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*****
And honestly? Marvin couldn't blame her. When Diana smiled with that genuine, uncorrupted warmth, it was a force of nature.
---
Nancy was a woman of terrifying conviction. She kept her word, waking up the First Assistant Director at midnight to inform the entire production team that the multimillion-dollar film crew would be taking an unexpected hiatus the next day.
The following morning, the skies over London were a crisp, freezing, cloudless blue. The city was alive with the frantic, bustling energy of the gone new year.
Nancy, fueled by a dangerous mixture of espresso and adrenaline, was absolutely delighted to drag Marvin out of the hotel for a "quick stroll" down Oxford Street.
Marvin had severely underestimated the situation. 'Only one dress for the meeting?' he thought bitterly, dodging a crowd of tourists near Selfridges. 'How could I be so foolish? When a wealthy woman decides to shop for a meeting with royalty, what she buys, how much she buys, and how long it takes are governed by laws of physics that no man—mortal or Incubus—can comprehend.'
They hit every high-end boutique in Mayfair. Nancy ruthlessly evaluated silk scarves, cashmere coats, designer heels, and diamond brooches, discarding them with the speed of a military general inspecting troops. She spent an hour in Harvey Nichols just debating the subtle difference between 'egghell' and 'cream' colored blouses.
By the time the sun began to dip below the London skyline, casting long shadows across the historic streets, the trunk of the black luxury sedan they had rented from the Dorchester was entirely packed to the brim with shopping bags.
Nancy slid into the leather backseat, her cheeks flushed with the triumphant, satisfied glow of a successful hunt.
Marvin collapsed into the seat beside her, completely physically and spiritually exhausted. His tailored coat was slightly rumpled, and he felt as though he had just fought a war of attrition.
'Women are infinitely more terrifying than the sun god,' Marvin thought, rubbing his temples as the driver pulled away from the curb. 'You can dodge a divine spear of light, but you cannot dodge a woman asking if a dress makes her look too pale in fluorescent lighting.'
He let out a heavy sigh, leaning his head against the cold glass of the window. 'It was a very good thing it wasn't my money being burned today. If I had been footing the bill for this royal preparation, Nancy would have drained his earnings in a single afternoon.'
---
That evening, the corridors of the Dorchester felt entirely different. The heavy, polished mahogany doors of the Presidential Suite loomed ahead.
Nancy had spent the entire afternoon in a frantic, terrifyingly focused shopping spree, and the results were undeniable. She was dressed in a nice, floor-length amethyst silk gown that draped flawlessly over her figure. Beside her, Marvin mirrored her aesthetic, looking impossibly sharp in a bespoke, deep plum-purple tuxedo with a crisp black lapel. They looked like Hollywood royalty ascending to meet the real thing.
But the moment Mary opened the heavy double doors and ushered them inside, a profound transformation occurred.
Diana stepped into the foyer, wearing a simple yet utterly elegant ivory evening dress, her iconic feathered blonde hair perfectly framing her sea-blue eyes.
Instantly, Nancy Meyers—the ruthless, iron-willed Hollywood producer who routinely screamed at studio executives and commanded hundred-person film crews—completely evaporated. All her formidable "strong women" vanished into thin air. In her place stood a wide-eyed, breathless, completely star-struck fan.
"Wow... it really is you. Ms. Diana," Nancy gasped, practically sticking right up to her, her voice trembling with genuine awe. "I simply never imagined that you would be staying right upstairs from us. It is an absolute honor."
Diana offered a soft, somewhat weary but genuine smile, gently taking Nancy's hand.
"The honor is mine, Nancy. Please, come in," Diana said gracefully. "I came back to London secretly this time. To be perfectly honest, I was truly frightened by the media and the paparazzi following the divorce. I didn't want them to interfere with the charity business I'm conducting. The lengths they go to are terrifying."
Diana shook her head helplessly, leading them toward the sitting area. It was only after she had stripped away the protection of the Crown that she had truly witnessed the horrific, unchained nature of the English tabloid press.
They were relentless.
"They truly stop at nothing," Diana murmured, her eyes darkening slightly with the lingering trauma. "Just yesterday, my security detail swept this very suite and found three separate listening devices planted behind the air vents. I have to guard every word I speak."
Nancy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "My God. That is barbaric."
Diana sighed, but then her expression cleared, and she looked at Nancy with a puzzled, polite expression. "Forgive me, but in all the excitement of Marvin's music last night, he never fully explained your role. May I ask who you are?"
"Oh! I am so sorry, I completely forgot to properly introduce myself," Nancy stammered, frantically trying to regain a shred of her professional composure. "My name is Nancy Meyers. I am Marvin's aunt, and I am also the producer and director of the movie Marvin is currently starring in."
Nancy suddenly remembered the velvet box she had been clutching in her hand. She stepped forward, offering it with both hands. "I also brought you a small token of my immense respect. I hope you will accept it."
Diana held up her hands gently. "Oh, Nancy, there was absolutely no need for gifts. You being here with Marvin is more than enough."
"Please, I insist," Nancy said earnestly. "It's a vintage Cartier amethyst brooch. When I saw it in Mayfair today, the color reminded me of the grace you bring to the world."
Diana's sea-blue eyes softened. She accepted the velvet box with profound grace. "It is exquisite, Nancy. Thank you." She looked back up, her eyes lighting up with newfound, deep respect. "So, you are a director and a producer. A true strong woman in Hollywood. It is a genuine honor to meet you."
The former Princess of Wales had always been a fierce, albeit quiet, supporter of women's true independence—both economically and personally. She had a profound fondness for independent, working women who could navigate male-dominated fields and achieve great things on their own merit.
Diana was not a third-wave feminist; she did not subscribe to the aggressive, anti-men rhetoric that was beginning to echo in some academic circles. Her vision of independence was perfectly encapsulated by her legendary "Revenge Dress" in 1994.
When Charles had publicly admitted his infidelity, Diana hadn't hidden away, nor had she delivered a bitter, hateful speech. Instead, she had stepped out in a breathtaking, form-fitting black silk dress that elegantly emphasized her shoulders and neckline. It was a sharp, devastating departure from the conservative, modest dresses the Palace had forced upon her. By pairing the daring gown with sparkling jewelry and a bold red lip, she had made a monumental fashion statement.
She had taken back her narrative with sheer, undeniable elegance. She had publicly admitted later that she had owned the dress for years but thought it was "too daring." Wearing it was her ultimate declaration of Independence. But even after that declaration, one would hardly see her in those kinds of dresses..
Finding out that the woman sitting across from her was running a big Hollywood production completely delighted Diana.
The two women sat on the velvet sofas and immediately fell into a deep, happy conversation.
Nancy was astonished. She quickly discovered that the Princess of Wales was completely different in private than the manicured, sorrowful figure portrayed by the media.
Without the flashbulbs, Diana was approachable, highly spirited, and incredibly funny. She didn't pay much attention to rigid, aristocratic demeanor; she crossed her legs, threw her head back when she laughed, and spoke with a raw, refreshing honesty.
What Nancy didn't know was that Diana only acted this unguarded around people she felt an immediate, profound safety with.
Nancy was entirely benefiting from Marvin's invisible groundwork. Because Diana's fondness for Marvin was already completely off the charts—her instincts treating the young silly little man with the same fierce, protective warmth she reserved for her two sons—that affection naturally extended to his aunt.
"Marvin, grab the Polaroid!" Nancy ordered excitedly an hour later.
For the next twenty minutes, Marvin acted as the designated photographer, snapping vintage Polaroid pictures as the two women posed together, laughing like schoolgirls.
"I simply cannot believe it," Nancy marveled, looking at a freshly developed photo. "Ms. Diana, you and I both chose to wear purple tonight. And we both absolutely adore Chinese black tea and Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee!"
"And don't forget the Lychees!" Diana laughed, sipping her tea.
"Yes. It is truly a match made in heaven, Nancy." Diana spoke.
Marvin sat quietly in the armchair, sipping his juice, looking at his aunt with deep, cynical suspicion.
'Has Aunt Nancy gone completely mad from the stress of filming 'The Parent Trap'?' Marvin thought to himself, his Incubus senses completely overwhelmed by the sheer, buzzing euphoria radiating from the two women. Has she completely forgotten that she is a terrifying Hollywood executive? Has she forgotten that she's a woman?'
'Or... does looking at the English Rose smile up close simply change a person's entire preference?'
If the second option were true, Marvin might truly believe it. Diana's charm was an entirely mortal, yet devastatingly effective, kind of magic.
By the time Nancy and Marvin finally said their goodbyes and left the Presidential Suite, the two women were exchanging warm hugs, and Diana had explicitly insisted that Nancy refer to her as a personal friend.
The elevator ride down to their floor was filled with Nancy's breathless rambling.
"I never, ever expected that she would be so easy to get along with. No airs, no royal arrogance at all," Nancy clutched the stack of Polaroids to her chest as if they were winning lottery tickets. "My goodness, I took so many photos today. I must pick out the best three, get them professionally enlarged, and hang them directly behind my desk in my Los Angeles office."
She looked down at Marvin, her eyes shining. "They always say, 'Never meet your heroes, they will only disappoint you.' Marvin, they are completely wrong. I loved every single second of it."
Marvin simply nodded, allowing her to float on her cloud.
It wasn't until they were back inside Marvin's suite, and Nancy was carefully laying the Polaroids out on the coffee table to dry, that she suddenly froze.
"Oh, my God," Nancy gasped, slapping her forehead. "The music! I completely forgot the entire reason we went up there!"
"You were entirely too busy discussing how to use my movie premieres to promote her landmine charities," Marvin noted dryly from the sofa. "You were having a great time planning a global philanthropic empire. The music slipped your mind."
"Diana gave me a business card right when we walked in!" Nancy said frantically, patting the smooth silk of her purple gown. "Where did I put it?"
"The inner silk pocket on the right side of your evening jacket," Marvin supplied, glancing at her with a sullen, highly amused look.
"Oh! I remember now. Yes, I found it," Nancy pulled out a thick, embossed piece of cream-colored cardstock. She squinted at the elegant black lettering. "Let me see... Senior Executive Music Producer at EMI Records. Grant Brook."
Nancy blinked, looking up at Marvin. "Wow. Grant. The exact same name as your dad. What a strange coincidence. Just like me and Diana sharing all those hobbies."
She is clearly 'Ms. Diana' or 'Her Highness,' Aunt Nancy. When did she suddenly become just 'Diana' to you? Are you two really that close already?' Marvin muttered to himself, shaking his head at the sheer power of female bonding.
However, Marvin didn't seem to care at all about the fact that the powerful music producer shared a first name with his father.
*****
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