Page 24 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
CHAPTER 13
CLAIRE
“They do know I’m coming, don’t they?” Claire said, as the car pulled up in the palace courtyard.
The royal palace had — the prince had told her — been built in the late medieval era and added to both in times of war and times of peace. It had been both a place of defense and a place of pleasure for successive generations of the royal family. The courtyard was its inner sanctum, the gates behind leading out into the square, and a wide flight of steps in front leading to an ornate set of double doors in bass relief brass. It was awe-inspiring, and Claire couldn’t help but feel somewhat insignificant when dwarfed by its enormity.
“They know I’m returning with something to tell them, yes,” the prince replied.
Claire raised her eyebrows. “That’s not quite the same thing, is it?” she replied, looking at him pointedly.
“There wasn’t really time. My mother’s been in Paris. I think she’s probably only just arrived back,” the prince said. “Come on, follow my lead. It’ll be fine.”
Claire had no choice but to do so, and the car door was opened for her by a footman, dressed in red livery. At the top of the steps, an elderly man in a military uniform was waiting for them, and he gave a curt bow as they approached.
“Your Highness. Welcome home,” he said, turning to lead them through the now-open double doors into the palace.
“Thank you, Peeters. This is Miss Bellamy,” the prince said, though he made no attempt to introduce her further.
The man — Claire wasn’t sure what to call him. A servant? An equerry? — nodded to her. “Their Majesties are waiting to receive you in the long gallery,” he said, still leading the way.
Claire was looking around her in awe. The double doors had led into a large entrance hall, where enormous portraits of distinguished kings and queens hung glaring down at them from the walls. A carpeted staircase led up to a gallery above, splitting there and leading left and right to two sets of ornate gold doors, flanked by footmen in the now-familiar red livery. It was a far cry from suburban Detroit, where Claire’s family home consisted of a kitchen diner, a family room, three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a backyard.
“What’s the long gallery?” Claire whispered, as they followed the equerry — that was the name she’d decided on — up the stairs.
“It’s the throne room, but my parents use it for formal introductions. I think they must’ve gotten wind of our arrival… together,” the prince said.
Claire gulped. She wondered if the king and queen already knew about her — the lowly cook from the galley of Mr. Bellagio’s superyacht. Perhaps Vittoria had made the phone call. She’d notbe happy to know she had to look for a new chef. Or perhaps it was Anna-Marie. She’d have no qualms about selling her story…
“What do I say? Do I curtsey?” Claire whispered.
Meeting royalty was hardly something she had any experience of. The curriculum at McFarland High School hadn’t exactly covered it…
“Curtsey when you’re introduced. Wait for them to speak,” the prince said.
They’d arrived at the ornate gold doors. Claire still had a thousand questions, but there was no time to ask them. The equerry whispered something to the one of the footmen, who nodded and opened the door.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Adrien, and Miss Claire Bellamy, Your Majesties,” he said.
The prince led the way. Claire’s heart was pounding. The door opened onto a long gallery — just as the name suggested. One wall was lined with portraits, the other was a length of windows looking out over the gardens the prince had pointed out from the plane. It had been raining when they landed, but the sun had broken through and was casting its rays over the plush red carpet that led towards a dais with two raised thrones, above which was the royal coat of arms. But it was the figures standing in front of her that attracted Claire’s attention — the king and queen themselves.
The prince’s mother was a formidable figure, with a commanding presence, dressed in a blue skirt and a red blouse, with a diamond broach at the neck. Her hair was cut in a bob, which highlighted her long, graceful neck. Her face, though not stern, held a searching expression — the sort any mother wouldsurely give when faced with the woman her son had declared his love for so unexpectedly. The king was older, with gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a tweed suit, and green necktie. He, too, had once been handsome — or so Claire imagined — and his figure was that of a man who’d surely spent much of his life outdoors.
“Father, Mother,” the prince said, giving a curt bow.
Claire dipped into a curtsey, raising her eyes nervously at the king and queen, who looked her up and down with a searching gaze.
“Adrien — we weren’t expecting you so soon,” the queen said, as the prince stepped forward, glancing back at Claire as he did so.
“No, well… I had to come… we had to come, Mother. I’d like to introduce you to Claire,” he said.
Claire stepped forward, not sure whether to maintain eye-contact or not, whether to smile or not, whether to extend her hand or not…
“We’re pleased to meet you, Claire. What a pity Adrien didn’t see fit to introduce you sooner. You’ve obviously known one another for a while.”
Claire blushed. She didn’t know what to say. This was all beyond anything she’d ever known. She could make a perfect soufflé, but as for meeting royalty…
“No, not exactly,” Claire said.
