Page 22 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
“There’s no shame in it. We’ll tell them the truth. Besides, why shouldn’t a prince marry Flandenne’s first Michelin-starred chef?” he asked.
Claire laughed. “Well… I haven’t got there yet. But you never know. Perhaps that’s the next dream.”
“I’ll toast to that,” Adrien said, raising his glass, and feeling hopeful as to what was to come.
CHAPTER 12
CLAIRE
Leaving the yacht had been something of a whirlwind. A day ago, Claire had been preparing breakfast in a cramped galley, arranging fruit on a plate and making coffee. Now, she was sitting sipping chilled Dom Perignon in the back of a Bentley, being whisked towards a new life as the future bride of the crown prince of Flandenne.
“What do you mean, you’re leaving with him?” Anna-Marie had demanded, after Claire had explained why she was packing her bags.
“He’s asked me to marry him. I’m going to open a restaurant in Flandenne,” Claire had repeated, for it had seemed her first explanation had fallen on deaf ears, as Anna-Marie stared at her in disbelief.
Put like that, itdidsound somewhat farfetched. The truth was different, of course. The prince had promised Claire her restaurant in exchange for pretending to be engaged to him. But after the night they’d shared in his cabin, Claire had begun to wonder if every single detail was just for show. He’d been tender, gentle, loving. In his arms, she’d felt safe. It was a difficultfeeling to describe. He was certainly attractive, but for Claire it wasn’t only handsome looks that made a man desirable. He had to be kind. He had to be respectful. He had to be the sort of man who treated her as an equal. Adrien was all those things — or so the last few days had suggested. It was all so sudden, but opportunity had knocked, and Claire had taken the plunge.
“Aren’t we going to the terminal?” Claire asked, as the car sped past the turning to departures.
The prince smiled at her. “Oh, we don’t go that way, no. The jet’s waiting for us. There’s a VIP terminal here. It’s comfortable enough, but we shouldn’t have to wait long.”
Claire smiled. This was all going to take some getting used to. In her carry-on were a few clothes, her passport, diary, and the photos from her cabin. She had nothing else to bring — no real possessions. As the car pulled up outside a low building surrounded by a manicured lawn and flowerbeds, a uniformed attendant hurried to open the door for them. Stepping out, Claire could see a number of small jets waiting for takeoff, and she and Adrien were ushered into the building, their passports taken from them, and yet more champagne offered in a smartly furnished lounge, where attendants slipped noiselessly passed and a piano was being softly played in the corner. It was a far cry from the budget airline check-in Claire had last endured at this very same airport on a trip to London.
“How long will we have to wait?” she asked.
“Oh, not long,” the prince replied. “We’ll be in the air soon. Then it’s just a short flight to Flandenne. There’s our jet.”
He pointed to a small plane emblazoned with the coat of arms Claire recognized from the monogram on his nightgown.
“I’ve never been in a private jet,” Claire said.
There’d been a lot of firsts since leaving the yacht — being photographed by the paparazzi, drinking champagne in the back of a Bentley, being in the company of a prince in the VIP lounge of a private terminal. And it seemed there was a great deal more to come. Claire hadn’t quite thought it through yet. It was all a whirl — wonderful, but overwhelming.
“It’s just a small one,” the prince said, in a somewhat dismissive tone.
A few moments later, a steward came to inform them they’d soon be boarding. Going to the restroom, Claire looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if she was ready to be plastered across the pages of every newspaper and magazine, just as the prince had suggested. She didn’t think herself unattractive, but could she really compare to the likes of the princess he’d left high and dry in Le Paradis.
And what if he realizes he’s made a mistake? What do I do then? Oh… what am I doing?
Composing herself, she took a deep breath, reminding herselfwhatshe was doing. The prince had given her an opportunity — the opportunity of a lifetime. A few smiles and nods, some handshaking, and a photoshoot were a small price to pay for what was being offered. She’d given herself a talking-to, reminding herself of what she and the prince had shared the night before.
That certainly wasn’t an act,and she smiled to herself as she thought of how many women would have given everything to be in her shoes right now.
But could something more come of that? Claire reminded herself of the prince’s reputation, knowing he could probably very easily separate sex and feelings. The prince was waiting for her in the lounge, and they were escorted from the terminal and driven in a golf buggy to the waiting jet.
“What about our bags?” Claire asked.
“It’s all taken care of, madam,” the attendant said, and the two of them boarded the plane, where Claire found herself cocooned in a luxuriously furnished cabin, where yet more champagne and a spread of dainty morsels were laid out on a table between the large seats, the headrests of which were emblazoned with the royal coat of arms.
“Welcome on board, Your Highness. We’ll be back in Flandenne before you know it,” the attendant — a young man, dressed in a smart military uniform with gold epaulettes — said, as Claire and the prince took their seats.
“Is no one else flying with us?” Claire asked, for it seemed an extravagance to have the whole plane to themselves.
But the prince only smiled and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be a private jet if it wasn’t just us, would it?”
Claire looked out of the window as the jet taxied for takeoff. A commercial airline was just ascending, and she pictured the cramped seats and bulging overhead lockers. It was a far cry from the prince’s private jet, with its plush interiors and the champagne on ice. She had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“I was just wondering what my parents would make of all this,” she said, glancing at the prince, who was staring down at the blank screen of his phone.
