Page 25 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
The queen raised her eyebrows.
“We met on Giuseppe’s yacht, Mother. Claire was the chef. And what an amazing chef she is. You should taste her soufflé,” the prince said.
The king, who’d so far said nothing, cleared his throat. “There’s been a lot of talk about the two of you. Speculation in the media. You were seen together in Monaco coming off the yacht. There are rumors,” he said.
A lump rose in Claire’s throat — Anna-Marie or Anton. What had they been saying? A lie stuck far harder than the truth. The prince was about to answer, but Claire knew she had to assert herself if she was ever going to make a suitable impression.
“Lies,” she said. The king looked at her in surprise. “Whatever they’ve written about us, it’s a lie. We met on Mr. Bellagio’s yacht, and yes, it was quick, but we’re both certain of our feelings.”
As an American, Claire wasn’t used to holding back her emotions. Her family had always spoken as they’d found. What was the point in doing otherwise? Despite the intimidating setting, Claire had found her voice, reminding herself she wasn’t the sort of person to be passed over or talked about.
“We are, yes,” the prince said, with a tone of relief in his voice suggesting Claire’s intervention was welcome.
The king and queen glanced at one another.
“Well… I suppose it’s no different from the arranged marriages of the past. They were announced quickly after the couple first met,” the queen said.
“And that’s what we are — engaged to be married,” the prince said, slipping his hand into Claire’s, who smiled and nodded.
Had the enormity of what she was doing not already have struck, it did now. It was to be announced she was to be married to the crown prince of Flandenne. It was extraordinary. Her — Claire Bellamy, a chef from Detroit. What would her parents say? What would her friends say? What would anyone say?
“Well, it’s going to take some time to get used to,” the queen said. “And we must get to know you, too, Claire. Our ways may be somewhat different to yours.”
No question about that.
“But you… approve of the match, Mother?” the prince ventured.
His mother smiled. She had a pretty smile, one that Claire found endearing. It almost made her feel guilty for the fact of their deception, though reminding herself of the restaurant was enough to assuage such guilt.
“We approve of your settling down, Adrien. But please… no more headlines, no more scandals, no more giving us cause for concern. If this match works, it will secure the future of the royal house, and your succession — with children, of course,” the queen said, glancing at Claire, who hadn’t given a second thought to kids.
The prince smiled and nodded. “I promise, Mother,” he said.
They exchanged a few further pleasantries, before the queen suggested Claire might like some time to get used to her new home. There’d be no scandal in their living in the palace together. Claire would have her own apartment next to that of the king’s sister, the prince’s aunt, the princess royal. The family dined together on occasion, but with the king and queen busy with royal engagements, the couple would be largely left to their own devices — to planning the wedding.
“We’ll make the announcement in the next day or so,” the queen said. “We don’t want speculation to run rife, do we?”
And that was that. Claire’s interview with the king and queen was over. She’d survived her first encounter with her prospective in-laws. As Adrien’s parents left the long gallery, Claire breathed a sigh of relief.
“Well done,” the prince whispered, smiling at her, as she collapsed into the nearest chair.
“Did I say the right things? What did they think of me?” she asked.
The prince nodded. “You did everything right. I’m sorry it’s all so formal. But that’s my life, and…” he began, but Claire interrupted him.
“It’s all right. I understand. And I’m sure we can make it work for as long as we need to,” she said.
Quite how long theywouldneed to was another question. But for now, Claire was relieved to simply have survived her first encounter with the king and queen. It had been an exhausting day, and she was tired. The prince showed her to her apartment — like the most wonderful hotel room she’d ever been in — and it was there she slept for the next twelve hours, waking the next morning to a gentle knock at the door, and a maid bringing her breakfast.
“Good morning, Miss Bellamy,” the maid said, as she pulled back the curtains in the bedroom, revealing the palace gardens below.
Claire sat up in bed, yawning, as she glanced at the breakfast tray the maid had brought in for her. But it wasn’t the croissant,fresh fruit, and coffee that caught her attention, but rather, the headline on the newspaper laid next to them —“The Unknown Fiancée of the Crown Prince.”
Seizing it, she found herself with the bizarre sensation of reading a story about herself — a story with such remarkable elaborations as to quite take her breath away.
CHAPTER 14
CLAIRE
