worn the blue gown with the beaded overlay, and Zander wore his tuxedo with a blue shirt that almost matched the hue. There was no division between where one of them ended and the other began. As they finished each other’s sentences with a jovial banter that seemed to charm the scientist crowd on the boat that night, Marie had become more and more comfortable with the schmoozing and increasingly optimistic that their own gala would be a success.

  Simply put, they worked well together. That was when she loved her job the most. Collaboration, when everybody was looking in the same direction, focused on one outcome, the success of the event. It was almost as if those involved became a family for the duration. It was a feeling that gave her immense satisfaction.

  But she needed to watch herself around Zander. He already had a family, the royals on Charlegin and what he was creating with Abella.

  There was no question in her mind, though, that she’d never been attracted to a man like she was to Zander. She was a moth to his candlelit flame. That night after the Carlsmon party and, if she was being honest, since the moment she met him she had been drawn to him.

  To his sincerity. To the way he wielded his power with a quiet control. To his compassion. How he made her feel connected to him. And the way he was with Abella. Watching him so careful, so attentive, so decisive about what she needed was one of the most heartwarming displays Marie had ever witnessed. It wasn’t just flattery when she told him how good a job she thought he was doing with her.

  Nothing would ever come between him and his care for Abella. Rather than wishing it was otherwise, Marie was grateful to know that Abella was going to receive a lifetime of loyalty and support and love even without parents. What she’d never had. A woman would be wrong to try to pull Zander from Abella’s plight. Marie was happy for the baby princess.

  So she’d forever treasure those life-affirming kisses from Zander, and expect nothing more. Neither one of them had instigated talking about those kisses. That Zander hadn’t brought them up reinforced to Marie that they weren’t important to him. Which kept her from mentioning them.

  “I’ve got to get home,” Zander finally declared after a productive afternoon. They stood. He packed his computer bag, gave Marie a very European kiss-kiss on both of her cheeks and then headed out her office door.

  His departure brought a lurch forward to her shoulders as she watched the back of him stride down the corridor. Of course, she wanted him to leave and get home to the baby, who would probably be as delighted to see him as Marie was sad to have him go. Nonetheless, she’d count the minutes until she saw him again tomorrow.

  Rage tasted bitter in her throat as she recalled the facts about her parents that she’d never tell Zander. Tamma and Bruno Paquet headed a ring of drug dealers that supplied illegal methamphetamines to the already downtrodden residents of the council blocks where they lived. When Tamma and Bruno discovered that their inventory had been stolen, they took to the street to confront the rival drug gang that also staked claim in the neighborhood. Whose members proceeded to shoot Marie’s parents to death in the middle of the afternoon.

  Unknowing and unprotected eleven-year-old Marie was in their shoddy apartment while it happened, even hearing the gunshots coming from the street, although she didn’t know it was the sound of her becoming an orphan.

  As Zander’s broad shoulders, long legs and golden hair turned the corner and she couldn’t watch him walk away any longer, unwelcome tears welled behind Marie’s eyes. As she had been taught to in counseling, she concentrated on labeling her feelings.

  Anger again. That was what it was. She was bona fide furious that she’d met very few men in her life whom she would consider of high quality. The kind of men who were secure in themselves. Who treated everyone with respect. Men who thought it worthwhile to see that others around them felt safe. Who communicated clearly when they were speaking and who genuinely listened.

  Zander was that kind of man.

  The kind she’d never have.

  The only men she ever attracted were insecure types like Gerard, who found some kind of sport in pointing out their superiority. Or the few other damaged men she’d dated who weren’t responsible, and she’d become their surrogate mother and caretaker.

  She had never witnessed a healthy relationship in action. Her parents were two irrational people, in her memory, always dressed in ill-fitting tracksuits, yelling at and accusing each other all the time.

  Even though she was too young to understand it at the time, she knew that her household hadn’t been normal. That they hadn’t been a happy family born from a couple’s love. Through her odyssey of foster homes, Marie had never gotten close enough to any of the adults to analyze whether they were in solid relationships. There was only strife and chaos.

  She’d learned to go it alone. It was the easiest and most prudent decision, and one she’d thought she was at peace with.

  Until she met Zander.

  In him, she’d seen how a real man treated a woman, a baby, a nanny, a party guest, a coworker. The person he was showed Marie a possibility she hadn’t even considered.

  And at the thought of what she’d never have, her blood ran hot.

  She stood breathing slowly in her office doorway long after Zander had turned the corner out of her sight.

  Felice came toward her and asked for an update. After Marie filled her in about the various aspects of the gala, she didn’t want the meeting to end. Although she didn’t know Felice well, as executive director for the agency Felice herself had come in contact with hundreds of orphans. And, truth be told, Marie wanted someone to talk to.

  “Felice, what do you think happens to most orphaned children in foster care when they grow up?”

  “I don’t think we can make any generalizations. And we can only collect data on those whose whereabouts we know.”

  Marie nodded.

  “But just like within any population,” Felice continued, “there appears to be a spectrum. Many foster parents are wonderful and go to great lengths to help those in their care process the challenges a parentless child will have.”

  None of the foster parents Marie had fit into that category.

  “As far as children in homes with not-as-attentive foster parents, we see some whose past has simply destroyed them and they never become integrated in society. There’s a lot of homelessness. Then you have the people whose lack of parenting produces insecurities that they constantly stumble on. They may lead outwardly manageable lives but are never stable internally.”

  Marie shivered at the description of what could be her if she let it.

  “Then there are those who are galvanized by what they didn’t have growing up and are determined to have it as adults. Whether it’s through rehabilitation or simply sheer will, many become successful adults with personal achievements and significant relationships. They partner. Have children of their own and create loving homes.”
>
  Which would Marie be?

  * * *

  After a meeting with Chef Jean Luc the next day, Zander informed Marie, “I’m flying home to Charlegin tomorrow. We have some Hungarian dignitaries visiting and I’m expected at the palace to make an appearance.”

  Disappointment flashed quickly across Marie’s face at that news. He didn’t think he misread it. Suddenly, he felt guilty that he hadn’t mentioned the trip to her before this. But his assistant for the APCF gala hardly needed to be privy to everything Prince Zander had on his calendar.

  Although Marie had become more than that and he knew it, despite his mental denials. And not just with regard to the kiss that had sent his manhood prowling, naked and primal toward her. No, there was something much larger going on with his feelings toward Marie. Which was why it bothered him that even a slight wave of unhappiness, one she quickly disguised, had flowed across her beautiful face.

  “Are you taking the baby?”

  “No. I’ll only be gone for one night. After the reception and whoever my mother has invited for dinner, I’ll fly back the next day.” Mentally reviewing how much work he and Marie still had to accomplish with not much time left, he suggested, “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “To the palace?”

  “Yes. I can’t include you in the meeting with the Hungarians, of course, but the gardens are nice this time of year. You and I could work on the plane rides both ways.”

  It was a crazy idea but not without merit. If his mother happened to have invited any of the silly girls she always wanted him to meet, Marie would help squelch that attempt. And even though he knew he must not pursue anything further romantically with Marie, he liked having her around.

  “All right,” she answered without spending too much time thinking about it.

  The next morning, Zander’s driver shuttled him and Marie to the airport, where they boarded the small private plane hired to whisk them to Charlegin. After takeoff, an attendant served coffee and a light breakfast for the short flight.

  Sitting side by side in ample tan leather seats, they watched through the windows as Cannes became smaller and farther away when they soared into the blue skies and cotton-white clouds.

  “What are your parents like?” It was perhaps an inappropriate question to ask a prince whose father sat on the throne, but Zander didn’t mind.

  “My parents are very different from each other. My father showed me what it is to be a prince. The grace of benevolent work. He taught me to treat all people equally. To be compassionate.”

  “He sounds wonderful.”

  “He is. My mother has different concerns.”

  Such as flying all over the globe with her friends in the fashion industry. And measuring people by how much money they make or who their grandfather was.

  Looking out the plane window, he reflected on his upbringing. His father’s love for his wife sometimes clouded his ability to disagree with her. Prince Hugh had a quiet strength away from Claudine, which was when Zander and Elise got to know the best of him. Certainly they loved their mother, but it was no secret that she married their father for his title.

  It was crystal clear to Zander why Elise made sure Abella would be raised by him. The weight of that responsibility tightened his jaw as he watched the plane’s descent into Charlegin. Abella would rule from the palace one day, and it was his job to make sure she was fit for it. That was surely the most challenging thing he would ever do in his life. He wasn’t sure if he could do it alone.

  “Is everything all right?” Marie asked in the gentlest of melodies. Was something transparent in his face? And why had he begun to factor this woman beside him as part of any equation?

  “I miss my sister.” He felt his eyebrows furrow. “We were very close growing up.”

  By the time Charlegin came into clear view, Zander’s mind was a jumble of memories and possibilities. He pointed to the gray stone compound and its small tower now visible through the airplane window. “There’s the palace.”

  * * *

  As soon as Zander and Marie stepped into the entrance hall of the palace, Her Highness Princess Claudine appeared from a corridor. With her hair pulled back and in an olive-colored suit with a white blouse and heels, she looked stately rather than her usual designer-label style. A nod to the visit from the Hungarians.

  “Zander,” she called with arms outstretched. “Where is my marvelous grandchild?”

  Since his mother rarely asked about Abella, he didn’t think the theatrical fanfare was necessary. Referring to the woman entering the hall beside Zander, Claudine questioned, “Where’s Iris? Have you gotten a new nanny?”

  “No, Mother. I left the baby in Cannes with Iris as I’m only here overnight.”

  “Right. No sense in all of the packing up needed to travel with her.” Claudine fixed her eyes on Marie. “But you’ve brought someone?”

  “Princess Claudine, I’d like you to meet Marie Paquet, who works with me at the APCF. She’s running the gala for us.”

  Marie seemed unclear how to react to the introduction so bent her knees in an awkward curtsy. Zander so rarely brought anyone to the palace, he’d forgotten to brief her on protocol.

  “Oh. I see. What did you say your family name is?”

  “Paquet,” Marie ticked out as if it was confidential. This was the same inquest Claudine had given Zander on the phone when he mentioned that Marie would be his date for some of the balls this season. His mother’s obsession with social status and rank was ever-present.

  “Is your family from the Riviera?”

  “We’re... I’m from North Marseilles.”

  “North Marseilles? Oh.” Claudine’s voice was high and clipped.

  Zander could sense how uncomfortable Marie was with his mother’s interrogation. Her fists opened and closed. Marie’s reluctance to say much about her past gave him the indication that she might have endured pain, fear, loneliness and even mistreatment. Which tore at his heart. She had every right to keep her past private if she wanted to.

  “Mother, I trust you’ll be of help to Marie with the APCF gala by bringing along some of your more influential friends. Has your Monte Carlo crowd sent their RSVP yet?”

  Her Highness stared at Marie as if she was looking right through her. “Zander, I don’t know that any additional guests should sit in on the meeting with our Hungarian visitors today.”

  “Of course not,” he quickly interjected. “I promised Marie she could stroll the gardens.”

  “Well, then. I’ll join you in the green room in half an hour, Zander.”

  Once his mother took her leave, Zander showed Marie to the palace gardens. The late spring had brought everything into bloom and the grounds were a kaleidoscope of color and scent. With the central expanse of grass, Zander could imagine Abella running around to her heart’s content. The last time he’d brought her here, she hadn’t yet learned to walk. It was still hard to fathom that one day she would sit on the throne.

  “This is enchanting,” Marie said after surveying the vista.

  “I apologize. My mother is rather...inquisitive.”

  “As well she should be, Zander. You’re fortunate to have a mother who takes an interest in who you spend your time with.”

  There was Marie, taking the high road again. Even if it caused her distress.

  “Yes, and she’s preoccupied with my dating life.”

  “So she immediately assumed...”

  “Exactly.”

  They stared down each other, both knowing that while they weren’t a couple, though recent events pointed otherwise.

  Perhaps it was too impulsive a decision to have brought Marie to the palace. Did he really expect any less of his mother than a full-scale examination of any woman he’d bring home? In his enthusiasm to show Marie where he grew up and where Abella would rule, he abandoned the c
aution that might have convinced him it was a bad idea.

  Still in the shirt and slacks he’d worn for the flight, he needed to change into a suit and tie for the official introductions. The Hungarian group wanted to discuss a trade partnership with Charlegin. Any second guesses about bringing Marie along had to be put aside.

  He swept his arm across the expanse of the garden. “You’re welcome to explore at your leisure while I’m away. You’ll find benches dotted here and there, so feel free to sit. I’ll have an attendant bring out some refreshments.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “And afterward, we’ll get down to business.”

  “Okay.”

  But he lingered beside Marie rather than returning inside and getting ready for the meeting.

  “O...kay,” he slowly repeated. Yet his feet didn’t move. Instead of getting dressed, he wanted to show Marie every little corner of the garden. To appreciate each bloom of a flower or leaf on a tree. To point out where he and Elise liked to play as children. And he most definitely wished he could take her to the secluded benches on the far end of the property. Where they could kiss in the sunlight without risk of anyone seeing them.

  There was to be no more kissing Marie, he admonished himself! Yes, her hands on either side of his face was an exquisite sensation that he’d carry to his dying day. And yes, their mouths fit each other’s as if it was destiny’s will. Indeed, the mere memory of her kisses caused an ache in his rib cage that he still hadn’t gotten rid of.

  But no, he was not going to engage in any more romantic activity with her and that was that. As if that terse exchange with his mother wasn’t enough, just being at the palace reinforced that Marie and he together was an impossibility. It was true that this was his world. One she would never be happy in.