The Prince's Cinderella. Andrea Bolter
big blue pools for eyes and a rose-petal mouth, she was a natural beauty. Her brown hair was a bit of a fright, with too-long fringy bangs and unruly waves tossing her locks this way and that. Yet her porcelain skin, which was so pale it was translucent, captivated his attention.
After they’d had a few bites of food for sustenance, Zander was ready to get down to business.
“In my opinion the most unforgettable galas start with a big thematic concept. It adds magic and theatricality.”
“We had a hot-air balloon theme for a fund-raiser I worked on,” Marie offered. “We carried it through all of the details. Table centerpieces that were small versions of the balloons with flowers coming out of the baskets. And we had party favors with miniature balloons filled with chocolates.”
Zander chose his words carefully. “Marie, I’d consider that more a decorating scheme than an event theme.”
Her eyes got wide. He knew she’d felt criticized, which was not his intention. But if he was going to chair a gala that was to be on par with the lavish affairs the social season was known for, Marie was going to have to expand her thinking. “I’m talking about the no-holds-barred extravaganzas like, for example, the Carnival balls that Venice is known for. They are drenched in theme from top to bottom, with venues and costumes and dinners that take your breath away.”
“The APCF doesn’t typically do galas on that scale.”
“That’s why they asked me to chair. They need to raise the kind of money the larger organizations do. So we’ve decided that throwing the most memorable benefit of the season will be the kickoff to a new level of fund-raising.”
“I’ll do my best. I’ve worked on dozens of events.”
In reality, Zander had very clear ideas of what he wanted to do. He didn’t need a sort of event manager who might not consult with him about every facet of the party. If his name was going to be linked with the APCF, everything was going to be his way. Perhaps someone with less experience like Marie would be a plus. He was willing to spend the next couple of days finding out if they worked well together.
With a charming smile she asked, “Do you have a personal connection to parentless children?”
That reminded him that she still didn’t know who he was.
Which, actually, struck him as more than a little strange. Had she never seen his name in the news?
Sadly, Elise’s and Valentin’s deaths, and Zander’s role in raising Abella, had garnered a lot of coverage. The story was picked up by all of the outlets when the plane crash happened a year ago. Bachelor Prince Now Daddy Day Care and plenty of other embarrassing headlines dotted every gossip website on earth at the time his family was going through such an unspeakable tragedy. How could Marie have missed learning of it? Or perhaps she just hadn’t made the connection. Although she’d find out soon enough.
“Yes, the needs of orphans are something dear to my family. What about you? How did you come to work for the APCF?”
She studied him before seeming to make a decision to answer frankly, “Without the support of the agency, I wouldn’t be here. I’m an orphan myself.”
* * *
Think before you speak, Marie reminded herself as she sipped her coffee opposite Zander at the table. There was something so open and inviting about his face it made her want to tell him about all of the things she’d learned to keep private.
He was the kind of man girls dreamed of. Not Marie, because she’d learned the hard way long ago never to dream. But somebody else’s dream come true. A man with the power and know-how to bring ideas to life. To make yesterdays disappear and tomorrows look bright. In other words, he and those soulful almond-shaped eyes of his were dangerous. Because they could make a girl start to think about things that could never be.
“You’re an orphan and now you work for the Alliance for Parentless Children of France,” Zander said after putting the white porcelain coffee cup down onto its saucer. “You’re exactly the reason we need the gala to be a resounding success. So that we can continue to assist parentless children all the way into adulthood.”
She wasn’t sure that she liked being discussed as if she was a case study students were analyzing at university. Although she was quite an example of everything that was wrong in society for orphaned children. With wounds she hoped no one would ever uncover. She’d rather die with them as memories covered in cobwebs that she kept in a tattered box in a corner of a never-visited attic. Unwrapping them only in private.
“The agency helped me get a job so I could go to university and then placed me in a position afterward.”
“And event planning is where your passions lie?”
She wasn’t sure why he was asking so many questions. Was he trying to determine whether she’d be able to assist him with his gala? Was he just asking out of idle inquiry? Or another motive? Fighting the urge to confide in him, she steadied herself. It wasn’t often that anyone asked her about herself so she wasn’t too savvy at it.
“Yes, I do like helping to bring all the pieces of an event together. Being part of a collaborative effort. Working with a team.” Kind of like a family, she thought but didn’t say. Because it hurt too much. “But we mainly do educational seminars and retreats. Rolls and coffee, sack lunches, that type of thing.”
“Right.” Zander checked his phone and with, apparently, nothing urgent there he placed it screen down on the table. “Okay, then, the first thing we need to do is announce the theme to the invitees.”
Obviously, that was where his interest about her ended.
“We’ll do a follow-up invitation as if we planned it that way all along,” Marie offered.
“That’s good. Like it was a secret we decided not to reveal right away. I want to go with some kind of costume or masquerade ball. It’s classic. I think people enjoy disguising themselves with outfits and wigs so they can act with abandon. It’s an innocent enough way for the guests to have a decadent evening.”
“How do you have such insight into the psyche of the donors?” He surely seemed to know what he was doing.
“I’ve been going to charity events my entire life.”
“Were your parents big donors?”
“You could say that. They made a lot of appearances.”
“Oh, are they famous?”
“Something like that.” He flagged the waiter. “Another café au lait, please. You?” he asked her.
“Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”
Zander nodded at the waiter, who took his exit.
“A costume ball in and of itself isn’t enough. We need to tell them what they’re masquerading as.”
Marie racked her brain. She wanted to make suggestions that Zander would like. She was in uncharted waters here. He was talking about balls the likes of which she’d never seen before. But that didn’t matter—what did is that it would impress his guests.
“As I was saying earlier,” he continued, “there’s so much money in Cannes, especially this time of year. All of the Hollywood glitterati are here for the film festival and half of Europe is here to ogle them. Plus, the spring galas and balls are starting so everyone is expecting to part with their money. The APCF should be getting a bigger share of the bounty.”
Knowing she was just blocks away from the ultraluxury hotels on La Croisette, where many of the rich and infamous stayed, Marie couldn’t help but wonder about the lifestyles of the privileged class it seemed Zander was a part of.
What kind of care did these people take of their sons and daughters? Did they have happy homes, making sure their children felt loved and secure? Did they hug them close and protect them from harm? Or did they leave their care to others, without