Page 30 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
She had a mindful and methodical way about her. Everything was laid out prior to cooking, and it wasn’t long before Adrienwas presented with three slices of thickly cut brioche, cooked golden brown in the egg, and dusted with cinnamon and icing sugar. It was the perfect cure for his creeping hangover.
“But did you have fun last night?” Claire asked.
They’d taken their brunch outside and were sitting on the terrace above the palace gardens. Adrien’s head hurt, but not enough to prevent him from appreciating the company and the setting. Claire had a way of making him forget his troubles, just as he’d done on board theAurora.In her company, it felt as though nothing else really mattered. She didn’t judge or condemn. She merely took things at face value, and for that, Adrien was grateful.
“I did… but I didn’t, if that makes sense,” he replied, digging his knife and fork into a slice of French toast. “I love my friends. But I know I can’t go on like this. My father’s right. They can do things I can’t. The whole point of us pretending…”
At these words, he paused. The pretense was working. The newspapers, his family, his friends — everyone — believed the two of them were to be married because they were in love. How they’d extract themselves from the arrangement was another matter. Adrien was trying not to think about it, but the more he tried not to think about it, the more he found himself thinking about his growing feelings for Claire. Feelings that had nothing to do with pretense. They’d crept on him unexpectedly. He hadn’t sought them. Sex was one thing, but feelings…
“I’m sure there’s room for both. Can’t the crown prince have fun as well as be serious?” Claire asked.
Some might’ve called her naïve for those words, but Adrien saw them more as a permission. She wasn’t going to hold him backor dictate his behavior as other women might’ve done. Again, he was reminded of how different she was, even as he reminded himself it wasn’t an excuse to take advantage. She’d forgiven him — or not even seen there was something to forgive. It was a far cry from the sort of woman who’d pout her lips and tell him she’d embarrassed him
“Don’t let my parents hear you say that.”
“But what’s the point if you can’t live a little? I hope I won’t have to live like that. There are things I want to do. I was thinking of inviting some people from home to Flandenne — friends from when I was a kid. Are we going to be photographed having cocktails or dancing in a club?”
Adrien sighed. Unfortunately, the answer was yes. What was normal for most people — encouraged, even — wasn’t the same for him, or, now, for her.
“You might be. And they might write things about you because of it. You’ll be damned if you do and damned if you don’t. But at least we can be damned together, though I think there’d be even more written if you were the one with beer tankard on your head. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
He meant it, even as he kept reminding himself it wasn’t real. And yet, with every passing moment, it was becoming more so. Feelings either existed or they didn’t, and Adrien was beginning to realize his most definitely did. He smiled at her, and she smiled back at him, as he reached across the table to take her hand in his. It felt natural, but it caused the expression on her face to change — a questioning look, unsure, perhaps, how to respond. She didn’t immediately take his hand in hers, and he wondered if perhaps he’d overstepped the mark.
“I suppose it’s just something you get used to.”
Was that a hint of regret in her voice?
“If you’re not happy…” he began, but Claire shook her head.
“It’s not that. But I just… I suppose I have to be absolutely sure about it,” she replied.
Adrien wondered if she meant the restaurant and this new life in Flandenne, or her feelings towards him. Was there something more between them? He was feeling it for himself — beginning to want it. But it had to be Claire’s decision. She was the one giving up everything for him. Adrien now began to realize just what a momentous decision it was. This wasn’t a game. It meant something. And it was Claire who was giving up far more than he was. Dancing with her friends in a club, drinking cocktails, enjoying herself — why shouldn’t she do so, and why should she be pursued by photographers in doing so?
“And are you?” he asked.
“I hope so,” she replied.
CHAPTER 16
CLAIRE
“Good morning, Miss Bellamy,” the maid said, as she pulled back the curtains, flooding Claire’s bedroom with morning sunlight.
The prince was gone. He always left early. It was strange how Claire thought of him as “the prince.” He had a name, of course, but to use it implied an intimacy, one she wasn’t quite ready for, despite their sharing a bed. Sitting up, she smiled as the maid brought her her breakfast tray.
“Good morning, Esme. Have they written anything new about me today?” Claire asked.
It was a running joke with the maid — what fresh revelation would appear in the newspapers that morning. What lies built on lies.
“I don’t look at them, Miss Bellamy. They’re just lies,” Esme replied.
The marriage of two Hollywood A-listers was taking up much of the space in the gossip columns that morning, though Clairedidfind a small article discussing her being sighted atthe former royal theater two days previously. The grand and imposing building stood on the far side of the square, close to the cathedral. In its heyday it had been the setting for operas and ambitious plays by the greatest literary minds in Europe, but funding cuts had driven it into the ground, and it now stood empty. Claire and Adrien — for she was resolved to start referring to him as such — had visited it with the thought of turning it into the promised restaurant, and the article was speculating on the matter.
“Well, let them write what they want. I don’t care anymore,” Claire said, tossing the newspaper aside.
The matter of the restaurant was one that had preoccupied her over the previous days. She was eager to get started on the plans, but delays were hampering her ambitions. There always seemed to be something to do, and talk of the wedding plans was overtaking the question of her achieving her dreams. Claire had gone along with all this — she’d had no choice but to do so — and yet the more they talked about the future, the more Claire felt uncertain as to her own. It was one thing to pretend, but quite another to find herself growing ever more confused as to where pretense and reality met. Having breakfasted, she went in search of Adrien, finding him in his office writing letters.
“I’m sorry I left early,” he said, as she came to sit opposite him. “I have to write these letters — diplomatic things. And for the charity, too.”
