The Prince's Cinderella

As Zander carried Abella into the living room, a grocer arrived with food. Iris came toward him to take Abella if that was what he so desired.

Not ready to let go just yet he said, “I’ll hold her for a while.”

With all the comings and goings, the front door was left open. Three quick knocks against the doorjamb brought Zander’s attention. It was the penthouse’s rental agent, who upon spotting Zander, folded one arm rigidly across his waist and bowed forward. He sputtered in a nervous voice, “Is everything to your liking, Your Highness?”

* * *

Four hours passed before Marie looked up from her laptop. Having combed through every single file her predecessor, Jic, had left, she finally had a grasp of what information there was and what more was required for her to move forward with the APCF events calendar.

She hadn’t been privy to why Jic abruptly up and left his position, only that he’d had some personal problems to attend to. The fact that some of the files were in decent shape and others were an indecipherable hodgepodge told her that Jic’s departure had been hasty and unplanned. He hadn’t left clear instructions for whoever was to take over. Marie had made as many notes as she could and jotted down questions to ask Felice at the end of the day.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something dark beyond the glass separating her office from the main work floor. As she lifted her face from the computer screen, what met her gaze was quite a surprise.

A man had his arm up, hand making a fist as if he was just about to knock on the glass to get her attention. But it wasn’t just any man. It was, without question, the most attractive man Marie had ever seen in her life. At least six feet three inches tall, he wore a black shirt tucked into black pants with a brown belt, topped by a brown jacket. She thought the combination of the black and brown was impossibly tasteful.

The color palette didn’t stop with the clothes. His unusually shaped eyes were the darkest of browns, practically black, with his defined bone structure forming an unforgettable face. The crowning touch was a full head of thick, straight blond hair, expertly cut so that some fell forward from his forehead and the rest stayed put around his ears. Marie was sure there was never a hair out of place on the man’s head.

Because he had frozen midknock, it was as if she was looking at a still photo. So she jolted when he moved to lower his arm and flash her a megawatt smile. His perfectly white teeth all but glistened in the office’s harsh overhead lighting. Marie smiled back, no idea who he was or why he was in her doorway. But it wasn’t often—okay, never—that an elegant and gorgeous man was grinning at her. She’d be crazy not to smile back.

While it was difficult to do anything but sit there and stare at the magnificent specimen of the human race, it occurred to Marie that she should get up and open the door to see who he was. Standing and moving toward him, she hoped her pants weren’t too creased from sitting at the computer for so long. She hadn’t checked her hair in hours, either, and knew that it could be an absolute mop at this point. Her lipstick had faded ages ago.

There was nothing she could do about any of that.

“Can I help you?” Marie asked after opening her door.

“Are you Marie?”

“Yes.”

“Felice suggested I see you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m Zander de Nellay.”

Oh. The gala’s chairperson. Marie had been reading about him in the files.

Jic had noted three facts about Zander. Wants what he wants. Insists everything be of top-notch quality. Offering to pay the difference if anything goes over budget.

That seemed fair enough to Marie. On the private handwritten notes, Jic had doodled a little crown above Zander’s name. Marie wondered if Jic was indicating that he was kind of a diva, or thought he was a king, or that he was formal and fussy.

“Marie Paquet.” She thrust out her hand for a handshake. His joined hers in what she figured would be a traditional business greeting between two people who had never met.

The last thing she was expecting was for his hand to be big and strong and to convey friendliness rather than protocol. She surely wasn’t prepared for the affection coming from the center of his palm to slide up her arm and down the entire right side of her body, so robust it actually made her torso bend toward it.

Once she was able to stand up straight again, she gestured for him to enter her office and closed the door behind them.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just started today so I haven’t had a chance to set up,” Marie felt compelled to explain. She didn’t want him thinking she was some kind of slob with the boxes and stacks of paper everywhere cluttering up such a nice office. That was a sore spot with her because once people learned about her troubled upbringing, they assumed she was somehow unorganized or nonfunctional. It was always an uphill battle to prove them wrong.

“That’s fine,” Zander dismissed her concern. “This was Jic’s office up until a couple of days ago and it was in the same condition then.”

“Do you know why he left so suddenly?”

“I was expecting you to have the answer to that question.”

“I’m sorry I don’t.”

Marie brushed her bangs to the side and tamped down her hair. She didn’t know why she was nervous around this man, other than that he was the gala chair. It wasn’t just that he was good-looking. Maybe it was that he had an undeniable air of style and class about him. Which was something Marie always admired in people. Traits that she surely knew nothing about, having grown up in whatever was the opposite of grace and refinement.

Wow, Zander de Nellay was tall. Fairly petite herself, Marie had to lean her head back to see his eyes. Although she didn’t like his expression when he looked down at her. Because she imagined he was looking down at her.

And she’d sure as heck had enough of that in her life.

Marie reminded herself that she was projecting that onto Zander. She didn’t know him well enough to be able to read his thoughts on anything, and he didn’t know anything about her. A man like him, chair of a huge charity event, wearer of fine clothes, possessor of a splendid face, probably wasn’t even thinking about how inexpensive Marie’s trousers were or that she needed a haircut.

“Can I offer you a water or a coffee?” Felice had stressed that she was to do everything she could to assist Zander.

“I brought some.” He placed his computer bag onto one of the chairs around the meeting table and pulled out his laptop and a bottle of gourmet sparkling water. “Do you have cups?”

Marie looked around the office she’d not yet had a minute to personalize. Near the telephone was a stack of disposable cups. “It seems I do,” she reported and reached for them.

Zander twisted the cap off the bottle with a flourish Marie couldn’t help but note. When a bit of carbonation from inside was set free, it hissed. Which was exactly how Marie was starting to feel in Zander’s presence. Like she might need to let out some bubbles soon so as not to explode.

After the drinks were poured and Zander had booted up his laptop, they began.

“Why don’t you bring your chair closer and we can work from my screen?” he suggested.

Even though she’d been in the exact same configuration with Felice earlier in the day, sitting next to Zander was another proposition entirely. Her awareness of him was palpable. His entire body emanated warmth. It hadn’t been coming from just his palm when he’d shaken her hand.

Her fists opened and closed involuntarily.

Zander reached in his bag for something else. But when he glanced at what he retrieved, a quick smirk flashed across his face and he stuffed whatever it was back in. A second dig yielded the USB drive he’d been searching for. Naturally, curiosity racked Marie as to what the first item was.

“As I understand it,” he said while reading, “the components are venue, theme, invitations, arrivals. Then there is food and beverages, rentals of tables and chairs, tableware, bar setup, buffets. Flowers, linens, tech, photography, band, auction, speeches and volunteers.”

“The venue is booked and invitations have been sent, according to Jic’s notes.”

“Yes, months ago. Have you seen them?”

“No, I’ve only just started on the job today.”

“There’s no need to make excuses. I was merely asking if you’d seen them.”

“I’m sorry. I hope they’re in one of these boxes.” Marie pointed to the disarray she’d inherited on her desk.

“And no need to apologize.” Zander reached into his bag again and located one of the invitations. He handed it to Marie.

Wants what he wants. Marie reread Jic’s note about Zander. That was fine. Marie was detail oriented, too. That’s how she’d gotten as far as she had in the APCF agency. By learning to be diligent. Not a skill she’d had any example of growing up. Except maybe toward all the wrong things.

The lavender cardstock invitation had all of the basic information. The name of the mansion that had been converted into a party location. The event date and time.

“I thought of these as more of a save the date kind of announcement,” Zander commented. “They have no pizzazz. And they don’t mention the theme.”

“Had a theme been decided on? I don’t see anything about it in my notes.”

“No. And with three weeks to go, it’s rather late in the game to be planning a big theme. But we must. I want this to be one of the most successful benefits of the social season. We have to pull out all of the stops.”

Marie only theoretically understood what Zander was saying. She’d heard of lavish balls in which moneyed guests came dressed as animals or as gangsters from the 1920s. High concepts that were designed to make the evening as impressive as it could be. With the idea that would bring in the highest donations, sponsorships and auction proceeds.

“I’ve only been associated with this organization for a year myself,” Zander said as he scrolled through his files. “Has the annual APCF gala utilized a theme in the past? How big were the previous galas?”

“I don’t know. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can with that information.”

“I understand that the APCF’s invitation list is five hundred. And I’ve added my own personal five hundred. Has the agency hosted a fund-raiser of that size before?”

“I’ll get the answer to that as soon as I can.”

“How do you not know this? Didn’t they brief you?”

“I’m sorry,” Marie started again, but was getting pretty tired of apologizing. “As soon as I gather all of the information, I’ll report back to you.” Felice hadn’t had time to fill her in on the history of the galas and Zander being so on top of everything was very intimidating.

No matter how big an event this was going to be, Marie knew she could get the job done once she had a grasp on it. It was crucial that she show Felice and the other agency bigwigs that she was capable of this position. It was time for her to take a next step up in her career, and this was an unexpected opportunity for her to show what she could do.

Proving naysayers wrong was something she’d spent a lot of her life doing. Frustration crinkled her face when she wondered if she’d ever be finished selling herself to others. Who usually doubted her from the start.

“All right.” Zander made some sort of internal decision and proclamation. He transmitted full authority in every word he said, every gesture he made. Whoever he was other than chairperson for this gala, he was a force to be reckoned with. That’s the kind of person Marie wanted to be. Maybe she could learn something from him. “We need to get you up to speed, and immediately.”

“Yes.”

Zander tapped a number into his phone. “Iris, are you able to manage until this evening?”

Whoever Iris was and whatever she was telling him made him grin. And my, a smiling Zander de Nellay was a sight to behold. No wonder his chairing this gala was such a big deal. That smile could coax a wallet right out of its pocket.

Finishing the call, he returned his attention to Marie. “I’m starved. Let’s go get some food. We’ll work through the files and see where we are on every component,” he commanded as if his will was always obeyed. One thing was for sure. Zander was the most compelling man Marie had ever met.

CHAPTER TWO

HALF OF ZANDER’S mind was on Marie Paquet, the young woman beside him as they left the APCF office and walked toward the center of town. The rest of his brain was on Abella, the not yet two-foot-tall girl who was the most important person in the world to him. When he’d called home, Iris let him know that everything was under control at the penthouse so that he didn’t have to worry about rushing back.

That was a relief, what with the moving people and deliveries coming through, and Abella’s needs to be considered. He made a mental note to give Iris some extra days off with pay once they were all settled in. A funny little trio, he, the baby niece and the widowed nanny. But a working unit nonetheless.

To the matter of the gala, he’d yet to conclude whether Marie was going to be a help or a hindrance. She seemed oddly unaware of his royal status so he’d made a point of not telling her. Because as soon as people found out, they acted differently around him. Either nervous to the point of flubbing up simple tasks, or going into overdrive to be perfect. Most people were flustered in the company of His Highness Prince Zander de Nellay of Charlegin.

It was surprising that she didn’t know who he was, but it seemed there were a lot of gaps in what she’d been informed of. So at least in this first encounter, he’d let her think of him only as the event chair whom she had to satisfy, without the added distraction and onus of his title. Perhaps they’d get to know each other a bit first.

He’d come off brusque when they’d met in the office. No one could blame him, though, for being frustrated that, while he was responsible for this crucial fund-raising gala, the agency had undergone a personnel change and Marie, the replacement, was unapprised on more than just his identity.

“Do you know a place?” she asked, reshuffling the weight of a tote bag filled with paperwork on one shoulder and her laptop under the other arm.

“This way.”

Reaching over to take Marie’s bag off her shoulder, an unexpected sensation greeted him. As his fingertips grazed the thin fabric of her blouse in the process, Zander stiffened a little bit. His body suddenly piqued with alertness. For a good twenty paces after that, he was unable to divert his thoughts from wondering what the skin under that white shirt of Marie’s might feel like if he slipped his hand underneath it. Soft as satin, he was sure of it.

It was a strange fascination. He hadn’t felt curiosity about a woman in a long time.

“Do you live in Cannes?” Marie brought him back to the moment with her question, looking up to him with her big and almost completely round light blue eyes.

“I come down for the social season every spring.”

“Down from where?”

“I keep an apartment in Paris. And my home is in Charlegin.”

“Where is that?”

“It’s a small principality near the Belgium border.”

“What do you do there?”

Mashing his lips together, he suppressed a response. He wasn’t used to being asked such direct inquiries. Once people knew who he was, they usually became tongue-tied or fluffed on about the weather or the rosebushes. Marie’s candor was intriguing, if unknowingly inappropriate.

“I’m involved in several charitable organizations,” he answered in absolute truth. “May I?” He gestured at her laptop, taking it and slipping it into his bag alongside his own computer.

Tucking it in, his fingers again made contact with the incongruous item he had encountered when looking for the USB drive while he and Marie were still at the office. Inadvertently squeezing the malleable plastic, a quack sound echoed through the leather. How one of Abella’s bath toys, the squidgy yellow duck, ended up in his bag he’d never know.

“What was that?” Marie asked in response to the sound.

“Oh, nothing.” He wasn’t ready to explain just yet, having learned the hard way that women tended to ooh and aah when they found out that the eligible prince was caring for a baby. And then tried to convince him that by decree of their gender they could do a better job of it than he was. When, in his experience, they were only trying to take care of themselves by worming their way into his world.

A hurtful pang reminded him that only a few months ago he’d been duped into just that.

Nothing about Marie suggested she was of that breed. But he wasn’t going to be deceived, or put Abella’s safety in jeopardy, ever again.

He led them to a pedestrians-only block where every other business was a café. Outdoor tables extended as far as the eye could see, each shaded from the sun with cloth awnings or umbrellas in a riot of colors. People sat chatting in groups, nursing aperitifs. Romantic couples leaned in close as they shared pastries.

Picking one of the cafés he thought he remembered from his time here last year, Zander instructed the hostess to seat them at one of the outside tables. With a pull on Marie’s chair, he helped her sit and then took the wicker chair opposite her.

“Café au lait?” he suggested and after her confirmation, he ordered when the waiter arrived.

Quickly perusing the menu, he chose an herbed omelet. Marie took a bit longer to decide but once the waiter returned with the coffees, they had both made their selections.

“This is so scenic,” Marie said as she surveyed the panorama from the café’s patio. Palm trees dotted the horizon beyond the low buildings that lined the block. The air was clean and the sky was blue.

“Yes, Cannes is a very special place. Where are you from?”

She hesitated before answering. “North Marseilles, originally. But I was working for the APCF in Toulouse before this.”

“And you’ve been called to service in Cannes.”

“It’s a great opportunity for me.”

“You have no children? Parents? No husband or boyfriend to consider in a relocation?”

Marie looked downward before lifting her head only slightly and answering through her eyelashes. “No. It’s just me.”

Zander felt a bloom in his gut at finding out that Marie was unattached. Which was ridiculous, as if his body was betraying him. What matter was it of his whether Marie was married or spoken for?

Perhaps he was just curious. Just a year ago he was the playboy bachelor entrenched in the social scene of young royals. Where he spent his days, and nights, in the company of stunning women.

Until the world as Prince Zander knew it came crashing down. When his sister, Princess Elise, and her husband, Prince Valentin, were killed in a plane crash. And Abella, at the time six months old, was put in Zander’s care.

The peculiar thing was, shifting from the jet-setter who dated the most desirable women in the most exotic places and enjoyed enviable pursuits of leisure was a much easier change than anyone would have guessed.

Truthfully, Zander had become tired of romping around. He was especially worn down by the people he met who were interested only in his title and his standing. Who never saw him for who he really was, what he cared about inside. As was personified by the one mistaken go-round with the woman who confirmed all of his suspicions.

After that, it was crystal clear. Tragedy was the catalyst for short-circuiting Prince Zander’s lifestyle. But it was as easy as flipping a switch for him to turn his attention to one female and one female only. One who was hopefully eating her diced peaches before readying herself for a sleep.

His sister, Elise, was two years older than him, the firstborn. Which meant that Abella, her only child, was the crown princess and heir to the throne. Zander was responsible for raising not only a child, but the future ruler of their native Charlegin.

It all added up to why Zander had toy duckies in his briefcase and diced peaches on his mind. He could have hardly been bestowed a more important task than caring for Abella. Which provided a reason for him to stop surrounding himself with untrustworthy people whom he didn’t even really know. He had to be very cautious with whom he brought into his orbit now, as he had the baby princess to protect.

Which was why, Zander reflected as the waiter delivered the food, the personal life of this lovely Mademoiselle Marie across the table from him should be of no interest of his.

So why was it?

Zander thought he’d seen a wash of sadness come across Marie’s face when he asked if there were people in her life she was concerned about leaving behind in Toulouse.

With those big blue pools for eyes and a rose-petal mouth, she was a natural beauty. Her brown hair was a bit of a fright, with too-long fringy bangs and unruly waves tossing her locks this way and that. Yet her porcelain skin, which was so pale it was translucent, captivated his attention.

After they’d had a few bites of food for sustenance, Zander was ready to get down to business.

“In my opinion the most unforgettable galas start with a big thematic concept. It adds magic and theatricality.”

“We had a hot-air balloon theme for a fund-raiser I worked on,” Marie offered. “We carried it through all of the details. Table centerpieces that were small versions of the balloons with flowers coming out of the baskets. And we had party favors with miniature balloons filled with chocolates.”

Zander chose his words carefully. “Marie, I’d consider that more a decorating scheme than an event theme.”

Her eyes got wide. He knew she’d felt criticized, which was not his intention. But if he was going to chair a gala that was to be on par with the lavish affairs the social season was known for, Marie was going to have to expand her thinking. “I’m talking about the no-holds-barred extravaganzas like, for example, the Carnival balls that Venice is known for. They are drenched in theme from top to bottom, with venues and costumes and dinners that take your breath away.”

“The APCF doesn’t typically do galas on that scale.”

“That’s why they asked me to chair. They need to raise the kind of money the larger organizations do. So we’ve decided that throwing the most memorable benefit of the season will be the kickoff to a new level of fund-raising.”

“I’ll do my best. I’ve worked on dozens of events.”

In reality, Zander had very clear ideas of what he wanted to do. He didn’t need a sort of event manager who might not consult with him about every facet of the party. If his name was going to be linked with the APCF, everything was going to be his way. Perhaps someone with less experience like Marie would be a plus. He was willing to spend the next couple of days finding out if they worked well together.

With a charming smile she asked, “Do you have a personal connection to parentless children?”

That reminded him that she still didn’t know who he was.

Which, actually, struck him as more than a little strange. Had she never seen his name in the news?

Sadly, Elise’s and Valentin’s deaths, and Zander’s role in raising Abella, had garnered a lot of coverage. The story was picked up by all of the outlets when the plane crash happened a year ago. Bachelor Prince Now Daddy Day Care and plenty of other embarrassing headlines dotted every gossip website on earth at the time his family was going through such an unspeakable tragedy. How could Marie have missed learning of it? Or perhaps she just hadn’t made the connection. Although she’d find out soon enough.

“Yes, the needs of orphans are something dear to my family. What about you? How did you come to work for the APCF?”

She studied him before seeming to make a decision to answer frankly, “Without the support of the agency, I wouldn’t be here. I’m an orphan myself.”