Icing on the Cake (Wild Wedding Series Book 2)

by Ann Marie Walker

  As she stared at the ceiling, she kept hearing the announcer from the reruns of the cop show her grandpa used to watch when she was a little girl. “Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.” Could the words spoken at the start of every Dragnet episode apply to their situation as well? Was her brother right, was Henry being his true self during the time he called himself Hank? And if he was, did that mean his feelings for her were genuine?

  By the time the sun came up she’d reached the only logical conclusion. She was an idiot. Despite having the weight of a nation on his shoulders, the man she loved had flown halfway around the world to beg her forgiveness and she’d sent him away, hat in hand. Make that crown in hand. But the end result was the same.

  The man she loved. The thought had come to her so naturally, it took a moment for it to actually sink in. Once it did, she bolted upright, throwing back the duvet before flying out of bed.

  She had to talk to him before he left. She started left, then right, in a move Olivia would have described as a chicken with its head cut off. Think, Cassie. She looked at the clock on the nightstand, and when she did the ticket her brother had left on the floor of her shop caught her eye. Subtlety was never Matthew’s strong suit, but his heart was in the right place and thank God for that because at the moment that shiny pass was her ticket to Hank. Or Henry. Whoever, she thought. All that mattered was getting to the polo field.

  For that she’d need a car and since there wasn’t time to rent one, she had to settle for the Sugar Rush van. She showered and dressed, opting for a cap-sleeve A-line dress with wide pastel stripes. She had no idea what one wore to a polo match, but she imagined it was a bit highbrow, rather like the Kentucky Derby minus the hats. Shit, did she need a hat? Either way, there wasn’t time to find one, so she settled for loose curls with one side pulled back in a mother-of-pearl clip. A bit of mascara and a dab of lip gloss and she was ready to roll. But when she slid behind the wheel of the van, she was overcome with the realization that the last person to drive it was Hank. She ran her fingers along the edge of the seat, picturing him there. A delivery van with SUGAR RUSH written in enormous pink letters was a far cry from a silver Porsche 911, and even that was probably a far cry from whatever he used to zip around town back home. The thought of him maneuvering Chicago traffic in this monster made her smile. He did it all for her, in the hopes that he could apologize and earn a second chance. And she’d sent him away without so much as a goodbye. Her smile faded. He must think her a heartless bitch.

  Cassie pulled out into the gridlock of downtown Chicago and laid on the horn, urging a tourist in a rented Hyundai to switch lanes. After a few daredevil moves that earned her a few middle-finger salutes, she was on the five-lane highway that would take her to Hank. She was halfway to the suburbs before she realized she had one small problem. She might have had a ticket to the event, but how in the world was she going to get close enough to get the attention of a prince? If she could find that one security guard who always seemed to be at his side then maybe, but that was a long shot. She needed a back-up plan.

  Inspiration hit her like a pie in the face, or in this case a cupcake. When she reached the polo grounds she bypassed the main parking lot and, following the signs for deliveries, pulled around to the rear of the tents instead. A man with a clipboard waved for her to roll down her window.

  “Credentials?”

  She looked around the van until her gaze fell on her apron and ID badge still sitting on the passenger seat from the night before. She handed him the badge, slipping the apron loop over her head as she waited for his reaction. It didn’t take long.

  “This is from yesterday,” he said.

  “That’s right.” She sat a little taller in her seat. “The prince personally requested I cater the event at the Palmer House yesterday and he liked it so much he asked me to do the same today.”

  The man flipped through the pages of paper attached to his clipboard. “I don’t have any instructions about a catering order.”

  “I totally understand,” she said, doing her best to convey wide-eyed innocence. “I’d just hate to be the one responsible for depriving Prince Henry of his favorite red velvet cupcakes. I imagine he’ll be pretty hungry when he comes off the field.”

  Another man circled the van with a mirror attached to a long stick. When he was done he gave the man at the window a nod. “All clear.”

  Clipboard man wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “Check the back,” he told mirror man.

  A moment later the doors of the van swung open. Cassie watched in the rearview mirror as the second guard lifted the lid of the two oversized cardboard boxes and took a sniff. Please don’t taste one, she thought. They might have looked delicious, but they were probably hard as a rock after a night in the hot van.

  “Just a bunch of red velvet cupcakes.”

  An extra-sweet smile stretched across Cassie’s face. “See,” she said. “Nothing dangerous here. Unless of course you count the calories, then they’re downright deadly,” she added with a nervous laugh.

  The man narrowed his eyes at her. “All right, but just to the catering tent.” He lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth. “I’ve got a bakery delivery coming your way, no further access.”

  Crap. She was in, but her box of cupcakes was only going to get her so far. And if that wasn’t bad enough . . .

  “You better hurry,” the guard said. “The prince played in the first match.” He turned his head and squinted toward the field where a man in a bright red jersey galloped past a grandstand, swinging his mallet to the delight of the crowd. “Which is almost over. And he’s leaving right after the press conference.”

  Double crap. Cassie drew a deep breath through her nose as she eased the van into a spot close to the main tent. Don’t panic, she thought. One step at a time.

  Once parked, she grabbed one of the bright pink boxes and after getting the green light from the security guard stationed at the back, ducked between two of the tent’s white flaps. Inside was a reception area with several round tables surrounded by chairs, and along the edge was a catered buffet with finger sandwiches and an assortment of fruits.

  “Thank God,” a woman said. She had hair about the same color as Cassie’s, but instead of being a curly mess, hers was swept up in a tidy French twist. “I mean, I get that fruit is healthy and all that but honestly, unless it’s dipped in chocolate, I don’t see how they can pass it off as a dessert.” Her eyes grew wide as she drew closer. “Oooooh, and from that new bakery in Millennium Park. Saw something about that on Windy City Live.” Another perk of having Cole as a business partner was the stake he owned in the local television station. To say they’d had their fair share of media coverage was putting it mildly.

  “I just need a minute to set up.” Cassie hadn’t planned on putting the cupcakes out on display. They were merely a prop to get her in the door. With any luck the woman would be long gone before she had to actually serve them.

  “Mind if I sneak one really quick? I have to be in the press tent by the time this match ends.”

  So much for luck.

  “Um, sure.” Wait, did she say press? Cassie’s gaze dropped to the credentials clipped to the woman’s sweater. Seemed Lady Luck was smiling after all. The press tent was her best chance to catch Hank’s eye—it wasn’t like she could just run out onto the field—and the woman in front of her was wearing the ticket she needed right on her chest. “So, you’re writing about the match?”

  The woman nodded as she dug into the box of cake. “Truthfully, I was bored to tears when they gave me this assignment, but then they announced last night that Prince Henry would be playing. Talk about eye candy. And a real-life prince, can you believe it?” She made a little squeaking sound, although Cassie wasn’t sure if it was in reaction to Hank or the sight of the cupcake.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty amazing.” Cassie agreed with no enthusiasm in her voice whatsoever.
Not that her new reporter friend seemed to notice. She was far too busy drooling over both a prince and red velvet cake to pay her much attention.

  “Wonder if he’s single?” she asked, then laughed. “And more important, how would he feel about having a torrid affair with an American journalist.” The woman set her stale cupcake on the table and shimmied out of her pale-yellow sweater. “Can’t get crumbs on this. Hoping to get a moment with HRH later.”

  “HRH?” Cassie made her way to the end of the catering table where a silver service of coffee and tea had been arranged and placed the box on the floor. She waited until the woman had her back turned before quickly kicking the box under the tablecloth. Last thing she needed was anyone else sampling her day-old cupcakes. Bad enough a reporter was. Hopefully she didn’t pull double duty as a food critic.

  “His Royal Highness.” Reporter lady looked over her shoulder and grinned. “More like His Royal Hotness though, am I right?”

  Dear Lord, this was not happening. She was trapped by an overgrown fangirl when what she needed was to get the hell out of Dodge and figure out a way to get her own moment with HRH.

  The reporter peeled back the wrapper on her red velvet cupcake and was about to take a bite when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and cringed. “My editor.” She set the cupcake back on the table and picked up her phone. “Hello?” A moment later she plugged her finger into her other ear. “What? No, that’s not what PR said when we arrived. Hold on, the reception in here is terrible,” she said before ducking through the flaps of the tent.

  An announcement was made in the next tent, advising those assembled that the prince would be posing for photos with the event organizers, but not answering any questions. Shit. It was now or never. Cassie pulled the apron over her head and ditched it under the table alongside the cupcakes. She moved swiftly, never breaking stride as she snagged the young woman’s sweater off the back of a chair. She’d already lied her ass off at the gate, so what was a little wardrobe theft to go along with it? In for a penny, in for a pound. She snorted to herself, more like in for a penny, in for hard time. But she couldn’t let herself think about the number of laws she was breaking or any of their consequences. Part of her felt bad for ruining the woman’s attempts to get a moment with Prince Henry, although another part knew her motives were driven less about trying to score an interview and more about just trying to score. Cassie knew she sounded like a crazy jealous girlfriend, but all was fair in love and war and this was undoubtedly a love emergency. Still, stealing her credentials, not to mention her sweater, wasn’t very nice. If all went as she hoped, she’d appease her guilty consciousness be sending it all back to her along with a dozen cupcakes. For now, there was only one thing on her mind—finding Hank.

  She slipped through the flaps to the connecting tent. To her great relief the security guard didn’t look too closely at the photograph on her stolen credentials. Red hair was about all Cassie had in common with her reporter friend. Well, that, and an appreciation for His Royal Hotness. Instinctively she sought him out. He wasn’t hard to find seeing as how he was the center of attention. A warmth spread through Cassie’s body that had nothing to do with the humidity or her newly acquired sweater and everything to do with the way Hank looked in his snug-fitting riding pants. Holy moly, what she wouldn’t give to peel him out of those.

  Stand down lady parts, he has to notice me first.

  Cassie swiped a pen and paper off a table in the rear of the room and took her place alongside the other journalists crammed into the small tent. Clearly the organizers hadn’t been anticipating such a large turnout when they planned the event. But then a handsome prince announced not only his attendance, but participation, and now the place was packed with members of the press. There were dozens of them, all poised with either cameras, video equipment, or digital recorders, and looking far more official than she did with her tiny notepad. Not that she was even pretending to use it to take notes. How could she when her eyes were glued to the stage in front of her? She watched as Prince Henry posed for photographs in front of a silver cup that looked to be a miniature version of the one hockey players hoisted over their heads. But while his teammates from the charity invite all basked in the glow of their victory, the prince looked distant and withdrawn. He stared blindly at the cameras directly in front of him, not even bothering to look at anything else in the room. At this rate she didn’t stand a chance at catching his attention.

  But then someone jockeying for a better position got his leg caught on the strap of someone else’s camera bag and the next thing Cassie knew both men tumbled into the row of chairs in front of them. No one was hurt but the commotion was enough to catch the attention of the athletes on stage.

  “Don’t hurt yourselves gents,” one of the players teased. “I’ll be here all day.”

  A rumble of laughter rolled through the crowd, but while Prince Henry’s gaze shifted to the site of the commotion, his expression remained impassive.

  Now or never, she thought, lifting her hand in a small wave. It was subtle, but it was enough.

  He was turning back to the emcee of the event when he saw her. His entire body stilled, and his eyes narrowed in an incredulous look. Two, four, six seconds past. It was barely the span of a few breaths, but it was enough for panic to take hold of Cassie’s heart. What if her gesture was too little, too late?

  But then the tension in his frame eased and he smiled like he’d won the lottery, the Super Bowl, and the World Series all at once.

  Hank whispered something in the ear of the emcee that caused the man’s eyebrows to shoot up and a wide grin to stretch across his face. “His Majesty has graciously agreed to take a few questions,” he said into the microphone.

  “Prince Henry!” they all seemed to shout at once.

  The man ignored the more vocal group in the back and instead pointed to a gray-haired journalist in the front row.

  “How would you compare this visit to Chicago with the trip you took to Georgia several months ago?”

  “We have better pizza,” one of his teammates said, causing another ripple of quiet laughter.

  The prince stepped up to the microphone. “Your city’s pizza is more like a casserole, Frank,” he said to the delight of the crowd. “Although as impressive as the food is in Chicago, Georgia will always hold a special place in my heart.”

  Reporters frantically raised their hands. The emcee pointed to a man with round spectacles and a bow tie. He stood and began to speak, but Hank cut him off with a raised hand.

  “One moment, please,” he said, silencing the room. “I believe the young lady in the yellow sweater has a follow-up question.”

  A frown knit Cassie’s brow. Young lady in the yellow sweater? She glanced around before finally realizing that she was the woman he was referring to. “I do?” she asked in a pitch that was far higher than it should have been.

  Mischief lit Hank’s eyes. “Yes, weren’t you about to ask me why Georgia will always be close to my heart?”

  She flipped through the notepad she held in her hands. “Ah yes,” she said, as though she’d just found what she was looking for on one of the blank pages. She straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. “Prince Henry,” she said, with as much formality as she could muster, “why will Georgia always be so close to your heart?”

  “While I have enjoyed the hospitality of this fair city, particularly the aforementioned brick of cheese and something called a dipped beef”—he flashed a smile that unleashed the royal dimple—“there was a lovely bakery in Madison that will be hard for anyone to top.”

  Cassie was pretty sure she heard the word “redhead” whispered behind her but worrying that some clever reporters were putting the pieces of the puzzle together was the furthest thing from her mind. This moment was about her and Hank. As far as she was concerned, they were the only two people in the room.

  “There are a few bakeries in Chicago that might be just as good.” Her teeth nipped her
bottom lip as she met his cheeky smile with one of her own. “Maybe better.”

  Hank rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “I don’t know about that—this particular bakery was outstanding.” He looked right at her and winked. “One in a million.”

  The crowd began to buzz as the reporters’ heads swiveled back and forth between them as if they were watching a tennis match.

  “Well, there’s a new place in town, just opened actually. You might find something to your liking there.”

  “I was planning to head home this afternoon, but if you think there is an establishment that might catch my fancy, perhaps I should reconsider my plans.”

  “Something tells me it just might. At least I hope so.” She grinned. “Although before you change your plans you might want to try a taste.”

  Hank’s eyes darkened but he didn’t reply. Instead he took two long strides then leapt from the stage, blowing past security as the press scrambled to clear a path. He came to a stop in front of her but before she could even process what was happening, his arms were around her, hauling her against him as his mouth claimed hers in a deep, possessive kiss.

  All around them cameras whirled and flashed, much as they had on that balmy Georgia night. But instead of feeling frightened or violated, Cassie felt safe and loved. Cameras or not, she was right where she belonged.

  “We have an audience,” she said when he finally broke their kiss.

  He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m aware.”

  “So much for low profile,” she said and they both laughed. “This is your life, huh?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He sighed. “Do you think you could fancy a prince?”

  “I don’t know,” she teased. “It seems like you come with a lot of hoopla.”

  He grimaced. “True, and I must warn you, luv. I still live at home.”

  She rolled her eyes. “At twenty-nine? Loser.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers again and she felt his smile against her lips. “There are a few perks as well.”