8. Adrien
ADRIEN
W hen Adrien awoke the next morning, he lingered in bed for a while, thinking back to the events of the previous evening.
The dessert had been delicious — just as he remembered it from school, if not better.
There was always a danger that memories could prove false, or that something that had delighted in childhood might well fail to live up to expectations in the present.
But the steamed sponge pudding had delivered the delicious nostalgia Adrien had hoped for, bringing with it memories of a simpler time when no one expected anything of him, and he was free to simply be himself.
Holding up his cellphone, he hovered his finger over the power button, knowing that to press it would bring all his troubles flooding back, but to ignore it would only serve to increase them.
I can’t hide forever.
For a few moments, he lay looking at the blank screen, imagining all that was waiting for him.
A splash from outside brought him back to his senses, and slipping out of bed, he crossed to the window, standing just a little back, wearing nothing but his underwear.
He could see Claire swimming, the red of her bikini visible below the shimmering blue waters below.
Smiling to himself, he watched, but decided not to embarrass her as he’d inadvertently done the day before, even as taking his eyes off her proved difficult.
She swam strongly, with grace and poise, her body gliding effortlessly through the water.
A beautiful woman.
He’d thought the same the night before, surprised at the sudden force of his attraction to her.
She’d listened to him, and, despite her obvious nerves, she’d treated him as an equal — conversed with him without the usual stiff formality he so often encountered.
For a few moments, he did nothing but stand and watch her as she swam towards the headland, shaking his head, as he looked back down at his phone.
But I can’t avoid it forever.
With a sigh, he powered up the cellphone, watching as it buzzed into life with a stream of messages and alerts.
There were messages from his mother — where was he?
Why was he not answering? What had happened between him and the princess?
Grieg would be keeping the palace updated with his movements.
It wasn’t as if he’d just disappeared off the face of the earth.
He had a missed called from the embassy, and a message detailing plans for a royal visit to Spain that was to take place later that summer.
Then there were the news alerts. Adrien knew he should know better than to read stories about himself, but there was a compulsion in it, too…
Playboy prince abandons date… Flandenne scandal… House of Mertens in disarray.
It was all their — reports and speculation, even an “eyewitness” from Le Paradis who claimed they’d seen Adrien and the princess in an almighty row, culminating in her throwing champagne over him.
The stories were wildly untrue, but what did that matter?
They sold newspapers and generated advertising.
“#Playboyprince” was trending. Adrien turned the phone off and tossed it aside. All he wanted was to be left alone.
“Some coffee, Your Highness?” the steward asked, when Adrien sat down to breakfast on deck a short while later.
He’d showered and dressed, emerging from his cabin with the vague hope of encountering Claire returning from her swim. But the breakfast was already laid out, and only the maid and the steward were on deck.
“Yes… a small cup,” Adrien replied.
The day was warm — bright, and with a clear blue sky.
Adrien would swim again and eat. There wasn’t really anything else to do, and having finished his breakfast, the desire for a diversion returned.
He didn’t want to turn on his phone again.
It would only result in further doomscrolling.
He’d read enough about himself already that morning, and, with the steward having cleared the table, Adrien retreated to the upper deck with a book.
He liked to read — history mostly — and was working his way through a recently published history of Flandenne.
His ancestors were an interesting mix of the remarkable and the intolerable.
Flandenne had a bloody past, established during the Thirty Years War as a result of the amalgamation of various Duchies and principalities, it had owed its continued existence to the political skills of its first king, Leopold I.
Adrien was always compared to his paternal ancestor — in looks at least. But he liked to think he, too, would become the skilled diplomat he needed to be, if his country was to prosper.
The strengthening of diplomatic ties with Monaco was part of that project, though Adrien knew he’d never be taken seriously so long as #Playboyprince was trending.
Leopold didn’t have the media to contend with.
The sun was warm, and despite trying his best to concentrate, Adrien found his eyes closing. He was feeling sleepy, and, allowing himself to drift off, he was awakened by the clearing of a throat. Looking up, he found the steward standing in front of him.
“Lunch is served, Your Highness.”
“Ah, very good. I’ll be there shortly,” Adrien replied.
He returned to his cabin to freshen up, emerging onto the deck just as the maid appeared from the galley below, carrying a plate of what looked like tacos. She had a sulky look on her face and set the plate down at the table as Adrien sat down.
“They’re fish tacos with pineapple salsa and chipotle,” she said.
Adrien wondered what had upset her — or who.
“It looks delicious,” he replied, feeling somewhat disappointed Claire hadn’t been the one to deliver it.
The maid nodded, retreating below deck and leaving Adrien alone.
The tacos looked delicious, and went perfectly with the cold glass of wine the steward had served him.
Life on board the Aurora was proving pleasant, if a stark contrast to his normally hectic life.
He’d seen no sign of paparazzi or photographers — there weren’t even any other boats moored in the bay.
Grieg had remained below deck, and with his phone turned off, Adrien almost felt like any normal person enjoying a vacation in the Mediterranean.
Except I’m not normal, am I?
He’d just finished the first of the tacos when footsteps on the steps leading up from the galley announced an interruption.
Looking up, he expected to see the sulky looking maid returned, but, instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see Claire, holding a dish in her hand, and looking somewhat nervous, as though she feared interrupting him.
“I wondered if you’d like some more fish? There’s plenty here. I always make too much. Mr. Bellagio has a good appetite.”
“It’s delicious. I would, yes,” Adrien said, beckoning her forward.
He hadn’t yet finished the tacos, and he wondered if this was but an excuse for her to come on deck.
If it was, he was glad of it, for he’d found himself thinking about her a great deal over the past day.
There was something about her — something different, intriguing, even.
Adrien was bored with the same kind of woman — women like the princess, with their self-entitled ways and unforgiving attitudes.
He liked Claire. She was pretty, but more than that, she interested him, and he was curious to know more about her, as much as he knew what his mother would say if she knew he was taking an interest in a cook…
“It was fresh from the market in Monaco. I just cooked it with some herbs and olive oil. I love tacos. I grew up eating Mexican food — my best friend’s mom was from there. She made the most delicious tamales,” Claire said, as she placed another piece of fish on Adrien’s plate.
“I’ve been to Mexico — unofficially. It was when I was younger. We went to a resort on the east coast. I couldn’t get enough of the food — tacos, tamales, burritos, enchiladas,” Adrien replied, smiling at the memory of a happy vacation spent with his parents.
“I’ll have to make more. I follow a few Mexican chefs on social media. It’s an incredibly diverse cuisine, so it’s no surprise how popular it is. There’re so many Mexican restaurants opening up — in Europe, too,” Claire said.
She had an obvious love of food — it animated her — and Adrien was curious to know what had led her to become a chef.
“What’s your favorite cuisine?” he asked.
Claire thought for a moment, sighing and shaking her head before she replied.
“Well… it’s stupid, I know. And it’s never going to happen.
But I’d love to open my own restaurant — Mediterranean cuisine.
Not a specific country. It’s more the style of cooking — Spain, France, Italy, Greece — simple food, cooked well.
The best ingredients. Bold flavors. If I had my own restaurant, I’d pick a dish from here, and a dish from here.
There’d be no one country on the menu, but lots of influences. That’s my favorite cuisine.”
There was enthusiasm in her tone — an enthusiasm Adrien found endearing.
He liked people with passion, people who had ambitions and dreams. It made him think back to the princess at Le Paradis .
What were her dreams? What was she striving for?
Nothing — apart from a new Chanel suit and another handbag.
But to hear Claire talk brought with it a sense of real drive and determination.
“It’s not stupid at all. And why shouldn’t it happen? You’ve got real talent. Everything you’ve made has been delicious. I can’t fault it. I’d pay good money to eat in your restaurant,” he said.
Claire blushed, but she seemed pleased at the compliment. “You’re just biased because I made that dessert for you.”
There was a mischievousness in her tone — a flirtation, even — and she held Adrien’s gaze as he laughed.
“Well, if you were going to open a restaurant, you’d have to put it on the menu. Then I’d be your first customer.”
“A royal endorsement,” Claire said.
She appeared visibly relaxed. Adrien was glad.
He didn’t want her to behave formally with him.
He liked it when those around him could be free and easy.
There was no reason to stand on ceremony.
He, too, felt relaxed in her company — she had such an easy way about her.
There was nothing false or difficult in their conversation.
What a refreshing change it was from princesses.
“If you were my first customer, I’m sure I’d get plenty more. But… it’s not going to happen. I know you’ll tell me not to be defeatist, but… I just know it won’t. I’m happy here, and when I’m not, I’ll get another job and move on.”
Adrien shook his head. “Don’t give up on your dreams. People like me aren’t allowed to have them. There are days when I wish I could dream,” he replied.
Claire looked at him curiously. “But… haven’t you got everything you could ever want?”
Adrien sighed. That was what everyone thought…
“I have to be the person I’m told to be.
I don’t have a choice. I couldn’t be a doctor, or a professor, or open a big store, or…
anything. I have to be what I am. It was decided on the day I was born — before that, even.
I’m the crown prince of Flandenne, and that means I’ll one day be king.
It’s not a nice thought — waiting for your father to die. I don’t want it, but it’s inevitable.”
Claire looked at him sympathetically. “I hadn’t ever thought about it like that. But you’re right. You don’t get a choice — just a payoff. What would you do if you could do anything?” she asked.
The question caught Adrien off guard. He had dreams, of course, but none he’d ever voiced to anyone. What would the point have been? He blushed, wondering if she’d think it funny if he told her.
“Well, I… actually, I always wanted to be archaeologist. Like Indiana Jones. I love history, you see. I always dreamed of making some wonderful discovery in a far-off place. But it’s not going to happen, is it?”
Claire shrugged. “Not if you don’t make it happen,” she replied.
Adrien smiled at her. “I could say the same to you.”
For a moment, they looked at one another, a smile playing across Claire’s lips, just as the steward returned to check on the wine.
“I should be getting back to the kitchen,” Claire said.
“Don’t forget your dreams,” Adrien replied, speaking as much to himself as to Claire. “We all need them.”