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*****
Nancy's imagination immediately sprinted to the darkest corners of the entertainment industry. She was a veteran of Los Angeles; she knew exactly how treacherous, perverse, and exploitative high society could be. The idea of a wealthy, powerful older woman inviting her beautiful, eleven-year-old nephew to a private hotel suite in a tuxedo made her stomach violently churn.
"Is there a woman up there?" Nancy demanded, grabbing Marvin by the shoulders, her voice trembling with genuine, fierce terror. "Marvin, tell me right now. Did someone—"
Marvin's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He actually took a step back, breaking her grip.
"Aunt Nancy, that is going entirely too far!" Marvin exclaimed, genuinely shocked by the dark trajectory of her thoughts. "Thinking like that is crossing a massive line!"
"I am your aunt!" Nancy fired back, her eyes shining with unshed, terrified tears. "It is my job to cross lines to keep you safe!"
"There is indeed a woman up there," Marvin sighed, softening his tone when he realized her anger was born entirely of profound, familial love. "But Aunt Nancy, please. What are you thinking? I am only eleven years old!"
Nancy folded her arms tightly, glaring at him, entirely unconvinced. "It is precisely because you are eleven that I am worried to death! This industry is full of monsters, Marvin. So... what happened? You just… chatted?"
"Yes. We chatted."
"Just chatting?" Nancy pressed, her eyes scanning him for any sign of distress.
"We had a lovely dinner together," Marvin amended, walking over to the minibar to pour himself a glass of water. "I had the sea bass."
"Is there anything else?" Nancy asked, refusing to drop her guard.
"Uh, well, yes," Marvin said, taking a sip. "I hummed a few of my own original musical compositions for her, and she said she would contact her executives at EMI and Virgin Records tomorrow to help me release a debut album."
Nancy froze. The sheer absurdity of the statement momentarily derailed her panic.
"What? You compose music now?" Nancy asked, rubbing her temples, feeling like she had whiplash. Then, the protective paranoia rushed right back in. "Wait. They want to help you release a record? Marvin, listen to me very carefully. You haven't seen how treacherous and vile this society can be. You absolutely cannot trust the promises of strangers!"
She marched across the room, her expression hardening into absolute stone.
"This is exactly how they operate," Nancy warned him, her voice a fierce, protective hiss. "Who knows what ulterior motives this woman might have? They dangle the promise of fame, or a record deal, trying to use your ambition to lure you into doing things that you should absolutely not be doing at your age! I won't allow it!"
Marvin couldn't help it. He chuckled. The sound was warm, rich, and entirely devoid of fear. "Aunt Nancy, you don't need to be so subtle," Marvin said, offering her a soft, reassuring smile. "I understand exactly what you are implying. But you don't need to worry. No one in this world is capable of fooling me."
"Heh!" Nancy sneered, throwing her hands up in the air. "Is that so? Mr. Untouchable? Then tell me, who exactly is this mysterious patron upstairs?"
"She isn't a fraudster, Aunt Nancy," Marvin said reasonably, setting his glass down. "Nor is she a predator with ulterior motives. In fact, you actually know the lady upstairs."
Nancy paused, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. "I know her? No one I know has traveled to London recently. And if they did, why on earth would they contact my eleven-year-old nephew instead of me? Marvin, are you kidding me?"
"I am completely serious," Marvin said, turning to face her fully. "And they contacted me because she heard me singing from her balcony."
"Who is it, Marvin?" Nancy demanded, her patience entirely exhausted.
Marvin looked her dead in the eyes, offering a faint, triumphant smirk.
"The person staying in the Presidential Suite upstairs," Marvin stated clearly, "is Diana."
"Diana?" Nancy frowned.
"Diana who? The costume designer?"
"No, Aunt Nancy," Marvin corrected gently.
"Princess Diana."
"What!"
Nancy's jaw unhinged. The anger, the panic, the protective maternal terror—it all vanished in a singular, apocalyptic flash of shock. Her knees actually buckled slightly, forcing her to grab the back of the velvet sofa for support.
She stared at the boy in the tuxedo, her brain completely short-circuiting as it tried to process the fact that her eleven-year-old nephew had just spent the last two hours having a private, dinner with the Princess of Wales, and walked away with a record deal.
Once again, Marvin Meyers had left Nancy Meyers utterly speechless.
---
"You're saying the person you chatted with all night was Ms. Diana?!"
Nancy's voice hit a pitch that threatened to shatter the crystal glassware in the minibar. She took a step forward, her eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated disbelief.
"The former Princess of England?!" she gasped, grabbing the back of the velvet sofa for physical support. "The 'People's Princess'? That Diana?!"
Marvin casually unbuttoned his collar, loosening the silk bowtie of his tuxedo. He walked over to the armchair and sat down with the exhausted, elegant grace of a Victorian lord.
"Yes, Aunt Nancy," Marvin sighed, offering her a dry, highly amused smile. "It is her. The Princess of Wales. Now please, close your mouth. Your jaw is practically resting on the carpet, and it is entirely unbecoming of a Hollywood director."
Ignoring Marvin's perfectly timed jab, Nancy immediately shifted into crisis-management mode. She began pacing the floor of the suite, her mind racing through a hundred different paranoid scenarios.
"Are you absolutely sure?" Nancy demanded, stopping to point a trembling finger at him.
"Marvin, look at me. There are professional lookalikes in this city! There are high-end grifters who prey on wealthy American tourists!"
"Please, Aunt Nancy, give me a little credit. I am not face-blind," Marvin replied smoothly, crossing his legs. "Besides, let us apply some basic, brutal pragmatism to the situation. She invited me upstairs because she was captivated by my singing on the balcony. She doesn't even know my worth. In fact, no one in the world knows who I am outside of our immediate family and the Disney studio executives."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, his ocean-blue eyes piercing through her panic. "I am currently just an eleven-year-old boy shooting a family comedy. I am a ghost to the global paparazzi. I am hardly worth the time or the elaborate setup. No international con artist is going to spend five thousand pounds a night on the Harlequin Presidential Suite just to run a scam on a child actor."
Nancy stopped pacing. She stood frozen in the center of the room, her Hollywood-honed logic finally catching up with the facts.
"Hmm… that makes terrifying sense," Nancy stroked her chin thoughtfully, the adrenaline slowly leaving her system. "You are completely new to London. You haven't officially debuted, so you aren't famous yet. Not many people know the name Marvin Meyers is you. It's highly unlikely that anyone would go to such elaborate, expensive lengths just to deal with you…"
"It really is Diana," Marvin confirmed softly.
"It couldn't be more real! No one can imitate that specific temperament," Marvin added with a charming, knowing wink. "The absolute vulnerability mixed with the heart of gold. She is the definitive English Rose."
"Haha, you cheeky brat," Nancy breathed, finally letting out a massive, shaky exhale. A brilliant, starry-eyed smile suddenly broke across her face. "My God, you make sense. It's actually her."
Nancy clapped her hands together, the protective aunt instantly vanishing, completely replaced by a star-struck fan. She practically sprinted over to the armchair, sitting on the edge of the coffee table so she was eye-level with him.
"Tell me everything," Nancy demanded, her eyes shining with manic interest. "What did you two talk about for two hours? Why on earth did Her Highness the Princess offer to help you release a record?"
"Diana," Marvin corrected, his tone suddenly sharp and authoritative.
"What?" Nancy blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his aura.
"Please address her as Ms. Diana, or Madam," Marvin instructed, his voice carrying the weight of ancient wisdom. "She does not like being called 'Princess' anymore. The royal establishment formally stripped her of the 'Her Royal Highness' styling during the divorce proceedings in August. Calling her a princess to her face is merely a reminder of the gilded cage she just fought so brutally to escape. She is trying to reclaim her humanity, Aunt Nancy. We will respect that."
Nancy stared at her nephew, completely awestruck by his profound emotional intelligence. Most adults couldn't comprehend the psychological nuances of the British monarchy, yet this eleven-year-old was dissecting the trauma of the world's most famous woman with surgical precision.
"Well... I now believe that the person you saw was indeed the Princess—no, excuse me, Ms. Diana," Nancy murmured, profoundly humbled.
Satisfied, Marvin leaned back and recounted the carefully curated highlights of his evening. He explained how they had discussed the absurdities of Hollywood, the isolating nature of fame, the foreign press, and how his impromptu melody had moved her to tears.
Nancy listened with rapt attention, a broad, incredibly proud smile stretching across her face.
"My God, Marvin," Nancy whispered reverently. "You've completely won the favor of Ms. Diana. And she really said she'd personally make a record for you?"
"No, Aunt Nancy, are you even listening to the logistics?" Marvin sighed, somewhat speechless. His aunt was clearly too excited to process the business side of the conversation.
"She is not making the record. She offered an introduction. She is going to leverage her personal contacts at EMI and Virgin Records to secure a meeting for me. And she is still considering the best approach; she won't give me a definitive answer until tomorrow evening."
"Oh, that's brilliant! That's even better!" Nancy gasped, completely ignoring his exasperation.
She suddenly stood up, a terrifying, manic gleam returning to her eyes. "Hmm. I've decided. The crew is ahead of schedule anyway. I am calling a mandatory day off tomorrow. I will accompany you to see Ms. Diana when she delivers her answer."
"Aunt Nancy—"
"Marvin, you are just a child!" Nancy interrupted, wielding her legal authority like a broadsword. "You cannot negotiate international music distribution deals with the British aristocracy alone! You need a legal guardian to be present when you talk about these high-level contracts. It is for your own protection!"
Marvin stared at her. He knew she didn't care about the contracts. She just desperately wanted to meet Diana.
Nancy didn't even wait for his rebuttal. She was already lost in her own frantic world, pacing the room and muttering a rapid-fire checklist to herself.
"Well, I need to prepare a dress. A proper dress, not set clothes," Nancy mumbled, biting her thumbnail. "And a camera. I need my Polaroid. And a thick silver marker. I want to take a picture with Ms. Diana and ask her to sign it. Oh, right! I also need to prepare a proper gift! I can't just walk into the Harlequin Suite empty-handed; it would be horribly impolite for our first meeting."
She stopped in front of the ornate mirror, holding her hands up to her face. "What should I wear? My black Armani? No, too severe. The navy Chanel? No, I didn't pack the matching heels. Dammit, I have to go to Oxford Street tomorrow morning. I need to pick out a completely suitable outfit..."
She spun toward the hotel phone. "I'm calling the First AD right now. Give the crew a day off tomorrow. It's just one day, it won't cause any major logistical disruptions..."
Marvin leaned his head back against the armchair, closing his eyes. 'Okay,' he thought, letting out a long, silent breath. It is officially confirmed. 'The ruthless Hollywood director is an absolute, irredeemable fangirl for the English Rose.'
And honestly? Marvin couldn't blame her. When Diana smiled with that genuine, uncorrupted warmth, it was a force of nature.
*****
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