The Prince's Cinderella. Andrea Bolter
RSVP’d for all the season’s events as a party of two, not willing to face the firing squad alone, but really having no idea whom he’d bring along as his plus one. He’d planned to think of a platonic friend he could make easy chitchat with. Who wouldn’t immediately misread his invitation to accompany him as a proposal into his world.
Misjudging a woman’s intentions had only too recently stung him hard.
Frankly, he couldn’t think of a woman who would fit the bill, but he’d deal with that later.
Zander left his bedroom suite. Although he told himself he’d only poke his head in to see if she was fully awake, he instead gently pushed open the door and slipped into baby Abella’s bedroom.
“Well, look at you, Bell-bell.” She was sitting upright in her crib, her curly blond hair tousled this way and that. “You’re all the way awake already.”
“Up time,” she said, having only recently begun attempts at true conversation. “Up.”
“Yes, Bell-bell. Up.”
No further prompting was required. Zander hurried to the side of her crib to reach in, put each of his hands under the baby’s arms and lift her out. He brought her against his left shoulder, as had become his routine after Iris had taught him the proper way to securely hold a baby. Zander could never figure out what the gaga noise Abella made was meant to signify, but she always did it when he picked her up.
She twisted herself sideways a bit to stare at Zander’s face.
His eyes met hers. It was like looking in a mirror. Those dark brown, almost black, almond-shaped eyes that they had in common. The same almond eyes that his sister, Elise, had had. He could never look at Abella without thinking of his sister, his heart shattering at missing her so. Wishing he could rewrite the past so that Elise could be here right now and see how much Abella was growing and developing.
Zander and Abella continued the eye lock that they did frequently. Which he took as some kind of unspoken declaration of mutual love.
“Da,” Abella said.
Da. As in Daddy.
“No, Bell-bell. Uncle Zander. Can you say Zander?”
“Da.”
“Zan. How about you say Zan?”
“Da.”
Each time she uttered that syllable it was with more determination and certainty than the time before, despite his protests. The word filled Zander with confusion about the decisions that were going to have to be made. Maybe not today, but soon.
He held the baby closer, inhaling the lovely smell of that fruity, organic and toxin-free shampoo Iris used on her hair.
As Zander carried Abella into the living room, a grocer arrived with food. Iris came toward him to take Abella if that was what he so desired.
Not ready to let go just yet he said, “I’ll hold her for a while.”
With all the comings and goings, the front door was left open. Three quick knocks against the doorjamb brought Zander’s attention. It was the penthouse’s rental agent, who upon spotting Zander, folded one arm rigidly across his waist and bowed forward. He sputtered in a nervous voice, “Is everything to your liking, Your Highness?”
* * *
Four hours passed before Marie looked up from her laptop. Having combed through every single file her predecessor, Jic, had left, she finally had a grasp of what information there was and what more was required for her to move forward with the APCF events calendar.
She hadn’t been privy to why Jic abruptly up and left his position, only that he’d had some personal problems to attend to. The fact that some of the files were in decent shape and others were an indecipherable hodgepodge told her that Jic’s departure had been hasty and unplanned. He hadn’t left clear instructions for whoever was to take over. Marie had made as many notes as she could and jotted down questions to ask Felice at the end of the day.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something dark beyond the glass separating her office from the main work floor. As she lifted her face from the computer screen, what met her gaze was quite a surprise.
A man had his arm up, hand making a fist as if he was just about to knock on the glass to get her attention. But it wasn’t just any man. It was, without question, the most attractive man Marie had ever seen in her life. At least six feet three inches tall, he wore a black shirt tucked into black pants with a brown belt, topped by a brown jacket. She thought the combination of the black and brown was impossibly tasteful.
The color palette didn’t stop with the clothes. His unusually shaped eyes were the darkest of browns, practically black, with his defined bone structure forming an unforgettable face. The crowning touch was a full head of thick, straight blond hair, expertly cut so that some fell forward from his forehead and the rest stayed put around his ears. Marie was sure there was never a hair out of place on the man’s head.
Because he had frozen midknock, it was as if she was looking at a still photo. So she jolted when he moved to lower his arm and flash her a megawatt smile. His perfectly white teeth all but glistened in the office’s harsh overhead lighting. Marie smiled back, no idea who he was or why he was in her doorway. But it wasn’t often—okay, never—that an elegant and gorgeous man was grinning at her. She’d be crazy not to smile back.
While it was difficult to do anything but sit there and stare at the magnificent specimen of the human race, it occurred to Marie that she should get up and open the door to see who he was. Standing and moving toward him, she hoped her pants weren’t too creased from sitting at the computer for so long. She hadn’t checked her hair in hours, either, and knew that it could be an absolute mop at this point. Her lipstick had faded ages ago.
There was nothing she could do about any of that.
“Can I help you?” Marie asked after opening her door.
“Are you Marie?”
“Yes.”
“Felice suggested I see you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m Zander de Nellay.”
Oh. The gala’s chairperson. Marie had been reading about him in the files.
Jic had noted three facts about Zander. Wants what he wants. Insists everything be of top-notch quality. Offering to pay the difference if anything goes over budget.
That seemed fair enough to Marie. On the private handwritten notes, Jic had doodled a little crown above Zander’s name. Marie wondered if Jic was indicating that he was kind of a diva, or thought he was a king, or that he was formal and fussy.
“Marie Paquet.” She thrust out her hand for a handshake. His joined hers in what she figured would be a traditional business greeting between two people who had never met.
The last thing she was expecting was for his hand to be big and strong and to convey friendliness rather than protocol. She surely wasn’t prepared for the affection coming from the center of his palm to slide up her arm and down the entire right side of her body, so robust it actually made her torso bend toward it.
Once she was able to stand up straight again, she gestured for him to enter her office and closed the door behind them.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just started today so I haven’t had a chance to set up,” Marie felt compelled to explain. She didn’t want him thinking she was some kind of slob with the boxes and stacks of paper everywhere cluttering up such a nice office. That was a sore spot with her because once people learned about her troubled upbringing, they assumed she was somehow unorganized or nonfunctional. It was always an uphill battle to prove them wrong.
“That’s fine,” Zander dismissed her concern. “This was Jic’s office up until a couple of days ago and it was in the same condition then.”
“Do you