“Okay,” he repeated yet again, as much an affirmation to himself than anything else. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.”
“Knock ’em dead.”
Marie’s incongruous well-wishing brought a huge smile to Zander’s face as he finally turned and headed inside. He was attending the meeting as a show of family solidarity. His role was of little importance. It was simply a meet and greet. No one would be knocking anyone dead. Still, that Marie was cheering him on was so endearing he thought his heart might burst open.
The meeting went as expected. Afterward, Prince Hugh had a ceremony to attend. Claudine and Zander exited the green room and walked together in the central corridor past the portraits of Zander’s ancestors on the walls.
He vaguely remembered his father’s parents, whose likenesses hung above a gold-leaf table. His grandmother, Joselin, had been the crown princess whose marriage to Prince Philip—who had not been in line for the throne of his own neighboring Balfon—had been arranged shortly after they were born. After they’d married, both the royal families and their subjects had become nervous when, year after year, the couple had failed to become pregnant with an heir. Joselin had been in her forties—unheard of at that time—when Zander’s father, Hugh, was finally born, to everyone’s relief.
Prince Hugh was the first in the family to marry a commoner. The story went that he fell hard for Claudine when they were both at university in the Netherlands. Claudine’s family was neither notable nor wealthy, so Hugh’s choice of her was controversial and a disappointment to his parents. For Claudine’s family, the match was a gift from heaven, as they were immediately brought into the palace fold and well cared for the rest of their lives.
“I wasn’t aware you were dating,” Claudine said tightly once she and Zander were clearly out of anyone’s earshot in the corridor.
“I’m not dating Marie. Remember, I told you over the phone? We’re working together on the gala and she’s accompanying me to some other events around town.”
“You don’t look at her like a colleague does.”
“Must we always have this conversation? My attention is rightly on your grandchild at the moment. This is not the time in my life for women.”
“Funny how the universe sometimes has plans for us that we could never see coming. I’m guessing she’s not from a prominent family?”
“Mother, she’s a work partner.” It was maddening that his mother was so easily able to figure out that there was, in fact, a little more to the story of him and Marie than the APCF. Though he fibbed, “Nothing more.”
“Then I take it you’ll want her ensconced in guest quarters tonight and not in your room with you?”
“Mother!”
“Be careful, Zander. The press will have a field day with her,” she cautioned and turned toward her office while Zander headed back to the garden.
There were eight at the dining table that night. Zander, Marie, Prince Hugh, Princess Claudine, an English duke and his three teenaged sons who had stopped in to pay their respects en route to Russia.
Not one, not two, but three young men with gummy smiles and frizzy hair sat opposite Zander and Marie. Claudine regaled them with travel stories. About the time an African statesman invited her to learn a weaving technique unique to his native village. Claudine asked, “Have you been to Africa, Marie?”
And about the dashing Argentine racehorse jockey who took her on a wild gallop through the Pampas. At each story, the three sons guffawed with a hiccup-like rhythm that Zander’s leg under the table beside Marie’s proceeded to mimic. It seemed to be about five sequences of four giggles each until they subsided and left the remaining air in the dining room to go still.
“Have you been to Argentina, Marie?”
Her Highness was making a show of pointing out that Marie wasn’t in their social circle, as if it wasn’t obvious. Zander had told her that the princess herself was a commoner, so Marie was surprised how much she’d gone out of her way to humiliate one of her own kind. If it weren’t for Zander’s reassuring hand-holding under the dinner table, Marie might not have been able to contain her embarrassment.
After the Duke and his sons had departed, Marie chatted pleasantly with Prince Hugh, an affable man who perhaps had a bit too much wine at dinner. When Zander entered the conversation, Marie explained, “I think we’ve decided that His Serene Highness will attend our Old Hollywood gala dressed as John Wayne.”
“My son will remember that I used to be a decent horseman in my day.”
Prince Zander nodded.
“We’ll get you a cowboy costume with a big hat,” Marie added.
Claudine joined the group and started up again, “Marie, did I see you at ‘Fashion Has Passion’ at the Atelier Dubois benefit last month?”
“No, Your Highness. Was that in Cannes?”
“That’s right, you mentioned you weren’t from the area. But you were in Venice for the ‘Circus for Change’ ball, weren’t you?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good heavens, Claudine, no one gives a bother as to what galas Marie attended,” Prince Hugh interjected.
But His Serene Highness was wrong. There were millions of people in the world who did care.
* * *
In the morning after the night spent in separate bedrooms, Zander gave Marie a tour of the palace, pointing out the works of art and gifts from foreign nations that he particularly liked. They then boarded the small plane heading back to Cannes.
As he looked out the window, he reflected on his mother’s abysmal behavior. Had he known Her Highness was going to act like a dog incessantly barking to scare another one off, he wouldn’t have subjected Marie to it.
Zander swiped through his tablet during the flight and scrunched his eyebrows when he came across a photo from a film festival gossip site. It was a picture of him and Marie on the dance floor at the Carlsmon party, holding each other for a slow dance.
The expression on both of their faces took Zander aback. The way they gleamed only at each other, as if they were the only ones in the room rather than two of hundreds. Anyone who saw it would surely think they were a couple in love. The caption read: Who is the mystery brunette royal hottie Prince Zander de Nellay has been spotted with all over Cannes?
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE CLOCK WAS TICKING, Marie thought to herself as she surveyed the grand foyer of the mansion where the APCF gala would be held the next night. That the success of the evening was going to make or break her career was probably an exaggeration of the pressure, but she felt it nonetheless. With Zander’s leadership, everything appeared to be in order. As if it was forbidden for anything to go wrong. Because when His Highness Prince Zander set out to do something, it got done.
She watched him across the room talking casually to one of the party supervisors. How everyone didn’t melt into a puddle when they were around him, Marie had no idea. His charm was so persuasive that she couldn’t set herself free from it. Between attending the parties in Cannes, spending time together with Abella, the trip to Charlegin and preparing for the gala, Marie knew her dealings with him had gone far past what was required. Let alone the kisses and the intimacies. Yet all she longed for was more. More time with him, every day, every week, every ye...
Good heavens, she tried to focus herself. She’d have no ongoing relationship with Prince Zander. How many times did she need to remind herself of that? Their lives collided here in Cannes but, after the season, he would return to his travels or the palace or his apartment in Paris. Perhaps, if she got the APCF job permanently and if he continued to support the agency, she might see him now and then.
But that was it. If there had been any question, that awful visit to the palace when Princess Claudine made her feel so unwanted sealed the fate. His Highness Zander was not going to end up with sad little Marie. Who not only hadn’t traveled the world with beautiful people but was the lau
ghingstock at the council blocks she grew up in. Where she lived in Building A on floor numbers one, three and six and Building B on floors two, five and eight as she was shuffled from one foster home to the other.
Whatever Zander might have presumed her childhood to be, he had no idea how sordid it really was. Despite the bond they shared, Marie Paquet was plainly not a candidate to spend her life with the prince.
Once again, she’d found herself in a place where she didn’t belong.
“Marie, can I get your opinion?” Zander summoned her and she crossed the foyer, sucking herself up as she always did.
“How can I help?”
“Do you like these?” He pointed to a sweets tray on a side table. “Chef Jean Luc has created these individual cakes that riff on film reels, back from when movies were shot on real celluloid. To go with our theme.”
Impeccable skill and artistry showed in the little round cakes. Chef Jean Luc fashioned a wrap of chocolate around the diameter of each cake so that it had the frames and spokes of a film reel. Then, with design that gave the cakes a level of flourish that would surely be noticed by every guest, the chocolate strip of film swirled up to the top of the cake in an edible curlicue.
“They’re amazing. I only have one question. With the desserts served buffet style rather than table service, I wonder if guests won’t be mulling about. These are rather big to eat standing up. Could Chef make them smaller? In a two-bite size?”
“Look at you, mademoiselle. A party professional! Good thinking. I’ll speak with him about it.” Zander flashed his megawatt smile at her, making her knees quiver so much that she subtly grabbed hold of a nearby chair to steady herself. Not giving her a moment to recover, he beckoned her, “Let’s do a walk-through.”
Past the foyer of the mansion was a grand staircase leading down to the great hall, through which six French doors opened onto a huge expanse of lawn. It was the ultimate in indoor-to-outdoor space and back again. They descended the stairs to survey the lawn, where movie screens had been set up in various locations so that through a high-tech setup, old films would be projected on each of the screens all night long to add to the fund-raiser’s theme.
“Did you choose all of the movies?” she asked Zander, looking up to him in the glare of high noon, knowing the space would be magical under the moon and constellations.
“I asked an archivist from the film festival for a bit of help. One screen will show silent-era comedies, another black-and-white horror movies, another brightly colored musicals, and so on.”
“It will be the talk of the town.”
“Of course it will, it’s Cannes!”
“I meant that as a figure of speech.”
“I know. I was only teasing,” Zander said with a cute elbow jab to Marie’s arm that launched tingles throughout her body. His every touch, every gaze and, to be sure, every kiss held so much weight over her it was almost terrifying.
Oh, why did she finally meet a man she could foresee a future with who could never even have a present with her? After all she’d been through in her life, didn’t she deserve that? Providences were cruel.
“Let’s go over the table charts,” Zander commanded with a guiding palm on Marie’s back. Her tongue flicked the roof of her mouth as they went back inside.
Easels had been set up in the great hall with seating arrangements and party flow charts. Marie and Zander stood side by side, studying the plans. Tweaking a couple of the table assignments, Zander seemed generally satisfied.
Taking Marie by the hand, he tugged her back up the mansion’s grand staircase. When they reached the top, he turned them around so they could look down on the party space. “After the black-and-gold carpet outside, the guests enter here. This will be their first sight of the great hall and the lawn beyond.”
Why Zander hadn’t let go of her hand after they’d reached the top of the stairs, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t going to be the one to break away. She’d take every second of him she could get, filling the memory bank she knew she’d cherish forever. Her fingers in his were so right. His huge hand all but surrounded hers in a joining that felt like...like home, if there was such a thing.
She allowed herself that one split second of visualizing being a guest at this ball and arriving with Prince Zander, a power couple unified in philanthropy and love. They’d party and dance the night away, peering lovingly into each other’s eyes until the sun began to rise. At which point they’d go home. Wherever the location was not important as long as they were together.
Once quiet and out of their formal clothes, they’d come together in an embrace that laid them down on lush bedding to appreciate each other’s bodies and the perfection of their union. They’d make love in the truest sense of the phrase, each bringing the other the rapture and delight that was the destiny of their coupling, only theirs, always.
“I think it will make a very dramatic first impression,” Marie said with a dry throat as she pulled herself back. “So, guests descend the stairs...”
“And they’ll be guided out to the lawn...”
“Or to the cocktail areas,” Marie said as she pointed to the three social salons that extended from the great hall.
“Once most of the guests are in attendance...”
“The music starts and the tap-dancing troupe comes down the stairs doing their routine.”
“That’s going to be a pizzazz moment.”
“The waiters will be passing out the Tinseltown Fizzes.” Marie made reference to the unique cocktail Zander had commissioned for the evening.
They proceeded with their walk-through of every component, by now in such comfortable rapport with each other that they finished each other’s thoughts. What had they even become? They weren’t friends, they weren’t lovers, but surely they were more than coworkers. Yet the closeness and the kisses hadn’t changed anything. She was still not a woman he could have a future with and she needed to guard her already tattered heart before it tore apart.
Once they were done, they stood facing each other. He lifted his eyebrows. “I think that’s it.”
“As long as everything goes according to plans.”
“I’ll see you at the penthouse tonight for our costume fittings.”
With that he leaned down to give her a chaste peck on the cheek, and then pivoted toward the kitchen to talk to Chef Jean Luc.
As she had done every time before, as soon as Zander was out of sight Marie brought her hand to her cheek to feel where his lips had touched it, as if she could brand each kiss into her skin to keep it safe for all of eternity.
* * *
“Come in.” Zander opened the door to let in master costumer Gabin Blanc. Zander had told Marie at their first fitting that Gabin outfitted all of Cannes for these events. The big man with red hair and chapped lips entered the penthouse. He wore a smock over his white shirt and black trousers, and a tailor’s measuring tape hung from around his neck.
As usual, in his left arm Zander held Abella, who was delighted when Gabin gave her pieces of fleece fabric to play with. She put one over Zander’s mouth and found that hysterically funny. The sound of her innocent laughter was infectious and had the two men chuckling as they awaited Marie, who ducked into the bedroom to change.
“Whoa!” Zander exclaimed to the baby when Marie returned. “Bell-bell, do you see Marie? Doesn’t she look hot?”
Indeed, Marie as Marilyn Monroe was a sight to behold in her white dress and blond wig.
“Marilyn, may I have your autograph, please?” Gabin joined in the fun.
“Va-va-voom. What a bombshell!” Zander whistled, and Abella immediately tried to imitate his sound, although it came out baby-gurgly.
“Marilyn Monroe in her heyday was the epitome of Hollywood stardom,” Gabin said. “You look fab-u-lous. But come here while I pin and tuck a bit.”
Marie dutifu
lly reported to Gabin, who had brought a small pedestal for her to stand on while he made alterations. Zander’s eyes couldn’t help but follow her as she crossed the room.
The white dress was a replica of the one Monroe famously wore in The Seven-Year Itch, where she stood on a New York City sidewalk over a subway grate. When the train passed underground, it created a whoosh of air that escaped through the grate, blowing the dress upward and giving onlookers a peek at Monroe’s shapely legs. While his Marie was far too modest to reenact anything like that, Zander couldn’t keep himself from noticing that her legs did look especially fetching extended from the milky white of the dress.
As she passed by him, he also couldn’t help but study the sight of her bare back, which the design of the dress left open. “She’s beautiful,” he sang to the baby, who seemed to know what he meant as her eyes went to Marie, as well.
“Booful,” Abella echoed.
Gabin helped Marie onto the pedestal and while Zander knew he was gawking, he wasn’t able to stop.
Never would he have guessed that he’d meet a woman in Cannes who would come to captivate him in such a short period of time.
Other than the changes necessitated by the baby, he’d pictured his season on the Riviera much the same as the usual. The parties and the women who always seemed to be around if there was an introduction to him to be made. The last thing he would have expected was that he would meet someone with whom he could be ordinary and honest and not just a talking crown.
What might become of them if Zander hadn’t been obliged to marry the right sort of woman? Marie was far more proper where it mattered than most of the frivolous girls he’d known. She cared about things with all her enthusiasm, was a force for good, and she didn’t take anything for granted.
Also, private and royalty were two concepts that did not fit well together and he knew there were things in Marie’s past that she was trying to keep to herself. If, and only for the sake of the mental game he was playing, Zander was ever to let public that he was dating someone she would be mercilessly stripped naked by the press. Not just once but for the rest of her life. Whatever Marie was hiding would be the top story of every royal-following newspaper, magazine and website that existed. He had the sense Marie did not want to be an open book, which was what would be required to be with him.
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