Page 11 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
“Oh, Your Highness,” she said, as Adrien entered the galley.
“Please… I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Adrien said. “But I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your food. And I’m sorry if I embarrassed you this morning.”
The chef blushed. “Oh no, you didn’t… I should’ve realized you might be there. Mr. Bellagio doesn’t usually get up until noon. I go for a swim most mornings, but I won’t from now on.”
Adrien smiled. He didn’t mind. The sight of her in her bikini was hardly unpleasant — quite the opposite, in fact. She was pretty, petite, with dusty-blond hair and green eyes. She was wearing her chef’s white now, her name stitched into the breast — Claire Bellamy. It was a pretty name — a pretty name for a pretty woman.
“I don’t mind. If you want to swim, you must swim. I’ve just been doing so myself,” Adrien said, glancing around the kitchen as he spoke. It was a small, cramped space, and it amazed him to think of what Claire had produced from it over the past twenty-four hours. “The lamb you cooked for me was delicious. What are you making now?”
Claire glanced at the pots on the stove, where water was bubbling, and another pan contained what looked like a cream sauce.
“Gnocchi — with cheese. I make them with spinach and nutmeg,” she replied, appearing to visibly relax.
Adrien had always enjoyed his food, though he’d noticed he had to work harder in the gym to eat as he once had with impunity. The years were advancing, as was his waistline.
“Delicious. I ate a wonderful dish of gnocchi in Rome a few months ago — it was made with squash, and a strong cheese… I forget the name. Have you been to Rome?”
Claire nodded. “Many times, yes. It’s one of my favorite places. The first time I ever came to Europe I went there — the food, the culture, la dolce vita,” she said.
Adrien smiled. He loved Italy, too. His godmother, the Contessa Griselda Ricci, lived on Lake Como, and Adrien had spent many happy summers there as a kid. He loved Rome, with its faded grandeur, and had often thought how much he’d like to live there, surrounded by so much history — except in the summer, when the heat was unbearable.
“La dolce vita, yes,” Adrien said, still smiling at Claire, who smiled back at him with what was surely the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. It lit up her whole face — what a contrast to the dour, sober look of the princess at Le Paradis.
“Actually, I was wondering… is there anything particular Your Highness likes to eat? When I was told you were coming on board, I didn’t know anything about your likes and dislikes. Actually, they didn’t even tell me it was you who was coming on board. I suppose it was for security, but it made planning ratherdifficult. I didn’t know if you were vegan, or pescatarian, or… well, if there’s anything you’d like me to make for you, I’d be pleased to. Mr. Bellagio has his whims.”
Adrien laughed. “I’m sure Giuseppe creates chaos for you,” he said. “It was always the same at school. Everything always had to be just so for Giuseppe. I don’t know why his parents sent him to an English boarding school. He hated the food, he hated the weather, and he hated just about everything else. But I was more used to it — being from Flandenne. You’re American, yes?”
“That’s right. From Detroit. I came to Europe to… well, when I was younger, and I never left. I like it. I like la dolce vita,” she said.
She really was an attractive woman, and had they met in a bar or at some fancy reception, Adrien might well have mistaken her for someone with money, perhaps a title. There was something glamorous about her, even in her chef’s whites, an effortless style. Her hair was immaculate, her skin soft and supple. She’d even manicured her nails. Had Adrien given a second thought to who it was who’d be cooking for him on Giuseppe’s yacht, the woman standing in front of him wouldn’t have come to mind.
“Then you’ve no plans to go back to the States? I like New York, and I went to San Francisco once,” Adrien said.
Claire smiled. “It’s different in the small towns — not that Detroit’s a small town — but if you want to know what America’s really like, that’s the place to go. I’ve been to New York a few times, but never to San Francisco. I prefer Europe — I like the history. And the food.”
The mention of food brought Adrien’s thoughts back to her question — was there anything she could make for him? Whatwashis favorite food? Adrien had eaten just about every cuisine there was. He liked fresh, simple Mediterranean food, but he was also fond of the cooking of Flandenne, with its cream- and cheese-laden dishes — not every day, though.
“Actually, thereissomething you could make for me,” he said, feeling almost embarrassed at admitting to it.
Claire looked at him expectantly. “I can turn my hand to most things,” she said.
Adrien was in two minds whether to admit it, but ever since leaving boarding school in England, he’d hankered after the one dish he always looked forward to at dinner as a boy —
“Steamed sponge pudding with golden syrup and custard,” he said.
It sounded laughable in the heat of the Mediterranean summer. A dish with its origins in the cold, chilly winters of the English climate, where such stodge was necessary for survival in the freezing corridors of an ancient public school. Would she laugh at him?
To his relief, Claire smiled.
“I wasn’t expecting you to say that. But I think I could make something similar. I don’t have golden syrup, but I could make a sort of sweet jelly — jam — with some of the fruit I brought on board. And I could use the microwave instead of steaming it. Let me look at some recipes.”
Adrien grinned at her. “I don’t want to put you out — but if it’s not too much trouble…” he said.
“It’s no trouble at all. I thought you were going to say something complicated — like a dish from the menu at Le Paradis.”
At the mention of the restaurant, Adrien blushed. She surely knew what had happened between him and the princess. It had been all over the newspapers, and the gossip websites were filled with clickbait. What did she think of him?
“Oh, no… I like that kind of food, but you asked me for my favorite, and that’s it. We used to have it at school on Sundays. With custard, too.”
