Page 21 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
Adrien shrugged. “Why not? What do you know about it?”
Giuseppe uttered an expletive under his breath. “You’re just… what have your parents said about this?”
Adrien was yet to inform the king and queen of his return to Flandenne with his future bride. They’d be surprised, of course— perhaps even angry. But no one would be able to deny the respectability of the matter. Wasn’t it the most ordinary thing in the world for two people to fall in love?
“I don’t care what they say. They’ll be happy I’m getting married. Isn’t that what matters?” Adrien asked.
The yacht had docked in Monaco half an hour previously. Giuseppe had been waiting for them, greeting Adrien as though he’d just returned from a round-the-world expedition. But his exuberance had soon changed when Adrien had told him of his and Claire’s plans. She was already packing, and Janssen would shortly arrive in the Bentley to take them to the airport for the flight to Flandenne.
“And what am I to do? What am I to eat?” Giuseppe demanded.
Adrien smiled. “You could always go to Le Paradis,” he replied.
Giuseppe gave him a withering look, but with Adrien having offered buy out Claire’s notice period, there was really no further objection to be made.
“Well, it’s certainly a step up from life in the galley,” Giuseppe said, as they made their way out on deck.
The skipper was there, along with the steward and the maid, who looked even more put out than usual. From below deck, Claire now appeared, clutching a carry-on. She’d changed out of her chef’s whites into a blue summer dress that highlighted her pretty figure as it caught the breeze. She’d wrapped a headscarf over her head and was wearing sunglasses. It was a beautiful sight — like something from Hollywood, an effortless glamor Adrien couldn’t help but find attractive. Grieg was waiting at the bottom of the gangplank, and the Bentley had just driven upat the marina, eliciting interested looks from locals and tourists alike.
“Are you ready?” Adrien asked, smiling at Claire, who nodded.
“I think so. I really didn’t have much to pack,” she replied. “I’ve left everything as it should be. Dinner’s prepared — Anna-Marie just has to heat it up — and there’s dessert in the refrigerator.”
At these words, the maid pouted. “She’s leaving us high and dry, Mr. Bellagio,” she blurted out.
Giuseppe ignored her, holding out his hand to Claire and smiling. “I’m going to miss you. But it won’t be the last time I see you. I’m often in Flandenne to check up on this one,” he said, glancing at Adrien and grinning.
“I hope I haven’t left you in the lurch,” Claire said, but her employer shook his head.
“No… but I won’t be going to Milan next time you use my yacht. I don’t want to come back and find the rest of them leaving, too.”
Adrien smiled, holding out his hand to direct Claire to the gangplank.
“Goodbye, everyone,” Claire said, glancing at the other staff, who were standing stony-faced watching her departure.
Adrien knew they resented her — it was natural. The maid was probably wondering why it wasn’t her about to step into the Bentley. But in Claire, Adrien had seen a spark — one that was rare in the sort of woman he’d previously been expected to date. She was no carbon copy. She had drive and ambition, hopes and dreams. It made Adrien smile to think she’d soon be the most talked about woman in Flandenne — and further afield, too.
“Goodbye, Giuseppe, and thanks — you saved me,” Adrien said, turning to embrace his friend, who shook his head and laughed.
“You seem to have done a good job of that yourself. Look after her, though — and don’t let this one go.”
As Adrien descended the gangplank, he saw several men watching from across the strip. They had mopeds, and cameras slung around their necks — paparazzi. But today, Adrien didn’t need to hide, and as he and Claire approached the Bentley, he slipped his arm around her waist, smiling, as the shutters clicked towards them.
“Are they taking photos?” Claire asked, sounding somewhat disbelieving, as though she hadn’t realized how immediate the interest in her would be.
“That’s right. And they’ll go on taking photos all the way to the airport.”
Jenssen opened the door for them, and Adrien helped Claire into the plush interior of the car. A bottle of champagne was chilling in an ice bucket, and behind the blacked-out windows, Adrien sank back into the seat next to Claire and breathed a sigh of relief.
“I didn’t think they’d be waiting there… I thought we’d get to Flandenne without being seen,” Claire said, as Adrien offered her a glass of champagne.
It shouldn’t have felt normal to him, and he was reminded of how alien this world must seem to Claire, who’d never experienced the pressures of the limelight before.
“I can’t go anywhere without being seen. But you’ll get used to it. I promise. I know it seems strange now, but give it time. You’regoing to be on the cover of every magazine and newspaper from here to New York — and further.”
Claire shook her head. “It feels like a dream. And you’re sure you want this? You’re going to have to help. I’ll probably get everything wrong. What are we going to say about how we met and who I am? Are we going to tell them the truth about my being a chef? I suppose we’ll have to if I’m to open a restaurant.”
Adrien had poured the champagne, and he passed a glass to Claire, as the car purred gently through the streets of Monaco towards the airport, which lay some twenty kilometers from the principality near Nice.
