“I just wasn’t sure if you... I mean you can obviously affor...”
“Yes?” He folded his arms across his chest, waiting.
“You mentioned that you were only here for the season.”
This exchange reinforced why he’d gotten into the habit of not introducing himself by his title to everyone he met. Marie was falling over her words just thinking of him as a wealthy philanthropist. One could only imagine how she’d act once she knew she was in the presence of a prince and a baby heir to the throne.
“Yes.” He couldn’t help playing along a little longer.
“I’ve never seen...well, what would I know? I’ve never been to Cannes before. It’s very glamorous, isn’t it?”
“For centuries now.”
“I hope that if I get the job with the APCF permanently I can find an apartment in my price range. Not that you’d...well, you know what I mean.”
True, Zander had never been concerned with, or even knowledgeable of, how much a rental property cost to lease. He got the feeling Marie was well versed on the subject.
She had told him that she herself had been orphaned and that the agency had helped her. He wondered what hardships she had endured, financial or otherwise. Something unspoken about her told him that there were probably a lot.
As pretty as she was, he didn’t find it hard to imagine her as a scruffy cliché of an orphan. Through the APCF he’d learned about orphaned children all over the world. Some were left parentless as a result of war or natural disasters, or freak accidents as Abella was. Others were due to the consequences of illness, poverty, suicide, addiction or crime. He had no idea how Marie had become orphaned or what her road to adulthood had been. And was more curious than he expected to be.
When they’d parted this afternoon with an agreement to reconvene tonight, he’d planned on taking her out for a working dinner. But when he arrived home, the baby was sleeping, and Iris was extremely tired and asked if he’d mind her leaving. Of course, he had his driver ferry her to the small flat he’d leased for her for their time in Cannes.
Which meant that meeting here with Marie was the only option. One he wasn’t exactly comfortable with. He’d learned the hard way that he needed to shelter Abella from strangers as much as possible.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Zander asked absentmindedly, sidetracked by a peep he heard coming from the baby monitor. Perhaps Abella was waking.
“Just water, please.”
Hearing no further stirring from the baby, Zander poured two waters and gestured for Marie to join him at the sofas. They sat opposite each other.
“Let’s start by talking through the gala in order of its components.”
“Okay.” Marie opened the folder she had brought along.
“Guests arrive via limousine or personal drivers,” he began. “Do we have valets for cars that need to be parked?”
“Yes, I see here we have contracted with a company for that.”
“Good. The guests exit their cars and proceed to the red carpet.”
“Red carpet?” Marie tilted her head. “For the APCF fund-raiser?”
“That’s how it’s done. I’ve got prominent businesspeople coming, celebrities, members of royal families.” He murmured the last example quickly as if it were an afterthought. “We’re looking for maximum exposure. The press will be out in force to photograph the arrivals on the carpet. The gowns. The jewelry. And so on.”
He meant what he said. Once his staff had put out the news that Prince Zander was hosting the gala, the royal-watching media had taken interest. Which was the plan, because all publicity would serve to raise awareness about the APCF.
While Zander wasn’t among the royals whose antics made constant headlines, he found it curious that Marie didn’t recognize him at all. Leveraging his position and power was how he was able to assist a number of high-profile causes. Not only was it what royals throughout history had done, it was something that made him feel good. The benevolent work was a way to pay back for the luxury and advantages that were bestowed on him as his birthright.
“So I’ll need to order an actual red carpet?” she asked after a sip of her drink.
“For a costume ball, I was thinking of a black carpet. We’ll light it just so, and make it mysterious and sexy.”
“Sexy?” Marie clasped and unclasped her fists a few times. “Are the struggles of orphans sexy?”
“Point taken. But, yes, hidden identities and checkbooks filled with lots and lots of money are sexy.”
Good heavens, Marie was not like any woman he’d ever met before! Granted, the orbit he operated in wasn’t filled with ordinary people leading typical lives. The women he knew ate, slept and breathed money. They knew where it was and how to get a piece of it. And they surely knew how to spend it.
What was he going to do with this innocent Marie? As he watched that sensual mouth of hers take another sip of her drink, he thought of a few things. And then promptly reprimanded himself! Women were no longer on his agenda.
He’d get used to Marie and then she wouldn’t be so fascinating. Which was reinforced when he heard another blip from the baby monitor. The sound came from the only female who mattered in his life, a position she would hold for the foreseeable future. Abella was awake and would soon want to be retrieved from her crib.
“One photo stop on the carpet should be a flower wall,” Zander continued. “That’s great for photos.”
“What’s a flower wall?” Marie leaned forward a bit, unintentionally giving Zander a nice view of the creamy skin of her neck.
On the coffee table between them sat the stack of invitations to the various balls, fund-raisers and parties that would kick off the social season. He remembered that he’d instructed an assistant to RSVP for two to all of them, that Prince Zander would be bringing a plus one. He’d still yet to figure out who that was going to be.
But to walk into one of those events without a drop-dead gorgeous woman on his arm was like to appear with a target on his back. Every female gold digger on the continent would find her way to him before the season was up, feigning interest about the baby and trying to finagle an invitation to spend time with her. Just as Henriette had a few months ago.
He needed to come up with a trustworthy female friend who could accompany him to these events so he didn’t have to dodge the unwanted advances. Perhaps one of his late sister’s friends, one who knew the family and wouldn’t have any ulterior motives.
No, he mused, memories of Elise were the last thing he wanted. The flourishing constant reminder of her untimely death was in the very next room, haunting him every day.
Abella began to make so many cooing sounds from her room that Marie glanced over to the baby monitor.
Even though Marie was with the APCF, and didn’t seem at all like the opportunist women he had known, he’d hadn’t planned on inviting her to the apartment. At least not yet. But since they’d be working together closely and frequently, a proposition that filled him with a trickle of eager anticipation, he surely couldn’t keep the baby a secret.
Although he took a split second to hope he wasn’t making a mistake. Like his recent one, which still filled him with remorse.
When Zander stood, Marie looked unclear as to whether she was supposed to stay seated or to get up, as well. “Please, be comfortable. If you’ll pardon me a moment. I’ll be right back.”
“Uh, okay.”
“If you recall, at lunch today you asked me what connection I had to the needs of parentless children. I’m going to show you.”
He wasn’t able to read Marie’s expression as he excused himself and made his way down the hall to Abella’s room, gently opening the door that he had left ajar.
“Da.” Abella recognized Zander’s presence despite the room being in darkness. That she kept calling him Da was a problem he still hadn’t figure
d out how to solve.
Flicking on the muted light that was contained inside a pink-and-blue unicorn lamp, he was greeted by his niece’s exuberant face. “Uncle Zander is here, Bell-bell. Do you want to get up?”
“Uppie.”
When he returned to the living room with Abella, Marie stood.
“This little miracle is my catalyst for concern about children left orphaned. Marie, I’d like you to meet...”
“Her Highness Crown Princess Abella de Nellay of Charlegin,” Marie interrupted. “Heir to the throne.”
* * *
“You do know who I am?” Zander’s brow furrowed at the confusion. Abella nuzzled her face against his neck, filling him with that almost all-consuming need to don a suit of armor and do her bidding. While he’d convinced himself that Marie couldn’t possibly be the enemy, someone’s motives might not be evident at first. He was responsible for this baby, and he’d put her first in any situation. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t know until Felice filled me in this afternoon. Why didn’t you mention it, Your Highness? Am I supposed to call you Your Highness?”
Of course Felice had filled Marie in on his identity. The agency was planning to take full advantage of having a member of a royal family serve as the gala event chair. He’d only played along this afternoon because it seemed like Marie didn’t know. And that had given him a chance to get a little bit of insight into her before the throne-and-scepter bit had her stumbling around him like she was now.
“You surely do not have to call me Your Highness or any such address unless we’re in company where it’s appropriate. By all means continue to call me Zander.”
“Want bottie,” Abella voiced her request.
While Marie watched on, he poured fresh water into Abella’s cup. He and the baby still referred to it as a bottie even though she had progressed to lidded sippy cups. He was grateful for the activity as a distraction from Marie’s fierce stare. She was hurt that he hadn’t identified himself properly and was using that glare to fight back.
“Please, sit down again.” He gestured for Marie to sit opposite him.
Abella eagerly sucked on the nozzle of her drink.
“She’s...so...beautiful.” The words tripped out of Marie’s mouth as she looked affectionately at the baby princess.
Zander’s thick fingers lightly brushed Abella’s hair backward out of her face as she drank her water. “Yes, she is.”
As Abella squirreled around on his lap, Zander adjusted to accommodate her movements. Straightening one leg and bending the other, then reversing when something else caught the baby’s eye. The two of them were in perpetual motion.
“May I ask again, was there a purpose in your not telling me who you were when clearly I didn’t know?”
“I’m sorry, Marie,” he said sincerely despite the constant shifting. “So often when I meet people in an official capacity, they don’t talk to me as if I was of the same species. They feel they have to treat me with formality, and then before you know it, they’re falling all over themselves.”
Marie repeatedly smoothed her bangs down on her forehead, seeming uncomfortable and making Zander feel awful.
“Since, obviously, you’d discover my title soon enough,” he continued, “I was trying to use the time for us to get acquainted, just person to person.”
“So I was your guinea pig?”
“I apologize that must be how it seems to you. Can you forgive me?”
Marie looked around, again taking in the view beyond the terrace. She glanced down to the plush white carpeting. Studied the crystal glass that held her beverage. As if she was fully fathoming that it was a prince’s water she was drinking.
All the sorts of things Zander hated. He flashed back to the last time he was with Henriette. They’d traveled to a luxurious parador in Spain for a long weekend. The way she had inspected the bed sheets and bathroom towels was just embarrassing. Zander figured whenever he left her sight, the girl was probably looking up their monetary value online.
While he didn’t suspect that anything like that was going through Marie’s mind, he hated that everything, including a simple drinking glass, was how people were categorized, labeled and judged.
He had a great responsibility on his head, in Abella’s well-being. Henriette had been a call to arms and he’d become quickly adept at keeping people at bay. While there were bodyguards and royal handlers in Charlegin assigned to Abella, Zander thought of her safety as his own particular job, and one he took seriously. He’d encountered other women like Henriette who acted like they cared about the baby when really they were angling as to what pretending to care about the baby could gain them. Zander was making sure to have no more of that.
Marie chose her next words deliberately. “I do understand a little bit about what you’re talking about. People find out facts about you and then they make assumptions.”
Which led Zander to certainty that there was more she could say but chose not to. “It sounds like you’ve had personal experience with that.”
Marie was clearly holding something back. Even though he believed from the pit of his stomach that she meant no harm, he’d be sure not to leave her alone with the baby. Once he got to know her better, he’d reassess. After all, she did work for the APCF and Felice assured him he was in good hands.
For now, though, the metal shield was across his chest. This was his new life.
“Let’s get back to the task at hand,” Zander said after succeeding in getting Abella occupied beside him with a set of plastic blocks, and more than ready to move on from the discussion of his royal status.
Abella accidently knocked her sippy cup to the floor. Marie reached down to pick it up.
“I’ve got it,” Zander quickly blipped and snatched it from Marie’s hand. Her surprised look made him aware that his action was overly defensive. What would be the harm in Marie touching something of Abella’s? But was there such a thing as being too careful when it came to the protection of the crown princess?
In any case, should he apologize or just ignore it? Odd that he was second-guessing himself left and right around Marie.
“We were talking about the red carpet.”
“Black carpet,” Marie corrected, regrouping.
“The VIP guests walk the carpet, the press is out in force, etcetera.”
“What about the attendees who are not, as you call them, VIP? Do they come in through the sewage system?”
Zander laughed. He couldn’t help but like this woman. Her frankness and spunk were riveting. “It does sound horribly undemocratic, I know. But the reality is that the press is only interested in famous names and faces. Bringing publicity to the APCF is our goal. We have to keep our sights on that.”
“No problem,” she insisted with a defiantly jutted chin, then made some notes. “This is just more gala than the galas we’ve done before. I’m looking forward to it.”
Zander glanced over again to those party invitations on the table. An idea circulated around and around his brain. Until it started to take shape and make sense.
Many birds could be killed with one stone, as the saying went. If he was going to get Marie to fathom the elaborate kind of evening he was planning for the APCF, it would be invaluable if she could see some of them unfold. He could take her along as his date for the engagements in the first few weeks of the season. Then she’d have firsthand knowledge of not one but several event styles. She’d see Cannes at its heights, when the whole city rose to the occasion of these legendary parties.
Secondly, with a woman accompanying him the pressure would be off. It wasn’t hard to imagine Marie in designer gowns and with her hair and makeup styled to perfection. She’d be a fetching date and would surely ward off the hangers-on who usually planted themselves in Zander’s path.
Plus it would give him and Marie an opportuni
ty to spend plenty of time together and develop a good working relationship.
It was a genius scheme that would work on every level. Zander mentally confirmed his decision and was quite pleased with himself for thinking of it.
Almost. There was only one thing gnawing in his craw as he looked to Marie sitting opposite, with Abella still happily playing next to him. There was something about Marie that was a little too intriguing. Alluring even. Which could lead to trouble.
He could get past it, though. Between Henriette’s burn that still smarted, his feelings for the baby and the massive amount of specifics to take care of for the event, he wouldn’t have time for anything else.
It was a perfect plan. Wasn’t it?
Marie’s sweet blue eyes watched the baby play. She smiled at moments then went wide-eyed when Abella displayed her proficiency with the blocks. “Great job, Abella,” she blurted at one point.
Most definitely not like the women he knew.
Her cheap shiny red blouse reminded him of her wildly windblown hair at lunch today. He’d have to buy her gowns and shoes and whatnot to attend these parties where only the finest would do.
“Marie,” he said finally, after staring at her for a long while he’d thought through all the particulars. “You’re going to attend some black-tie events with me in the next couple of weeks. You’ll need evening wear.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I’VE NEVER WORN anything like this.” The words stuttered out of Marie’s mouth as she looked at herself in the shop’s three-way mirror. The underslip of the midnight-blue gown fit her like a glove. It was topped by a chiffon layer to which a thousand matching crystals were affixed.
Of course, she didn’t know if it was really a thousand. She only knew it was the right number of beads, not so many that the dress became flashy or over the top. No, this was subtle elegance of the kind Marie had not only never tried on but never even seen up close. She could imagine a dozen workers crafting to create this gown.
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