“Judging books by their covers, as the saying goes.” Marie knew all about that. She was constantly being evaluated against her troubled childhood. Just as she was sure Zander would judge her if he knew who her parents really were.
“I do the tuxedoes and the yachts but, day to day, I align myself with these charities so that I can help them get on with the work of improving lives.”
“Your face is a double-edged sword, then.”
A wistful smile came across Zander’s face.
“With Abella in my care, I wish I could keep all these hangers-on away.”
“Let’s go inside,” she offered, almost as a comfort.
Inside the ballroom, traditional dancers performed while shaking percussive maracas. Their full skirts created waves of color as they swayed through their steps and enchanted the guests.
“Marie, are you taking in all of the specifics?” Zander concerned himself with the matter at hand. “This is wonderful event design, with the margaritas and the comal out in the courtyard as an entry to the party.”
“Yes, it was a total transition from the outside world into the private space of the party. Look at those.” She pointed to the ceiling, where dozens of piñatas in the shapes of animals were hung at various lengths. “It’s just gorgeous.”
“Like you,” he said and leaned down to give her a tiny kiss on the cheek.
Marie froze in place, stunned.
Her eyes pierced into his and her heart thumped against her chest.
After listening to it beat countless times, she snapped out of her hold. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I’m going to find the ladies’ room.”
* * *
Zander hadn’t meant to kiss Marie. Hadn’t meant to at all!
Why had he, why had he? His brain throbbed, and would until it had its answer. Maybe it was after being approached by those two aggressive party girls. Who reminded him of Henriette and the endless parade of awful women who had defined his life thus far. Marie was so definitely not like any of them. And he found himself opening up to her, perhaps actually too much.
But, in any case, a kiss on the cheek was merely a sociable gesture, right? He hoped that was it, although he wouldn’t swear to that conclusion.
Unfortunately, his mouth wouldn’t stop vibrating after the feel of his lips against Marie’s cheek. Surely the clouds in the sky weren’t as soft as her delicate skin. His mouth had barely brushed across her face but his body reacted as if a firecracker had exploded inside him.
His behavior was dangerous. It was shocking how he hadn’t had any control of himself in the moment after he’d confided in her about the royal gold diggers. His mouth was propelled to Marie’s face as if an outside power had deemed it and there was nothing he could do but obey the command.
Everyone pecked everyone on the cheek at events like this, he reasoned with himself. It was no big deal. Marie had probably forgotten about a minute after it happened. He would, too.
As those reassurances ticked across his mind, he knew they were lies. The kiss dilated his eyes with desire, both physical and emotional. It was as if he hadn’t known how hungry he was until someone handed him a crust of bread. He suddenly felt as if he was starving.
However, this was no time in his life to sate that craving.
He could surely have physical contact with a woman if he wanted to. After the APCF gala. And with a female other than Marie. He was free to have dalliances that meant nothing to him, and not under the same roof as Abella, of course. But there’d be no getting serious with anyone for many years to come, if ever.
Indeed, after Henriette, it had been dawning on him more and more that if he were ever to marry, his wife would effectively become Abella’s mother. Not only would he have to find someone he could trust with his niece’s safety and well-being, whoever he was with would have to be able and willing to accept Abella as part of the package. To be a good influence on her and to genuinely love her like her own. Zander would accept nothing less. It was a tall order.
Frankly, he doubted he’d ever meet someone like that. Which was fine with him. Abella was the one in line for the throne. As Zander was Elise’s younger brother, he was not obliged to produce heirs. If he never married it might appear unconventional but wouldn’t harm the royal family in any way.
So why was it that everything about Marie had thrown him into a brainstorm of new ideas and new contradictions?
* * *
Prince Zander never took his eyes off Marie as she crossed the ballroom to rejoin him after finding the ladies’ room. The look on his face was off. Nostrils flared, his eyes appeared darker and darker as she approached until, at short distance, they looked almost angry. After a mental adjustment she was able to perceive, he softened but only a little.
“I was wondering why you were gone so long,” he said as he presented his arm for her to slip hers through. At the feel of her hand against his muscles, sparks prickled her.
She knew she had spent a lot of time away from him after she’d excused herself, but she’d needed time to recover. In a tiny garden area that was not part of the event space, she’d practiced the deep-breathing techniques that had gotten her through many difficult situations. Of course, she’d never had to call upon them because she’d just been kissed by an unbelievably sexy prince!
Bringing her hand to the exact spot where his lips made contact with her cheek, she’d looked up to the moon and asked it for composure. Obviously, Zander had meant the peck in a context where everyone kissed each other on the cheek as a simple pleasantry. He wasn’t attracted to her or any such nonsense. He’d never know that he made her knees go as weak as if she’d drunk one of those margaritas that she actually dared not touch.
She hoped she appeared calm when, really, her legs were still wobbly.
“Take note of all of the little touches here,” Zander instructed her as they recommitted to exploring the party. Of course, the kiss a few minutes ago was long gone from his mind. Proof of its irrelevance. He was professional, and she’d be the same. Outwardly, at least.
The ballroom was, indeed, decorated to the hilt in red, green and white. Massive displays of flowers sat on every table atop vividly colored tablecloths.
“These settings are outstanding,” she said of the table arrangements utilizing traditional Mexican pottery rather than fancy china. “Those kinds of choices make a huge difference.”
“Exactly.”
“A gala of this scale must cost a fortune to produce. Doesn’t that cut down the proceeds from the event?”
“There’s an old expression. It takes money to make money. And an organization this prominent does get a lot of the components donated. The APCF isn’t as high profile as the Laublie Foundation. But we can stake our place on the scene.”
“That’s why you want this year’s gala to be spectacular.”
“Right. So that next year I can ask for sponsors and underwriting, and point to our annual fund-raiser as one of the best events of the Cannes social season.”
“Building a reputation.”
“Even if I have to spend a lot of my own money on the gala this year, I’m taking the long view of how it might pay off in years to come.”
“Did you support the APCF before you started taking care of Abella?” Marie remained so buzzy from his kiss she hoped she wasn’t babbling.
Zander still seemed skewed, too. He was such a polite man, he was likely worried that she’d misinterpret the little kiss he’d given her. That she’d take license to believe it had significance when, in fact, it didn’t. Plus, he’d probably surprised even himself when he shared some feelings with her about the people in his life. Funny that Marie was doing a better job at keeping secrets than he was.
The lights began to flash red to green to white to indicate that it was time for the guests to take their seats. As Zander led Marie to their table, sh
e wasn’t surprised that theirs was up front and center to the stage.
The first course of the meal was served, sweet yellow corn tamales.
As they began eating, other guests at the table kept a vigilant eye on the prince’s companion. Would she choose the wrong fork or some other social faux pas that would broadcast her lack of pedigree?
Although their tablemates weren’t titled, Marie guessed that none of them was the daughter or son of criminals who were murdered during a drug deal. That their parents didn’t leave them in an empty apartment where they were alone and hungry for three days until a neighbor noticed something was amiss and called the police. Nor was it likely that they were tossed to and from foster homes where they were treated with a spectrum that ranged only from tolerance to neglect.
As Marie spiraled, she was about to excuse herself again to find a quiet place to do her breathing exercises. But Zander sensed that she was distraught and asked the waiter to bring her a glass of ice water. “You all right?”
Sipping slowly, she nodded and was able to regain her composure.
With colorful beams shooting in every direction, a trumpet heralded from the back of the ballroom. In came a twelve-man mariachi band, brandishing horns and guitars and violins as they began to play. In costumes of fitted pants with silver buttons down the outer leg, matching jackets and traditional wide-brimmed sombrero hats, the musicians marched into the ballroom in two lines, bringing with them a wall of sound so thrilling and effervescent it made Marie’s spirit soar.
After their dramatic entrance, the band members then dispersed throughout the room while they played, stopping at different tables to perform little solos or to flirt with the older ladies and add additional good cheer. The ballroom palpitated with energy. Marie fully understood what an unforgettable event this was.
The mariachis entertained during the entrée of fish Veracruz, then speeches were made and the fund-raising auction brought in lots of money. Several people came over to the table to pay their respects to, or flirt with, the prince. And Zander introduced Marie as his colleague at the APCF, encouraging them to attend their upcoming gala, as well.
Once the crowd thinned, Zander stood and pulled out Marie’s chair for her to join him. “Let’s go outside.”
Back out at the courtyard, clusters of people stood conversing in the night air. Some watched a Mexican sandal-making demonstration. Zander brought Marie to a quieter corner where a lone musician sat on a brick ledge strumming a very large and unusual guitar. The melody was sweet and sad. Marie found herself completely mesmerized as each note wafted up into the dark sky toward the bright moon.
The moment was profoundly romantic. Zander seemed to take notice of Marie’s enjoyment and put his arm around her shoulder. Together they watched the face of the guitarist as he plucked emotion out of each note, conveying more than lyrics ever could.
Zander’s arm around Marie all but made her woozy. Not knowing whether she should or not, her head decided for her and fell backward onto his shoulder. He instinctively pulled her closer. In that prolonged interlude, a moment frozen in time, she allowed herself to dream about things she’d never dared before.
About what it would be like to walk through life with someone. Not a someone like her ex Gerard who thought he was too good for her. But someone who was secure, who knew that by lifting up his partner together they could reach untold highs. That was how Zander made her feel. No one in the world had ever made her feel anything even close to that before.
Indisputable facts quickly worked to pull her down from the heaven she was ascending to. Zander was never going to be with a woman like her, with a squalid past that would hang over them like a cloud for the rest of their lives. Imagine if the media found out who she was and looked into her background to see whom Prince Zander de Nellay of Charlegin was traipsing around Cannes with!
And even if that wasn’t an issue, he had Abella as his priority. Uncle Prince Zander was clearly not ready to let a woman have a permanent place in his life and wouldn’t be for a long time yet, something he’d articulated very clearly. Marie respected him for that. It was actually something she greatly admired about him. No one in Marie’s life had ever looked out for her as he was for his niece.
It was no surprise that baby Abella had Zander’s heart. Earlier this week, after they had gone shopping for the gowns and then ran on the beach, they’d gone back to his apartment to work. As soon as the nanny brought the baby into the room, Zander’s eyes lit up. He held her as a father would, firmly in one arm, close and secure. Not like an inexperienced bachelor who’d had a baby foisted upon him. He was natural and authentic with Abella, as if her care came organically to him.
Zander had ordered pasta from the café next door and dutifully cut up small pieces for Abella as he and Marie ate. She’d had experience with babies as the foster homes she’d lived in housed multiple ages of children and she’d been expected to help with the younger kids. So when Zander got a phone call, it was quite logical that Marie could hold Abella.
Instead, Zander paced the opulent living room while he took his call, lifting the baby in one arm and talking through an earpiece. While part of Marie was a little offended that he wouldn’t let her hold Abella, she honored his distrust, especially after that disloyal Henriette he had told her about. Marie knew he’d only even allowed her into his apartment because they had so much to do for the gala and her being an employee of the APCF lent her some credibility.
When Marie got back to her room that night, she allowed herself a few minutes of musings on Zander and Abella.
About the loving family they made together.
About almond-eyed children of her own.
Then she forced herself to shut those thoughts down because dreams never did her any good.
Just like the moment at hand, with the romantic Mexican guitar, the brilliant moon and Zander’s arm around her.
In fact, as soon as Zander realized he’d had his arm around her shoulder for a while, he withdrew it. Leaving her as cold as if she was left naked in a blizzard.
They both knew nothing amorous was ever going to develop between them, and he must have reminded himself that people were watching.
Every fiber in her being screamed in protest when he withdrew his arm. Her soul cried out for him to instead take her into a full embrace. To kiss her not just again on the cheek but on her lips, her neck and even more intimate spots on her body.
That was never to be. She was going to parade around Cannes with a dynamic and gracious prince. But that would be that.
Not only would there be no romance with Zander, there couldn’t even be hot reckless nights where she’d satisfy her physical attraction to him and then be done with it. The prince’s casual-affair days were over. Just as well because, if she was being honest, Marie didn’t think she could handle a fling with him that would come to an abrupt end.
Although she knew that she’d spend the rest of her life remembering his one and only kiss on the cheek and his one strong arm around her.
But Marie and Zander were in a business relationship. One she was fortunate to have.
Any other thoughts were just pure self-torture.
CHAPTER SIX
FUNKY MUSIC KEPT Zander company as he dressed for the film festival party at the Carlsmon Hotel. He’d fueled through a busy afternoon and now he wanted upbeat sounds to pump him up for the evening. He pulled on the pants of his tuxedo and removed the coordinating shirt from its hanger in his closet. Catching his image in the full-length mirror, he engaged in a staredown with his own face.
The unsettled feeling that beat through him was not coming from the rhythms of the song he was listening to. No, the shake-up had one basis and one basis alone. Marie Paquet. Despite everything he had been telling himself about not becoming attached to anyone, she had gotten under his skin. As a matter of fact, thoughts of her were all but driving him ma
d.
Buttoning up the shirt and tucking it into his pants, he asked his reflection some questions. First and foremost, how did he allow himself to plant that kiss on her cheek at the Mexico party when he’d intended nothing of the sort?
Fastening his cuff links, he commanded his eyes in the mirror to tell him why later, when the evening was winding down and they were listening to the gentle guitar in the courtyard, he put his arm around her shoulder in a way that coworkers would not have touched each other?
The Zander in the mirror had no right answers, which was an unusual predicament for him to be in. He was usually the man with all the solutions. Marie had thrown him off balance and he was losing his footing.
“You must stop this now,” he reprimanded aloud to his own reflection.
But as he threaded on his tie and straightened it under the collar of his shirt, a voice inside him told him otherwise.
Marie was a breath of fresh air. Because she was so unaccustomed to the lifestyle he led, she didn’t covet it. She was utterly guileless, and he never got the sense she wanted something from him, other than his help with the APCF gala. And that allowed him to tap into himself in a way that felt so pure, so emancipating.
Sitting on the bed to put on his socks and shoes, vitality coursed through him when he replayed over and over again that seemingly innocent kiss he’d given Marie. It wasn’t harmless at all if he took into account the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of it since. And it wasn’t just one brush on the cheek that he couldn’t get his brain to move past. No, it was the accompanying thoughts he was having about caressing and kissing every inch of her.
A voice low inside him demanded more. More touch, more whispers and personal conversations and knowing nods that made him believe he had some kind of special bond with her.
At his core, he knew that human connections were illogical. Attraction didn’t know or care if two people were so socially separated that they would be expected to have nothing in common. Desire hadn’t an inkling that one person was fed with a silver spoon while the other might not have had enough to eat. Fates weren’t the slightest bit interested in how something looked to the masses. Destiny knew only the truth it saw before itself.
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