Jackie Braun - Exclusive! - Hollywood Life or Royal Wife? / Marriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby! / Sex, Lies and a Security Tape

‘Come in,’ she said brightly, plastering on a smile.

‘How are you feeling, Vic?’ Anne eyed her closely.

‘Fine, thanks. Ready to roll.’

‘Good.’ Anne looked relieved. ‘Then let’s get going. The press are assembled in the main conference room, but we’ll fix your make-up and hair first. Marci’s got your outfit ready.’

Victoria nodded. She would do it. Could do it. Was determined to get through it, and maybe learn to hate it a bit less…She slipped her hand in the pocket of her designer jacket and was reassured by the feel of the extra capsule she’d slipped in as a precaution. Tossing her hair back, she went through the different expressions she’d practised in front of the mirror. Her masks, as she liked to think of them.

Soon they were making their descent in the lift, with Anne delivering last-minute orders on her mobile. The lift doors opened onto the main lobby and it all began again…

‘OKAY,’ ANNE SAID several hours later as they made their way to the Presidential Suite, where Ed was holding a cocktail party, ‘you did great.’

Victoria rolled her eyes. ‘There’s still tonight to get through. I’m dreading it already.’

‘It’ll be fine. Everybody who’s anybody will be at the dinner—it’s an A-list event.’

‘How reassuring,’ she said dryly. ‘Do I have to go?’ she muttered, knowing the answer and lifting the skirt of her gauze embroidered gown to negotiate the stairs. Behind her two private detectives followed her every move, never taking their eyes off the one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-pound diamond necklace and earrings that a top jeweller had lent her for the night.

‘I guess that’s a joke, right?’ Anne queried, her brows shooting up.

Victoria made a face. ‘I suppose.’ She shrugged, and glanced at her bejewelled evening purse to make sure it was securely shut. She could always go to the loo and pop a ‘lifesaver’, as she liked to think of them, if things got sticky.

‘Okay. Remember—be polite and charming and you’ll do just fine. This is your big chance, Victoria—don’t blow it,’ Anne admonished. ‘And, by the way, our financial people want to talk to you about moving residence for tax reasons. Have you heard of a place called Malvarina?’

Victoria frowned. ‘It’s some island somewhere in the Mediterranean, isn’t it?’ she said, still treading carefully so as not to step on the hem of her dress.

‘Yes. And it happens to be a great tax haven too. In fact, tonight you’re seated next to—’

But Anne’s next words were lost as Ed’s large bald figure appeared in the doorway of the Presidential Suite and he swooped Victoria away on his arm. Oh, well, Anne thought to herself. She’d done her best.

She stopped, checked out the room, heard the buzz of voices, high-pitched laughter and the clink of expensive crystal. Victoria would do okay, she assured herself, and with that thought she set out to chat up the reporters who were trying to get exclusives with her charge.

RUNNING A PRINCIPALITY WAS no different from running a large company, Rodolfo reflected, as he stepped out of the lift and headed towards the next event. The need to be present at a seemingly never-ending succession of social occasions such as the Cannes Film Festival bored him. Still, it was definitely bringing in the kind of business the island needed.

His grandfather, the late Prince, had ensured that life in the principality remained very closed and refined. While he was alive only the ancient aristocratic families that had centuries-old residences on the island had been allowed tax breaks. But his grandfather had been dead for three years now, and Rodolfo was doing his damnedest to help his small dominion develop into a modern, self-sufficient state.

Its people needed work which would allow them to stay on the island, instead of having to leave and seek jobs in neighbouring countries. Rodolfo was determined to offer them a better standard of living, and he was sure that it could be achieved by tapping in to the island’s tourist and residency potential. Already many wealthy business people and movie stars, seeking seclusion and privacy, were moving to the island, thanks to the new tax laws he’d 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.