From event planner…

To belle of the ball!

Organizing a charity gala on the glamorous French Riviera is a dream come true for event planner Marie. And then she realizes she’ll be working with single dad—and handsome prince—Zander! Marie has never felt she truly belonged anywhere, least of all alongside royalty, but Zander soon sweeps her into his world of toddlers and tiaras! Dare Marie believe she’s found her fairy-tale ending—a family of her own?

ANDREA BOLTER has always been fascinated by matters of the heart. In fact shes the one her girlfriends turn to for advice with their love-lives. A city mouse, she lives in Los Angeles with her husband and daughter. She loves travel, rock n roll, sitting in cafés and watching romantic comedies shes already seen a hundred times. Say hi at andreabolter.com.

Also by Andrea Bolter

Her New York Billionaire

Her Las Vegas Wedding

The Italian’s Runaway Princess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Prince’s Cinderella

Susan Carlisle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09083-4

THE PRINCE’S CINDERELLA

© 2019 Andrea Bolter

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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For Lauren

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

“WELCOME TO THE headquarters of the APCF,” Felice Khalif said to Marie as they proceeded down a row of work cubicles. There was a hum in the air, with the people at every desk either on the phone or focused on the computer screens in front of them. At the back of the space, Felice pointed to a small office separated from the central area by a glass wall and door. “Here’s where you’ll be working.”

The partitioned-off room wasn’t large but Marie had never had a private office before so she had to admit it gave her a buzz. Inside, a sleek glass desk was topped with boxes and stacks of paper files. A telephone bank was off to one side. Four chrome chairs sat around a glass meeting table. One large canvas with an abstract design painted in pastel colors adorned the wall.

The lone window didn’t look out to the glitzy beachfront Promenade de la Croisette that Cannes on the French Riviera was known for but it did let in plenty of light. Not that it mattered, though. Marie was here to work, not to daydream out the window.

“When our events manager, Jic Gurov, suddenly quit, Alain at the Toulouse office recommended I bring you in,” Felice continued. “We’ll give it a try temporarily. You’ll have to jump right in. We have so much going on, and I don’t really have anyone to train you.”

“I’ll do my best.” Marie brushed her bangs away from her eyes. This was a career opportunity she could have never seen coming. A million thanks were due to Alain for recommending her for the job. Not only did he understand about the work in Toulouse that she’d had to leave unfinished, he’d also given her a glowing recommendation.

“I prepared this much for you.” Felice handed Marie a single piece of paper. “Here are the upcoming events that I can confirm.”

“Thanks.”

Felice was right that everything was happening so fast. One minute Marie was assistant to the events coordinator for the APCF, Alliance for Parentless Children of France, at its regional office in Toulouse, and now she was at the headquarters in Cannes with a chance to become the permanent events manager if she did a good job.

France’s largest nonprofit agency supporting orphaned children was a well-known organization with several field offices throughout the country. The agency was able to aid parentless children who were in the foster care system with case management, social services and transitional assistance into adulthood. An orphan herself, Marie had utilized the agency’s help when she was a teenager, and the organization hired her for a job after university.

“As you know, the most important date on the calendar is our annual fund-raising gala in three weeks. The proceeds from that evening finance all of our operations for the year.”

“Alain told me.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think Jic has compiled all of the components for this event. Zander is coming by today to go over it with you in detail.”

“Who’s Zander?”

Felice heard her phone’s ping and answered it. “Yes? I’ll call her right back.”

Marie imagined that as the agency’s executive director, Felice must have many balls to juggle in the air at once. She had a matter-of-fact manner that was very professional. In her cream-colored suit, Felice lifted her eyeglasses from the chain hanging around her neck and put them on to respond to something else on her phone.

After smoothing the front of her gray trousers to try to straighten out any creases, Marie stood as tall as she could. She subtly reached behind her to tuck her blouse in tighter. At the office in Toulouse she did occasionally meet with important donors and was included in meetings, so she never dressed too informally for work. But if Felice’s high-end suit was any indication, Marie might need to up her look here. After all, this was Cannes, land of the rich and famous.

At this point, she certainly didn’t have money to go out and buy a new wardrobe, as much fun as that sounded. Taking a mental inventory of the clothes she did have, she figured she could put together a week of decent outfits to get started.

If she let it, Marie’s mind could start swirling. There hadn’t been any chance for the logistics of this unexpected job switch to be worked out. The agency was able to provide a room for her to stay in for the time being in one of its housing facilities in Cannes. But if the job became permanent, she’d have to find an apartment and give up the room she leased in Toulouse. Cannes would be a much more expensive place to live so she didn’t know what she’d be able to afford. Then again, if she were to get this position permanently, there’d be a substantial salary increase.

She’d have to keep the uncertainty from getting to her during this trial period. Temporary things didn’t always work out for her. One thing Marie Paquet had known all of her life was impermanence. There might be more of it to accept. Would that ever stop, would there ever be something in her life that she could count on?

Taking in the slow, measured breaths that her years spent in counseling taught her, she centered herself.

A young man came into the office and handed Felice a laptop. “Thank you, Clive.”

Marie followed Felice’s lead in bringing their chairs close together so that they could sit down at the table and huddle in front of the laptop. “This will be for your use. The login you had in Toulouse will work for general access. I’ll give you another password to get into the files we keep confidential because they contain donor information.”

“Do you know if the system logs the events chronologically, or alphabetically, or in some other order?”

“Let’s hope it’s chronologically so that you can prioritize.” Felice opened the laptop and clicked through several folders until she found what she was looking for. “Voila.”

“Great.” Marie was relieved that the files were located. She was going to need all the help she could get.

“Look at your list and tell me if this corresponds. Of course, the gala in May. The Regional Managers Retreat Weekend in June?”

Marie reviewed her list. “Yes. The entry says five meals. Two dinners, two breakfasts and one lunch. Continuous snack and beverage service for both days. Transportation to and from the hotel. Multiple media setups. Breakout classrooms. Writing supplies. Goody bags. Then there’s a handwritten note in red to check the hotel.”

Felice opened another folder. “Donor Appreciation Luncheon in July?”

“Yes, I have that on the list although there are no specifics except winery picnic.”

“Goodness, there’s almost nothing in here,” Felice sighed as she opened that file. “You’ll have to look though this yourself and see if there’s anything useful. It looks like Jic recorded his notes from meetings but didn’t highlight any decisions.”

Marie grabbed a pen and jotted Felice’s instructions onto her printed list.

“Next, Back-to-School Support Suppers in September.”

Marie’s fists opened and closed repeatedly. How well she remembered those suppers that the agency hosted to aid kids in foster care who were beginning their new school years. For some, including Marie, the start of the school year was wrought with either dread or apprehension. Dread if the previous year hadn’t gone well but they were returning to the same school. And apprehension if they were starting at a new school.

Kids could be cruel. But to orphans and other children in foster care, mercilessly so. The unkind ones already knew who the foster kids were, and would find ways to taunt and tease them. They’d yell out meanness to Marie that she was unwanted. That she had no family. That nobody loved her. Like many in her situation, Marie grew a thick outer shell and learned not to cry in front of the bullies. Not that she didn’t shed a million tears in private.

The September suppers the agency held had been a godsend for Marie. Psychologists, social workers and education specialists were all on hand to discuss problems and develop strategies. Without them, the pressure of the new school year might have swallowed Marie up and left her too isolated and anxious to have succeeded in her classes.

Now she was going to be part of creating those dinners that had meant so much to her. As an adult, she had long accepted the fact that she would never be part of a typical family. But by working at the agency she was in some small way making other orphans feel that somebody cared about them. In that, she felt great pride and satisfaction.

“There’s a note on my list to check the budget after the gala,” Marie reported to Felice.

“We’ll have to see what funding the gala brings in, in order to determine how much money we can spend on the September suppers and how many of them we can offer throughout the country.”

“Of course.”

As a teen, it had never occurred to Marie how programs the APCF provided were financed. Only that they were able to help with the extra services people might not be able to afford. Orphaned children sometimes had mental health issues such as depression or post-traumatic stress disorder. Others had learning disabilities or physical conditions. And, maybe most important, once they reached adulthood there was often no place for them to turn for transitional help into higher education or the workforce. The APCF did as much as it could for as many as it could.

Once she started working for the organization, Marie understood that any money it spent on its programs came from outside donations. She glanced up from her powwow with Felice and thanked the air surrounding her that this agency existed and that she was brought into it by one of her few schoolteachers who cared. A quick wince reminded her of some who didn’t.

“I need to return a call.” Felice looked up from her phone to Marie. “Why don’t you continue to match up your notes and see how much information you have?”

“Okay.”

“Zander has all of the data for the gala on his own computer. He’s very specific about what he wants. He’ll go over that with you. We’re lucky to have him chairing the event this year, so let’s make every effort to facilitate his plans.”

“Who’s Zander?” Marie realized that Felice hadn’t answered when she’d asked the first time.

“Felice!” a shrill voice called out from the main office space.

“Let me go deal with that—” Felice stood up “—and let’s touch base at the end of the day. After Zander comes.”

As the director charged out the door, Marie asked yet again, this time to the back of her jacket, “Who is Zander?”

* * *

What a difference a year made.

Zander de Nellay surveyed the sweeping view of the Cannes shoreline through the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors of his posh penthouse. The palm-tree-lined promenade of La Croisette followed the crescent-shaped curve of the sparkling Gulf of Napoule and its white-sand beaches. It was a sight to behold, indeed.

Little, if nothing, of the vista appeared any different from how it had last spring. Although then, as he had in years past, Zander had stayed in an elegant suite at one of the grand dame hotels on the promenade. And had partied every night with Hollywood film producers and the glamorati who flocked to Cannes from all over the world.

This season, he’d instead be ensconced in a penthouse apartment that kept the town’s constant revelry at arm’s length.

Gliding one of the doors open, he stepped out onto the terrace. The sun was bright but the air was crisp, a combination he’d always enjoyed. Cannes in late spring was a marvelous place to be.

Fortunately, to Zander’s precise specifications, the rental agent was able to find him a suitable penthouse with a terrace that was walled-in cement rather than the typical iron balcony railing, which he wouldn’t have trusted was safe enough for eighteen-month-old Abella, even though he knew she would never be outside on her own. But securely enclosed, Zander could create a little play area out here for her so that she could get plenty of the fresh sea air. He’d just need a patio umbrella or other covering to shelter her from the strength of the sun.

He shook his head to himself. A year ago Zander was an unattached bachelor, much to his mother’s chagrin, with thoughts only of what suited him. He rotated his life between time spent in his native Charlegin, his apartment in Paris’s tony Sixth Arrondissement and his travels throughout the world on behalf of his charitable endeavors.

Now his mind was on baby-safe balconies.

Stepping back into the penthouse’s sitting room, he watched the deliveries arriving. Movers carried in the petal-pink upholstered rocking chair he’d had sent from his apartment in Paris. Rather than buying one here in Cannes, he wanted the exact chair that Abella had become comfortable with. Truth be told, he was accustomed to it, too. He loved quietly sitting in that chair with her.

Yes, one of the most eligible playboys in Europe now found himself preferring to rock baby Abella in his arms than cavorting with the high society he’d always been surrounded by. And Zander was keenly aware of the realness exchanged between them in those moments.

Heading toward the master bedroom suite, he saw Iris, a compact woman in her sixties who had been Abella’s nanny since the day she was born. “Is she asleep?”

“She’s just starting to rouse.”

There went that funny tap in the center of Zander’s chest. It was a sensation that had arrived around a year ago. The mere thought of seeing Abella pulled at his heart. Her cherubic pink cheeks and that cute way she stretched her back after a nap as if she’d been farming in the fields all day.

“The wardrobe is here,” one of his assistants announced as Zander entered the master suite. “I believe you wanted to go over it.”

Zander didn’t really envision himself as fussy when it came to clothes. But with all the charitable organizations he endorsed and all of the fund-raising benefits and balls he attended, his wardrobe had to be appropriate. He’d come to Cannes for the spring social season and would be attending a dozen formal events and countless others that called for business attire. Even the black slacks and black shirt he wore at the moment were bespoke from the finest tailor in London.

“Create a file for me of what I’m wearing from head to toe for each event so that I don’t have to think about it on that given day,” he instructed the assistant. With Abella’s care always on his mind, it was more important than ever that he simplify everything else. Plus, while in Cannes he planned to devote himself to chairing the APCF gala and making it the event of the season, and he needed as much time as possible to do so.

In fact, he’d be leaving the penthouse soon to go to the APCF office to meet with the event manager there. The agency’s director, Felice, had informed him that the previous manager had suddenly left. Zander hoped his replacement would be up to the task of creating the kind of spectacular evening he had in mind.

If there was one thing Zander knew about, it was raising money. He made a great deal of public appearances to support good works all over the world. He gave his time and his notability freely, making it his life’s work in fact. Now it was payback time. He expected many of his wealthy friends and acquaintances to donate generously to the APCF gala.

“I’ll wear the white-jacketed tux for the Clean Water for Africa fund-raiser,” he began. Most of the tuxedos were all black. One had traditional notch lapels, another a thin shawl collar that gave it a retro look. “This one for the cocktail reception with the film festival judges.”

Another was made of velvet, a fabric that was considered very chic right now although Zander wasn’t convinced it suited him. He didn’t assign that one to an evening. There was the two-button he’d wear with a black shirt. Then the charcoal with the double-breasted jacket, the navy with the black lapels that he quite liked, the all-navy one and the peak-lapel gunmetal gray.

“White shirt with everything but the two-button.”

Finally, he inspected the unusual tuxedo for the Mexican-themed gala that his stylist had ordered. With heavy black embroidery atop the shinier black fabric of the jacket’s lapels, it was a unique piece that would fit well with the evening.

After rattling off instructions for everything from cuff links to socks, Zander turned to the second closet. There were a dozen suits with coordinating shirts, ties and shoes. Casual clothes suitable for boating or country drives. Golf and tennis wear. Beach attire. Everything was in order.

Except his mind. Thoughts of the constant socializing and the superficial women who gravitated toward him, who cared only about what they could get from him, all felt so stale. Maybe it was the baby, but a longing was starting to grow in him. For something different. Something new.

He’d 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 know why he left so suddenly?”

“I was expecting you to have the answer to that question.”

“I’m sorry I don’t.”

Marie brushed her bangs to the side and tamped down her hair. She didn’t know why she was nervous around this man, other than that he was the gala chair. It wasn’t just that he was good-looking. Maybe it was that he had an undeniable air of style and class about him. Which was something Marie always admired in people. Traits that she surely knew nothing about, having grown up in whatever was the opposite of grace and refinement.

Wow, Zander de Nellay was tall. Fairly petite herself, Marie had to lean her head back to see his eyes. Although she didn’t like his expression when he looked down at her. Because she imagined he was looking down at her.

And she’d sure as heck had enough of that in her life.

Marie reminded herself that she was projecting that onto Zander. She didn’t know him well enough to be able to read his thoughts on anything, and he didn’t know anything about her. A man like him, chair of a huge charity event, wearer of fine clothes, possessor of a splendid face, probably wasn’t even thinking about how inexpensive Marie’s trousers were or that she needed a haircut.

“Can I offer you a water or a coffee?” Felice had stressed that she was to do everything she could to assist Zander.

“I brought some.” He placed his computer bag onto one of the chairs around the meeting table and pulled out his laptop and a bottle of gourmet sparkling water. “Do you have cups?”

Marie looked around the office she’d not yet had a minute to personalize. Near the telephone was a stack of disposable cups. “It seems I do,” she reported and reached for them.

Zander twisted the cap off the bottle with a flourish Marie couldn’t help but note. When a bit of carbonation from inside was set free, it hissed. Which was exactly how Marie was starting to feel in Zander’s presence. Like she might need to let out some bubbles soon so as not to explode.

After the drinks were poured and Zander had booted up his laptop, they began.

“Why don’t you bring your chair closer and we can work from my screen?” he suggested.

Even though she’d been in the exact same configuration with Felice earlier in the day, sitting next to Zander was another proposition entirely. Her awareness of him was palpable. His entire body emanated warmth. It hadn’t been coming from just his palm when he’d shaken her hand.

Her fists opened and closed involuntarily.

Zander reached in his bag for something else. But when he glanced at what he retrieved, a quick smirk flashed across his face and he stuffed whatever it was back in. A second dig yielded the USB drive he’d been searching for. Naturally, curiosity racked Marie as to what the first item was.

“As I understand it,” he said while reading, “the components are venue, theme, invitations, arrivals. Then there is food and beverages, rentals of tables and chairs, tableware, bar setup, buffets. Flowers, linens, tech, photography, band, auction, speeches and volunteers.”

“The venue is booked and invitations have been sent, according to Jic’s notes.”

“Yes, months ago. Have you seen them?”

“No, I’ve only just started on the job today.”

“There’s no need to make excuses. I was merely asking if you’d seen them.”

“I’m sorry. I hope they’re in one of these boxes.” Marie pointed to the disarray she’d inherited on her desk.

“And no need to apologize.” Zander reached into his bag again and located one of the invitations. He handed it to Marie.

Wants what he wants. Marie reread Jic’s note about Zander. That was fine. Marie was detail oriented, too. That’s how she’d gotten as far as she had in the APCF agency. By learning to be diligent. Not a skill she’d had any example of growing up. Except maybe toward all the wrong things.

The lavender cardstock invitation had all of the basic information. The name of the mansion that had been converted into a party location. The event date and time.

“I thought of these as more of a save the date kind of announcement,” Zander commented. “They have no pizzazz. And they don’t mention the theme.”

“Had a theme been decided on? I don’t see anything about it in my notes.”

“No. And with three weeks to go, it’s rather late in the game to be planning a big theme. But we must. I want this to be one of the most successful benefits of the social season. We have to pull out all of the stops.”

Marie only theoretically understood what Zander was saying. She’d heard of lavish balls in which moneyed guests came dressed as animals or as gangsters from the 1920s. High concepts that were designed to make the evening as impressive as it could be. With the idea that would bring in the highest donations, sponsorships and auction proceeds.

“I’ve only been associated with this organization for a year myself,” Zander said as he scrolled through his files. “Has the annual APCF gala utilized a theme in the past? How big were the previous galas?”

“I don’t know. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can with that information.”

“I understand that the APCF’s invitation list is five hundred. And I’ve added my own personal five hundred. Has the agency hosted a fund-raiser of that size before?”

“I’ll get the answer to that as soon as I can.”

“How do you not know this? Didn’t they brief you?”

“I’m sorry,” Marie started again, but was getting pretty tired of apologizing. “As soon as I gather all of the information, I’ll report back to you.” Felice hadn’t had time to fill her in on the history of the galas and Zander being so on top of everything was very intimidating.

No matter how big an event this was going to be, Marie knew she could get the job done once she had a grasp on it. It was crucial that she show Felice and the other agency bigwigs that she was capable of this position. It was time for her to take a next step up in her career, and this was an unexpected opportunity for her to show what she could do.

Proving naysayers wrong was something she’d spent a lot of her life doing. Frustration crinkled her face when she wondered if she’d ever be finished selling herself to others. Who usually doubted her from the start.

“All right.” Zander made some sort of internal decision and proclamation. He transmitted full authority in every word he said, every gesture he made. Whoever he was other than chairperson for this gala, he was a force to be reckoned with. That’s the kind of person Marie wanted to be. Maybe she could learn something from him. “We need to get you up to speed, and immediately.”

“Yes.”

Zander tapped a number into his phone. “Iris, are you able to manage until this evening?”

Whoever Iris was and whatever she was telling him made him grin. And my, a smiling Zander de Nellay was a sight to behold. No wonder his chairing this gala was such a big deal. That smile could coax a wallet right out of its pocket.

Finishing the call, he returned his attention to Marie. “I’m starved. Let’s go get some food. We’ll work through the files and see where we are on every component,” he commanded as if his will was always obeyed. One thing was for sure. Zander was the most compelling man Marie had ever met.

CHAPTER TWO

HALF OF ZANDER’S mind was on Marie Paquet, the young woman beside him as they left the APCF office and walked toward the center of town. The rest of his brain was on Abella, the not yet two-foot-tall girl who was the most important person in the world to him. When he’d called home, Iris let him know that everything was under control at the penthouse so that he didn’t have to worry about rushing back.

That was a relief, what with the moving people and deliveries coming through, and Abella’s needs to be considered. He made a mental note to give Iris some extra days off with pay once they were all settled in. A funny little trio, he, the baby niece and the widowed nanny. But a working unit nonetheless.

To the matter of the gala, he’d yet to conclude whether Marie was going to be a help or a hindrance. She seemed oddly unaware of his royal status so he’d made a point of not telling her. Because as soon as people found out, they acted differently around him. Either nervous to the point of flubbing up simple tasks, or going into overdrive to be perfect. Most people were flustered in the company of His Highness Prince Zander de Nellay of Charlegin.

It was surprising that she didn’t know who he was, but it seemed there were a lot of gaps in what she’d been informed of. So at least in this first encounter, he’d let her think of him only as the event chair whom she had to satisfy, without the added distraction and onus of his title. Perhaps they’d get to know each other a bit first.

He’d come off brusque when they’d met in the office. No one could blame him, though, for being frustrated that, while he was responsible for this crucial fund-raising gala, the agency had undergone a personnel change and Marie, the replacement, was unapprised on more than just his identity.

“Do you know a place?” she asked, reshuffling the weight of a tote bag filled with paperwork on one shoulder and her laptop under the other arm.

“This way.”

Reaching over to take Marie’s bag off her shoulder, an unexpected sensation greeted him. As his fingertips grazed the thin fabric of her blouse in the process, Zander stiffened a little bit. His body suddenly piqued with alertness. For a good twenty paces after that, he was unable to divert his thoughts from wondering what the skin under that white shirt of Marie’s might feel like if he slipped his hand underneath it. Soft as satin, he was sure of it.

It was a strange fascination. He hadn’t felt curiosity about a woman in a long time.

“Do you live in Cannes?” Marie brought him back to the moment with her question, looking up to him with her big and almost completely round light blue eyes.

“I come down for the social season every spring.”

“Down from where?”

“I keep an apartment in Paris. And my home is in Charlegin.”

“Where is that?”

“It’s a small principality near the Belgium border.”

“What do you do there?”

Mashing his lips together, he suppressed a response. He wasn’t used to being asked such direct inquiries. Once people knew who he was, they usually became tongue-tied or fluffed on about the weather or the rosebushes. Marie’s candor was intriguing, if unknowingly inappropriate.

“I’m involved in several charitable organizations,” he answered in absolute truth. “May I?” He gestured at her laptop, taking it and slipping it into his bag alongside his own computer.

Tucking it in, his fingers again made contact with the incongruous item he had encountered when looking for the USB drive while he and Marie were still at the office. Inadvertently squeezing the malleable plastic, a quack sound echoed through the leather. How one of Abella’s bath toys, the squidgy yellow duck, ended up in his bag he’d never know.

“What was that?” Marie asked in response to the sound.

“Oh, nothing.” He wasn’t ready to explain just yet, having learned the hard way that women tended to ooh and aah when they found out that the eligible prince was caring for a baby. And then tried to convince him that by decree of their gender they could do a better job of it than he was. When, in his experience, they were only trying to take care of themselves by worming their way into his world.

A hurtful pang reminded him that only a few months ago he’d been duped into just that.

Nothing about Marie suggested she was of that breed. But he wasn’t going to be deceived, or put Abella’s safety in jeopardy, ever again.

He led them to a pedestrians-only block where every other business was a café. Outdoor tables extended as far as the eye could see, each shaded from the sun with cloth awnings or umbrellas in a riot of colors. People sat chatting in groups, nursing aperitifs. Romantic couples leaned in close as they shared pastries.

Picking one of the cafés he thought he remembered from his time here last year, Zander instructed the hostess to seat them at one of the outside tables. With a pull on Marie’s chair, he helped her sit and then took the wicker chair opposite her.

“Café au lait?” he suggested and after her confirmation, he ordered when the waiter arrived.

Quickly perusing the menu, he chose an herbed omelet. Marie took a bit longer to decide but once the waiter returned with the coffees, they had both made their selections.

“This is so scenic,” Marie said as she surveyed the panorama from the café’s patio. Palm trees dotted the horizon beyond the low buildings that lined the block. The air was clean and the sky was blue.

“Yes, Cannes is a very special place. Where are you from?”

She hesitated before answering. “North Marseilles, originally. But I was working for the APCF in Toulouse before this.”

“And you’ve been called to service in Cannes.”

“It’s a great opportunity for me.”

“You have no children? Parents? No husband or boyfriend to consider in a relocation?”

Marie looked downward before lifting her head only slightly and answering through her eyelashes. “No. It’s just me.”

Zander felt a bloom in his gut at finding out that Marie was unattached. Which was ridiculous, as if his body was betraying him. What matter was it of his whether Marie was married or spoken for?

Perhaps he was just curious. Just a year ago he was the playboy bachelor entrenched in the social scene of young royals. Where he spent his days, and nights, in the company of stunning women.

Until the world as Prince Zander knew it came crashing down. When his sister, Princess Elise, and her husband, Prince Valentin, were killed in a plane crash. And Abella, at the time six months old, was put in Zander’s care.

The peculiar thing was, shifting from the jet-setter who dated the most desirable women in the most exotic places and enjoyed enviable pursuits of leisure was a much easier change than anyone would have guessed.

Truthfully, Zander had become tired of romping around. He was especially worn down by the people he met who were interested only in his title and his standing. Who never saw him for who he really was, what he cared about inside. As was personified by the one mistaken go-round with the woman who confirmed all of his suspicions.

After that, it was crystal clear. Tragedy was the catalyst for short-circuiting Prince Zander’s lifestyle. But it was as easy as flipping a switch for him to turn his attention to one female and one female only. One who was hopefully eating her diced peaches before readying herself for a sleep.

His sister, Elise, was two years older than him, the firstborn. Which meant that Abella, her only child, was the crown princess and heir to the throne. Zander was responsible for raising not only a child, but the future ruler of their native Charlegin.

It all added up to why Zander had toy duckies in his briefcase and diced peaches on his mind. He could have hardly been bestowed a more important task than caring for Abella. Which provided a reason for him to stop surrounding himself with untrustworthy people whom he didn’t even really know. He had to be very cautious with whom he brought into his orbit now, as he had the baby princess to protect.

Which was why, Zander reflected as the waiter delivered the food, the personal life of this lovely Mademoiselle Marie across the table from him should be of no interest of his.

So why was it?

Zander thought he’d seen a wash of sadness come across Marie’s face when he asked if there were people in her life she was concerned about leaving behind in Toulouse.

With those 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 knowing if they were being treated right? Which type was Zander? How was he raised? Did he have children?

“Do you have children?” she couldn’t help asking even though he had been cryptic when she pried into what he did for a living.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Only the important ones.”

That simply drew a chuckle from him, those dark-as-night eyes taking on a bit of glisten.

Which got her out of a tight spot. Because she wasn’t one to answer the big questions, so it wasn’t fair of her to ask them.

* * *

Marie’s heart thumped in double time to her steps on the way back to the office. Zander was simply the most stimulating company she’d ever been in! She’d never met anyone like him. He was so sure of himself and he had an unending stream of ideas to which he encouraged discussion. She actually felt a bit slow-witted around him, though she imagined it was his innate confidence that contributed to his panache.

Not to mention how stunning he was, with those piercing eyes that caught her every hesitation, every pause, every downward glance. He read right into her. He was going to be hard to hide from. And Marie had plenty to hide.

Once she settled in at the desk in her office, she speculated on how someone became a self-assured and successful person like Zander. With her parents long dead, and in working for the good of other orphans, Marie often found herself trying to analyze what kind of upbringing led to a fully functioning adult.

She knew that two people might have grown up with exactly the same opportunities yet one could become accomplished in both vocation and personal relationships. Whereas the other might succumb to crime, substance abuse, mental illness or some other type of marginalized existence. While upbringing was not a complete predictor of someone’s future, it was a start.

Did Zander have a supportive childhood with parents who sheltered him when needed and encouraged risk when that was what was called for? She couldn’t help but ponder about his background. Along with what it might be like to be held in his big, long arms, though she chastised herself for that inappropriate thought as soon as she had it. Yet she simply couldn’t stop imagining being enveloped by him, swept into his sureness, giving her a sense of belonging her rootless past had never allowed.

Marie shook her head. Dashing Zander was the event chair for this very fancy benefit she found herself a part of. There wasn’t to be anything personal between the two of them. Zander was a member of the upper class. Men like him didn’t give a second glance to girls like her, who’d had it rough and were just scraping by. Money attracted money, confidence married confidence and so on. Wasn’t that how it went? And what was she doing thinking about marrying anyway? Her love life thus far had just been links in a chain of the disappointment she had always known.

Starting with the top one, Marie moved the boxes that were on her desk and stacked them into a corner on the floor. She needed a workspace. Picking up the office phone with its many buttons, she called the front desk to find out what Felice’s phone extension was. And left a message that she was available for the end-of-the-day meeting they’d agreed upon.

Before they parted Zander had asked her if she could continue working tonight and said that he’d send his driver at seven. So she’d need to finish up with Felice at the office and then go to her room to change into something more appropriate for the evening. Zander hadn’t mentioned where his driver would be taking her.

After skimming through the files, Marie had a better sense of the agency’s events. Some of the paperwork was from a year ago, some from five. It was a daunting prospect to have to sort through it all. She’d get to it as she could, but Felice had stressed to her that the gala was the number one priority.

Marie bit her lip, thinking again that being forced to spend lots of her time with Zander on this gala was one heck of a high-quality problem to have. Although she needed to tamp down her attraction to him, and fast!

“How did the meeting go?” Felice entered her office and closed the door. Marie looked up from the notes she was reviewing.

“Well, I think. He wants to meet with me again tonight to go into more detail.”

“And you’re available I hope?”

Marie bit back a snicker. Why wouldn’t she be available? When she’d arrived this morning, she’d dropped off her suitcases and come straight to the office. And with no guarantees that she be promoted to the job permanently, she wouldn’t even be giving up her room in Toulouse just yet. In short, Marie Paquet’s life was in complete flux. Evening plans were the last thing on her mind.

“You’ll need to devote yourself to Zander for the time being,” Felice continued. The words devote yourself to Zander crawled down Marie’s back, making her twitch in her seat. Devotion wasn’t hard to imagine.

Perhaps there was already someone who had devoted herself to him. In fact, why on earth wouldn’t there be? A smart and sophisticated man like him would surely have devotees lined up around the block. For all she knew, he was married or spoken for. Who was the Iris he had been talking to on the phone earlier today?

Regardless, Marie’s task was to render this gala to everyone’s satisfaction. Not to pry into Zander’s relationship status.

“He talked to me about how extravagant he wants this to be. Something about being on par with the great balls of Venice. Do we have party vendors that can pull off something that ambitious?”

“This is Cannes,” Felice assured. “This town knows how to throw a party better than most of the world. Of course, we have event partners up to the task.”

Felice tapped into her phone. Once the ring began, she placed it on Marie’s desk and hit the speaker button.

“Chef Jean Luc Malmond.”

“Jean Luc, Felice here at the APCF.”

“Felice, my sweet.”

“We’ve had a bit of a staff shake-up here. And we’re not entirely clear what has been settled upon for the gala’s menu.”

“Let me pull up my notes.”

“And I have you on speakerphone with Marie Paquet, who will be our liaison for the event.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“You, too. On the phone, that is.”

“As you know we have Zander de Nellay as event chair,” Felice said to Jean Luc. “He wants to go lavish. I’m not sure Marie’s predecessor had a grasp on the scale of the event.”

“One thousand guests at the mansion,” Marie added. That headcount was far larger than anything she’d ever worked on before. She was excited by the challenge. Among other things.

“I see we talked about starting with waiters passing hors d’oeuvres on trays during the cocktail hour,” Jean Luc reported. “Then we seat the guests for a soup course. Followed by the entrée course with wine. Then a salad. Afterward, dessert buffets stationed at several locations in the ballroom. Continuous cocktail service in the great hall, ancillary salons and on the lawn.”

“Do you have that, Marie?” Felice asked her across the desk. “You can discuss this with Zander when you meet with him tonight. See if he likes that basic outline.”

“Got it.”

“Jean Luc, I’m going to have Marie call you to set up a meeting this week.”

“Yes, let’s finalize as soon as possible. With the social season upon us, I’m like a decapitated chicken.” Jean Luc let go of a laugh.

After they got off the phone, Felice helped Marie make a list of points to discuss with Zander when she saw him later.

Intrigue still nagged at Marie.

She sensed something a bit mysterious about Zander. For example, he never directly answered her innocent-enough query about what he did for work, saying only that he was affiliated with several charities.

“Felice, what does Zander do for a living?”

“Do?” Felice looked at her like she had just arrived from Mars. Marie wanted to impress the director by having all the information, but nothing in the notes said anything specifically about that. “You mean other than his royal duties?”

“Royal duties?” Marie’s shoulders arched back.

“Marie, His Highness Zander de Nellay is a prince. He’s the son of His Serene Highness Prince Hugh and Princess Claudine of Charlegin.”

Marie’s fists opened and closed. She’d just had lunch at an outdoor café with a prince? Obviously, a poor orphan from the meanest streets in North Marseilles had never met a member of royalty before.

She’d seen enough of the royals who were always on television and in magazines to know that they didn’t wear regalia and crowns every time they were seen in public. Still, there was nothing about Zander, nor had he said anything, to give her any indication that he was a prince.

A prince!

“Felice, I didn’t know. It wasn’t anywhere in Jic’s paperwork.” Although she remembered in a handwritten note Jic had doodled a crown above Zander’s name. Hardly a clear communiqué, but now it made sense.

“I assumed you knew, therefore it never occurred to me to mention it.”

She’d be working on this gala with a prince! Why hadn’t he told her who he was? It seemed like he went out of his way not to mention it.

When she saw him tonight, should she tell him that she’d only just found out? Or should she let it remain unspoken as if it was something she’d already known? Nothing in her previous reference taught her protocol for this sort of thing.

“His Highness Prince Zander de Nellay of Charlegin.” Marie said it out loud to try it on for size. He’d mentioned his homeland but not that his family were the rulers there!

“It’s a small principality reigned over by a prince rather than a king. Surely you heard the news a year ago when Zander’s sister, Elise, who was the crown princess, and her husband were killed in a plane crash?”

Once Felice began to explain, Marie vaguely remembered hearing about that tragedy on the news. At the time she hadn’t heard of Charlegin and had forgotten all about it. Royal comings and goings were of no interest to her. But she recalled the photo that had been shown on the news of Elise, a beautiful woman who, now that Marie thought about it, had those dark almond-shaped eyes the same as Zander.

“Is there a specific reason the prince is affiliated with the APCF and chairing our gala?”

“Alain really didn’t fill you in, did he? Princess Elise and her husband, Prince Valentin, had a baby girl. She was left an orphan. Zander has taken her in. Princess Abella de Nellay is the next heir to the Charlegin throne.”

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