Page 7 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
“Ah, well… enjoy it while you can,” Giuseppe replied.
“How long are you going to be in Milan? Will I see you when you get back?” Adrien asked, as he trailed a piece of bread around the last fragrant drops of olive oil on the plate.
“Possibly. It’ll be a few days, at least. But don’t worry. I can always check into the Metropole or the Hermitage,” Giuseppe replied.
Adrien pulled out his cellphone. He’d kept it turned off all morning, knowing there would be messages from his mother and news alerts about himself. The things he’d read over the past few days…
“Don’t tempt me — I might just sail away and never come back,” Adrien said, replacing the phone in his pocket.
Giuseppe looked at him sympathetically.
“You’re finding it difficult, are you? They want you to marry?”
Adrien nodded. “Settling down — that’s what they call it. But why should I? I don’t know… I… It frustrates me. All my mother ever talks about is marriage. Maybe I don’t want to get married… I never wanted to get married.”
Giuseppe laughed. “Why get married when you can have a different girl every night?”
Adrien groaned. “And have them write another story about me every day, too… I hate it,” he said, sighing and shaking his head.
There’d been a time when the press was more tolerant. They’d left him alone growing up — everyone was allowed to make a few mistakes along the way, even the crown prince of Flandenne. But in recent years, public opinion had shifted. The republican movement had been growing, and Adrien had increasingly found the press more hostile towards him — “the playboy prince,” that’s how they’d dubbed him.
“You’re just giving them ammunition,” his mother had said, after lecturing him down the phone about his responsibilities.
Adrien knew she was right, but it was the fact he didn’t care that worried him. He’d walked out of Le Paradiswithout really considering the consequences. He was his own worst enemy. Adrien knew what he had to do, but he wasn’t about to marry someone just for show, or to appease his parents.
“I want to marry someone for… love,” Adrien said, glancing at Giuseppe as he spoke. “And don’t laugh at me. I’m serious.”
He’d expected Giuseppe to make a joke of it — he’d always been a joker, all the way through school and in those early, hedonistic years of freedom they’d enjoyed together, when “settling down” had been the last thing on their minds. But to Adrien’s surprise, Giuseppe nodded.
“I’m not laughing. You’re different to the rest of us. No one cares if I have a mistress in Cannes and a wife in Milan — I’m not the heir to a throne,” he said. “But you… they expect things of you. You’re meant to be perfect, and when you’re not… well, they don’t like it. The fact you’re no different to them, that’s the problem.”
Adrien was confused.
“But I’m no different to anyone,” he replied, and Giuseppe laughed.
“Nonsense. You’re the crown prince of Flandenne. That makes you different, and when they see you struggling in just the same way as them, they don’t like it. You’re meant to be perfect. You’re meant to show them how to behave — forget the fact they don’t,” he said. “I don’t envy you. It’s impossible. You’re only human, but in their eyes, you’re something else.”
Adrien sighed. There were times when he wished he was no one. That he could walk down the street and not be recognized or gawped at — that he could make mistakes without judgement. But Giuseppe was right. Hewasdifferent, and that was why more was expected of him. The lunch concluded with a platter of fresh fruit, and they finished the bottle of wine before drinking an espresso each and parting ways.
“I’ll try not to stay away for too long,” Adrien said, but Giuseppe only waved his hand dismissively.
“I told you, stay away as long as you want, and when you come back, I hope you’ve found some peace,” he said, placing his hand on Adrien’s shoulder.
Adrien watched him go, feeling somewhat strange to be left alone on someone else’s yacht. The maid was clearing the table, casting furtive glances towards him as she did so.
I hope she’s not going to be awkward.
Adrien had left his own staff behind, though he’d brought Grieg with him for security. No one knew he was on board theAurora,but secrets had a nasty habit of getting out, and it was better to be safe than sorry.
“Could you tell the skipper to come and see me?” Adrien said, addressing the maid, who looked up like a rabbit caught in headlights.
“Yes… Your Highness,” she said, bobbing into a curtsey as she spoke.
Adrien smiled to himself as he retreated to his cabin, which was actually Giuseppe’s cabin. It was comfortably furnished, the pine-clad interior replete with nautical additions — there was even a ship’s wheel, along with charts of the Mediterranean and nautical prints on the walls. He was just examining one when a knock came at the door. It was Carlos, the tanned skipper, who Giuseppe had dressed in a white uniform, like something out ofSouth Pacific.
“We can get underway as soon as you’re ready, Your Highness,” he said.
“I want to go to Île Sainte-Marguerite,” Adrien replied, pointing at the chart on the wall. “We can moor there in one of the bays. I don’t want to go far on this trip. I just want to go somewhere I won’t be found.”
