“Live life to the fullest…”

King Eric’s last words had sunk into in his son’s mind and became his personal creed for years. Ever since losing his beloved father, Dominic Redfield had done nothing but follow those words. He filled his life with everything a young man could want: flying around the world; driving fast cars, dating dozens of beautiful, rich women; and partying all night long. It was his way of honoring his father’s dying wish. Still, deep down, the elusive, 30-year old king knew that he still had not found what he had been looking for: the one woman who would sweep him off his feet. Dominic’s girlfriends were stunningly beautiful, but they all felt somewhat alike. They were spoiled, self-centered and extremely greedy. Frustrated and angry, he often wished he had never been born into royalty. In an attempt to find peace, Dominic would go to his attic and devote long hours to his art, gazing outside the window, on the slope of Mont Blanc. Drawing clouds, sunsets, sunrises or doing portraits of his loved ones served as an escape from his reality.

Nevertheless, Dominic had yet another passion, one much more dangerous than painting: Supercars. The rush he would get from driving an insanely fast car felt like no other. Of course, the narrow roads of the highest western mountain in Europe were not suitable for driving fast; most of those cars were a little too wide, but that would not deter him. In fact, in all truth, Dominic preferred those roads, simply because they tested his driving skills much more than the French highways. He already owned more than ten, high-end cars and yet, his lust for them seemed insatiable. On one clear, mid-March afternoon, his latest purchase had just been delivered to him: a black, brand-new, Lamborghini Aventador. Dominic was so eager for it that he had been waiting outside his castle, accompanied by his good friend and confidant, Jean Abidal. And, when the truck finally unloaded its precious cargo, he couldn’t help but smile to himself, watching as the sunlight reflected off the gorgeous supercar.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” as he looked in wonder, pointing at the Lamborghini. “She embodies meticulous attention to detail, a luxurious interior, and seven hundred forty rampaging horsepower.”

“You know what I just heard?” Jean groaned, annoyed by his friend’s remark. “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah… You are boring me, Dominic. You have said those things for every other car you’ve bought.”

“Each and every one of those cars has a soul.” Dominic put a little force in his deep, manly voice. “They want to be driven to the edge.”

“All it takes is one mistake.” Jean raised his index finger to his chest, turning to his friend. “I like those cars, too. They’re everything you said, but you seem to be forgetting something very crucial.”

“What’s that?”

“How unforgiving they can be.” Jean attempted an emphatic tone. “I can’t help but wonder.” He paused. “What can I do to take your mind off them?”

“Nothing,” Dominic shook his head sideways. “I will always love those cars.”

“I beg to differ.” A calculating smile formed on Jean’s face. “There are a lot of things I can do to make you reconsider. First of all, you need to stop living in the shadows, which is why I took the liberty of inviting a reporter here.”

“A reporter?” Dominic squinted at his friend. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You know I don’t get along with them.”

“Juliet Arnot was five years ago, my friend.” Jean smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “Not every reporter would pose as a maid, just to sneak into your house. Despite what you may think, there are some good professionals, like this one.” He added, pulling his cell phone out of his coat pocket. There was a young, smiling blonde on the screen, with a book in her hands, titled:

“Marianne Brewster? She’s…”

“… American.” Jean finished his sentence. “Twenty seven years old, works at the ‘New York Express’. Melanie discovered her about two years ago, when she published that book. It has only sold 687 copies, but she loves it. She and Marianne have become very close. They talk on Facebook every day and spend hours on the phone. Melanie thinks she’s ideal. Judging by the things she says about her, she’s right. She is polite; she knows when to insist and when to stop.”

“I don’t need the attention.” Dominic grumbled. “There are plenty of local vultures. I don’t need any more from overseas.”

“Do you like it when local tabloids say all kinds of nasty things about you?” Jean’s firm tone and his question put him in a difficult position. He did have a point. Quite often, there was false news about him in the French online media. They seemed to love to make up stories about him.

“No.” Dominic sighed, dropping his gaze from his friend’s angry stare. “I just don’t pay attention to them.”

“It’s time you set a few things straight.” Jean lowered his voice. “It’s finally time the world knew what kind of person you are. Okay, maybe you will still attract attention to yourself, but it will be for all the right reasons.”

“Why did you choose her, Jean?” Dominic asked, casting a rapt glance at the cell phone.

“Because, you will find it easier to talk to someone from your own country,” Jean replied, as his friend gave him back his cell phone. “I’ve been planning this since January. Plus, I think a fellow artist would understand you better.”

“She’s a non-fiction writer. As far as I’m concerned, she’s not an artist.” Dominic disagreed, returning his gaze to his friend’s face. “And I don’t think she needs to understand me. She just needs to be discreet for as long as that interview lasts.”

“For the whole seven days.” Jean said with a grin.

“Seven?” Dominic opened his eyes wide in disbelief. “What kind of…?”

“This won’t be a typical interview.” Jean interrupted with a firm tone. “She will live here, study your habits. I’m sorry; I’ve been planning this with her editor for more than a month. He thinks a thorough interview would be ideal for you; I agreed. Do you mind?”

“Well, you should have asked.” Dominic stated. “But, it’s ok. Let’s hope she’s as professional as you think she is. When is she coming?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Jean’s response was quick. “Don’t worry. If she’s not, she will be out of your hair in no time. Something tells me she won’t be, though. Oh, I forgot to tell you. She’s not a non-fiction writer. Her book is about human relationships. I’d tell you more, but, seeing as she will be here shortly, why don’t you talk to her about it?”

“I will.” Dominic nodded, debating whether he should thank his friend or not. He liked Jean’s initiative, even though his plan was rather bold and ambitious. At the same time however, it sounded like an ideal way to change his everyday routine.

I don’t know who that Marianne Brewster is. I want to believe you, Jean. I really do. But, if she’s anything like that sniveling little weasel Juliet, I’ll kick her out myself. What you said about her being an artist got me curious. Her book sounds like another boring, self-help book. What dream are you referring to, Marianne?