Page 1 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
CHAPTER 1
ADRIEN
The princess was late. Adrien glanced at the restaurant door, then down at his cellphone. She should’ve been here half an hour ago. He was beginning to look foolish.
He’d drunk a glass of champagne as he waited, watching as the one he’d ordered for the princess became warm and flat. He could only examine the menu so many times — eight courses. Could he really sit through eight courses of small talk with a woman he only knew through her pictures on social media? Adrien had known this was a mistake from the start…
“Don’t mess this one up,”his mother had told him, when she’d called him the previous day.“You’re not getting any younger.”
Adrien was thirty-two. He was hardly ancient. But his parents had a point. Time was ticking, and there were expectations to be fulfilled.
“Would Your Highness care for another glass of champagne?” the sommelier asked.
Adrien shook his head. “No… some water. Still,” he said.
He was feeling tired. It had been a long day. The opening of the new embassy had been a high-profile event. There’d been hands to shake, a ribbon to cut, smiles to be given. The new embassy was meant to signal the growing economic ties between Monaco and Flandenne.
“And given you’re the crown prince, you’re the one who’s going to open it,” Adrien’s father had told him.
Monaco was meant to be a playground, but Adrien was finding it oppressive. The paparazzi were following him everywhere. They’d be lurking outside the restaurant now, waiting for a shot of the princess. Here she was. A commotion at the door signaled her arrival. Adrien could hear the clicks of the photographer’s shutters, before the door closed behind her, and the hushed ambience of Le Paradis returned. Adrien rose to his feet, forcing the same smile to his face he’d adopted earlier at the opening of the embassy. The princess was shown to the table.
“We were caught in traffic,” she said, removing a light blue summer jacket from her shoulders and revealing a peach-colored silk gown, paired with a diamond necklace.
There was no apology for her lateness. Adrien called for a fresh glass of champagne to be brought, relieved to no longer be waiting, even as his immediate impression of the princess was unfavorable. Marietta Vorrenburg was the daughter of the Grand Duke of Marestein, a principality wedged between Italy and Switzerland. They’d never met, though they knew many of the same people, and inhabited much the same world. She was pretty. But looks weren’t everything.
“You’ll find plenty in common, I’m sure,”Adrien’s mother had told him. But finding things in common wasn’t necessarily what Adrien wanted. He’d always been attracted to opposites — tothe sort of women his parents wouldn’t approve of. The fact the princess was of their choosing meant Adrien was already ill-disposed to her, and though attractive, her haughty demeanor did little to endear her.
“It’s a set menu. I’ve always liked this restaurant. They cook the lobster exceptionally well,” Adrien said, as the princess examined the bill of fare.
“I don’t eat shellfish,” she said dismissively.
“I’m sure they can do something different,” Adrien replied, as the fresh glass of champagne arrived.
He was trying to be friendly, but it seemed the princess had no intention of making an effort. An awkward silence descended between them. She didn’t make eye contact, staring instead at a spot on the table, where a candle was flickering in a silver holder. Adrien was relieved the paparazzi couldn’t see the two of them together, but what were the other diners thinking? The fact of the crown prince of Flandenne dining with the daughter of the Grand Duke of Marestein was bound to attract attention. Adrien could see the headlines now.
“Have you… been in Monaco long?” he ventured, knowing he was only making small talk, but finding nothing else to say. “I opened our new embassy today. It’s hoped to improve economic ties between Flandenne and Monaco. I truly believe smaller states have a part to play in European economic growth.”
It was something Adrien was passionate about — his country and its prospects. But the princess looked up at him disinterestedly.
“I’m here to shop — new fashions for the season. It’s my sister’s wedding later in the summer.”
“Ah, yes… Are the preparations going well?” Adrien asked.
She hadn’t taken his lead in the conversation, giving a one-word answer, then falling silent. Shopping, it seemed, was far more interesting than economic prospects or international diplomacy. Adrien could find nothing in common with her. He felt as though she had no interest in what he was saying, and with everything he subsequently said, the princess seemed to have a way of bringing it back to herself. The first course was a chilled gazpacho, served with a parmesan tuile. It was delicious — full of the scent of the tomatoes, as though they’d just been picked. But the princess ate only a spoonful before pushing it aside.
“I can’t stand cold soups,” she said.
“Whatdoyou like?” Adrien replied, his tone betraying a certain frustration he was beginning to feel towards her.
The date was going badly. Adrien was running out of things to say, and he was growing tired of listening to the princess talk only about herself. There were still six courses to go, the gazpacho having been followed by a dish of langoustines for Adrien, and a beetroot carpaccio for the princess. She’d sent it back, complaining the pieces weren’t evenly sliced as they apparently should be. On his part, Adrien had sent his compliments to the chef — the langoustines were delicious.
“How long do you intend to stay in Monaco?” he asked.
He was scraping the barrel now. There was no chemistry between them. The evening was proving a disaster.
“A few days. Then I go to Florence to meet my sister. Fabrizio has a villa near there.”
Count Fabrizio Fellipe was the man the princess’s sister was to marry. Adrien had seen their faces splashed over the front covers of the newspapers following the announcement — it was what had given his mother the idea for the disaster now unfolding.
