Exclusive!: Hollywood Life or Royal Wife? / Marriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby! / Sex, Lies and a Security Tape. Jackie Braun
had passed.
Hence his reason for attending the Cannes Film Festival. For, like it or not, he, as the Prince, was Malvarina’s best marketing spokesman.
Rodolfo had spent several years preparing for what he was now implementing. All the while he’d been at Oxford, and later when he was at Harvard, he’d known that he would never persuade his grandfather to change the old ways. Instead he’d bided his time, respecting his grandparent’s views, but knowing exactly what he would undertake when the opportunity finally arose. In the meantime he had gained experience by working with major companies in London and New York and through living life to the fullest, aware that one day he would be the ruler of the small principality. And when the moment had come the people of the island had watched suspiciously as Rodolfo implemented his reforms and passed new laws.
However, little by little, he had won them over. Now there was a top-line tourism and hotel school where the islanders could train. Language courses and the possibility of exchange programmes with other countries existed too. Rodolfo wanted the best for his people, but he also expected them to provide the best possible service to those he was inviting to make the island their primary residence.
Straightening his bow tie, Rodolfo glanced critically at his tanned reflection in the glinting mirror in the corridor. He’d aged in the last couple of years. New responsibilities had brought tiny crows’ feet around his dark eyes, and streaks of silver touched his temples. Par for the course, he reflected, fixing his cufflinks and wondering which film star he would be expected to be polite to tonight and how many ego trips he would have to endure.
Cannes and its glitz and glamour bored him. But it was here that potential clients hung out. People, it seemed, were drawn to royalty like bees to honey. His lips curved ironically. He’d lost count of the number of women who’d thrown themselves at him, hoping to share his bed and to be able to say that they’d had a fling with one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors. Some may even have dreamed of another fairy tale à la Grace Kelly. But he was uninterested in the blonde-and-silicone perfection that was presently on offer, bored with the vapid top models he’d dated with no strings attached, and the inevitable publicity that accompanied his numerous affairs.
Of course the future of the principality was something he now had to take into consideration. Hence his introduction to several aristocratic European women whom the council of the island considered suitable brides. He sighed. Just thinking about them made his heart sink. To have to spend the rest of his life with a woman he didn’t love seemed a lot to ask. On the other hand, since Giada had died in that plane accident seven years ago he’d never thought of giving away his heart again. So perhaps it would be easier simply to marry someone like the Spanish duquesa the council were so keen on, or that German countess, and forget about romance.
He glanced at the thin gold watch gracing his wrist. Time for the show to begin. On his way out of his suite his valet had handed him a white silk scarf which he threw casually around his neck. Another black-tie event. How many could they squeeze into the space of one festival? he wondered with a grimace.
VICTORIA FIDDLED with the stem of her champagne flute and forced herself to appear interested in the dull story that a fellow actor was recounting about himself and his exploits in some obscure film which, he told her, was bound to win a prize at next year’s festival in Sundance, even though it was not making waves in Cannes. She made all the right noises and caught Anne’s eye, hoping she might be rescued.
It was only the beginning of what promised to be an interminable evening. Mercifully dinner was announced and she was able to escape.
‘Mademoiselle Woodward…’
The elegant MC showed her to her place at the central table. Why did she always have to be stuck in the most conspicuous place? she wondered, thanking him. The tables were filling up. The large room was decorated with a sylvan theme: glistening silver leaves and branches were entwined with fairylights under glittering chandeliers. The effect was rather special. A woodland fragrance had been sprayed to give the room more atmosphere. They’d even managed a soundtrack of birds twittering in the background. She sat down, along with the other bejewelled women, and plastered on a plastic smile, her mind wandering. Behind the seated diners hawk-eyed bodyguards hovered, just out of sight of the ever-rolling cameras…
‘Signorina.’ A deep masculine voice to her right made her nearly jump from her reverie. She looked up. Next to her stood a dark, handsome man with the ghost of a smile hovering about his lips.
Victoria blushed. It was as if he’d read her thoughts, knew she’d been off in a world of her own.
‘Good evening, signorina. May I?’ He raised a quizzical brow, then prepared to sit next to her.
‘Oh, please,’ she murmured, realising that she hadn’t checked the place card of her neighbour.
‘Thank you.’ He slid into the chair with a brief smile. ‘Good evening. I am Rodolfo Fragottini,’ he said casually.
‘Hi. I’m Victoria Woodward,’ she replied.
‘Of that I am well aware,’ he said smoothly. ‘In fact the whole world is aware of your presence here tonight, signorina. May I congratulate you on your success? I have not had the pleasure of seeing your movie yet, but I gather that your performance is spellbinding.’
‘Uh, thanks.’ She flashed the ritual demure smile. Why had she not created a formulated reply for these compliments that she was so bad at receiving?
‘You do not feel your performance was that great?’ he queried.
She turned, caught a swift flash of humour in his eyes and lowered hers. ‘Actually, I—Oh, I really don’t know,’ she muttered, embarrassed.
‘You didn’t seem to agree with me, that’s all,’ he said, eyes laughing as she looked up once more.
Despite her nervousness, Victoria smiled back. ‘It’s difficult to judge one’s own performance. People say it was good. I always feel it could have been better.’
‘Ah! You are a perfectionist?’ he teased.
‘No,’ she responded. ‘It’s my job. I want to do my best. I just don’t see what all the fuss is about. Oops.’ She bit her lip, realising she shouldn’t have said that.
‘How refreshing,’ he murmured, glancing at her with new interest. Here was a superstar not obsessed with her own fame and glory. A novelty by any standard. Also, she reminded him of someone. ‘Do I take it that you are not enchanted with having to keep up appearances on a permanent basis, Miss Woodward?’ he asked, placing his white linen napkin on his knee.
‘Well…’ She shrugged, glanced at him sideways and caught the flicker of mischief in his eyes. ‘It does become a bit heavy going after a while.’
‘You amaze me. I thought this was what all actors and actresses dreamed of—fame and recognition. It does not please you?’
‘Of course it does. It’s just that…’ She caught Anne’s eye and quickly stared at her plate, hoping the pill she’d taken beforehand would keep up its effect for long enough to get her through the evening.
‘Just that you don’t feel at ease in this role?’ he asked searchingly. There was something about her that struck a chord.
Their eyes met and her pulse missed a beat. ‘How can you tell?’
It was his turn to shrug. ‘I observe people. Like you, I am often subjected to the stares and curiosity of others. It can become extremely trying,’ he finished dryly.
‘Oh, my goodness, Your Royal Highness!’ An elderly woman decked in diamonds and with several obvious facelifts in her wake cooed across the table at him.
‘Good evening, Madame Jensen.’ He bowed his head in greeting.
Victoria blinked. Royal Highness? He’d said his name was Fragottini and, being her usual distracted self, she hadn’t bothered to glance at the place cards. Now she really had put her foot in it. Anne would have wanted