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“So fake it,” he suggests.
“But then what? Win the award for happiest fake couple? Have a couple of fake kids? What good does that do anybody? All a fake marriage does is end in fake divorce, and that just sounds depressing.”
“Right.” Marcus thinks for a minute. “So you need a real person for a real marriage to someone you can really live with, at least for a while.”
I sigh. “Yeah, but when you put it that way, it sounds impossible.”
His eyes widen. “Hey! What about your secretary?”
“Vivienne? You’re joking. She’s so squeaky clean and by the book, she would never go for it.”
“No, no, it’s perfect! She’s already on the payroll, so you could make it a work thing, like a contract marriage. Give her a bonus for hazard pay.”
I shoot him a look.
“And you get a bonus, too. She won’t fall for you.”
“Hey, why wouldn’t she fall for me? I’ve never failed before when I set my mind to someone.”
Marcus rolls his eyes. “She knows you too well. Think about the last time she saw you with another woman. Was it this week?”
Specifically, today.The bathroom pops into my head. “Okay, you may be right. But being married? How would we even pull that off?”
Marcus grins. “It’ll be a contract marriage. You can stipulate anything.”
I can’t believe I’m considering this, but the longer I think about it, the better it sounds. With Vivienne, my father’s request could be less of a nuptial straitjacket and more of an opportunity to extend the fun in a new way.
I think of her gorgeous dark eyes, that bouncy curly hair, and those incredible curves. It might not be so bad getting to know her better. Even platonically, she’ll be nice to look at.
There’s almost no downside. I have to admit, I don’t know her all that well, but there’s no time like the present for getting to know someone. She’s beautiful, smart, funny, and she’s already ridden the royal roller coaster for a long time. If anyone can handle it, she can.
I raise my empty glass toward Marcus in a mock toast. “To Vivienne!”
“To Vivienne!”
6
VIVIENNE
Ifly back to New York early to deal with an emergency. Bree, the lady who fills in for me when we travel, noticed a double booking in the system that I’ll have to handle personally. People don’t like it when they shell out the cash to book a prince, and he doesn’t show up.
When Caesar arrives a couple of days later, we don’t discuss his father, Imelda, or any of it. Truthfully, I don’t want to know. We never speak about his personal life, and I like it that way.
“You have the groundbreaking ceremony at the Garriford Center tomorrow evening, the meeting with the Bryant Park Society on Thursday, and we’re working through a mountain of invitations to galas and dinners, so buckle up.” I brief him on his weekly schedule, but he seems distant.
It must be difficult having a father like his. If my dad were sick, I would be at his bedside, but Caesar has to return to work like nothing happened. There are countries to run and people to rule.
“Hmmm?” He snaps to attention.
“I’ll email you your schedule.” I feel oddly protective of him when he must be going through such a hard time, as if I can keep the world at bay by picking up some of his slack at work.
“What do you think about these curtains?” he asks suddenly.
“I don’t know, sir.” It’s a strange question. Not only has he never asked my opinion about anything, but I’ve never known him to even notice the decor, much less have thoughts about it.
“What about the curtains, sir?”
He shrugs. “Never mind. That’ll be all.”
