Page 6 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
It was a pretty mean thing to do.
Even princesses had feelings.
“But not everyone has the paparazzi on their tail twenty-four hours a day. I’m tired of it, Giuseppe. My mother was furious. She said I’d disgraced her — and embarrassed myself, too. But there was no chemistry, and the princess made no effort at all.”
Claire raised her eyebrows.
Still, princess or no princess, she must’ve been terribly embarrassed. And what had the prince done to endear himself? I’d like to hear the other side of it.
Claire wasn’t sure she was warming to the prince, though she reminded herself it wasn’t her place to do so. She was there to cook for him, not judge him.
“Put it behind you,” Mr. Bellagio said. “For the next few days, the yacht’s yours. Go where you wish, do as you wish. My crew will take care of your every need.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I just want to be anonymous — and to have at least a few days where no one’s writing something awful about me,” the prince said.
Claire smiled to herself.
He certainly seems to think he’s the one in the right.
Shaking her head, she returned to her chopping, as the conversation continued above.
“I have an excellent chef on board. She’ll keep you well fed. Carlos, my skipper, will take you wherever you want to go, and the maid and the steward will see to your every need,” Mr. Bellagio said.
Again, Claire paused to listen to the prince’s response.
“As long as I’m away from all this, I don’t care what happens,” he replied.
Claire was still none the wiser as to the sort of food the prince liked, but the menu at Le Paradishad recently included a dish of langoustines cooked in just the way she was preparing them — with tomatoes, garlic, and parsley. In the hands of a Michelin-starred chef, it had been elevated, of course, but Claire was hopeful the prince would approve of her offering. She prided herself on attention to detail in her dishes, presenting them simply, yet stylishly. But today, she found herself taking extra care, and, when the time came for lunch to be served, she’d prepared what she hoped was the perfect dish.
“They’re sitting down to their lunch in a few moments. Anton’s just pouring the wine,” Anna-Marie said, appearing in the galley just as Claire was putting the finishing touches to the plates.
“Have you spoken to him?” she asked, and the maid made a face.
“He ignored me,” she said, with a somewhat indignant tone.
Claire smiled. “What did you expect? He’s a prince. He’s not going to notice us, is he?”
Anna-Marie sighed. “I just… well, I thought he might’ve said something,” she said, as Claire handed her the plates to take up.
“Just smile when you put these down — and don’t expect too much,” she replied.
But as Anna-Marie took the plates up, Claire couldn’t help but wonder what the prince would think of her dish. She hoped he liked it, otherwise the coming days at sea were going to be a challenge.
CHAPTER 4
ADRIEN
“Thank you, Anna-Marie,” Giuseppe said, as the maid who’d been hovering nearby when Adrien had come on board the yacht set the plates down on the table.
Adrien was hungry. He’d slept late and hadn’t bothered with breakfast at the hotel. Leaving had been difficult. He’d had to slip out the back way, taking his own car as far as the embassy, where Giuseppe had met him with the limousine. All that, just to avoid being photographed. But coming on board theAurorahad been a welcome relief. It seemed no one knew he was there — yet. They hadn’t been followed, and there’d been no signs of photographers when they’d gotten out of the limousine. It was a relief to Adrien to be finally hidden away, relaxing beneath the awning of Giuseppe’s yacht, about to depart from the marina. He was grateful to his friend, though he knew Giuseppe would hold the favor as a return.
“Langoustines — one of my favorites,” he said, looking down at the dish in front of him. It reminded him of something he’d eaten at Le Paradisa week or so before — the tender, pink langoustines arranged around a salad of fragrant scentedtomatoes and parsley. The wine was perfectly chilled, and Adrien at last began to relax.
“Like I said, I have an excellent chef,” Giuseppe replied, raising his glass in a toast.
“You’re lucky. We can never get anyone decent in Flandenne — the good ones use it as a steppingstone to better things. My mother despairs, though Monsieur Faronne does his best with the younger ones,” Adrien said, thinking back to the palace kitchens and the brigade of chefs under the watchful eye of his father’s French master.
The langoustines were delicious — cooked to perfection, and full of flavor. The wine was good, too.
