Along Came A Prince

by Carlyn Cade

  ALONG CAME A PRINCE

  By

  Carlyn Cade

  Copyright © 2014 by Carlyn Cade

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  A NOTE FROM CARLYN…

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I am so not a party girl,” Stacia Saunders whispered to her brother, Ryan, as they exited their limo and stepped onto the red carpet leading to the evening’s festivities. She might resemble one all dressed up in an ultra-expensive gown, jewelry and silver stilettos, but she actually felt more like a race horse with a million dollar purse riding on her nose. In her case, however, it was $50,000 – the price of two tickets to enter Hollywood’s Caviar-on-Ice Extravaganza.

  Who paid for those tickets was still unknown, but her curiosity kept firing the number one question at her. Why? Why would someone pay that much money to have her come here tonight and not identify himself? Or perhaps, herself? Would she even find out who it was? By accepting the tickets, she guessed she was easily bought, but after all, it was for charity, so how could she not comply with the wishes of the mystery donor?

  The red carpet parade began. The crowds of celebrity fans had lined both sides of the walkway, barricaded by fencing, like they did when they watched sleek and silky horses strut their stuff at a racetrack.

  Only this time, the spotlight was on her and the image she portrayed as an actress and celebrity. She started to walk slowly, focusing on the instructions given by her publicist. Take your time on the red carpet. Model your gown as if you were on a runway, but be discreet about it. Stay a short distance from your escort and a longer distance from other celebrities, so only you appear on the cameras. When you hear your name being yelled from a certain area, be sure to stop and sign a few autographs. Always be gracious. Don’t lose your patience no matter what happens.

  And the shouting began. “Hey, Stacia, look this way!”

  She did, and flashes lit the air.

  “Stacia, who’s that guy with you? A new boyfriend?”

  “My brother,” she answered, hoping she wasn’t caught with her mouth open while the cameras clicked.

  She glanced at the fans gathered up and down the audience rows as they yelled and screamed at their favorite stars while holding up signs and papers to get their attention. She noticed a small child with a toothless grin whose arms were stretched out wide open as she waved her blue book and pen right at Stacia. Her heart melted, and she went over to the little girl.

  “Will you sign my autograph book, please?” the small child asked shyly and handed Stacia her book and pen.

  “Sure,” Stacia said and asked her name, and then wrote To Jenny on a page, and finished by writing her own autograph under the child’s name. At the last second, she added a drawing of a smile face. “Here you go, sweetie,” she said, but before she could hand the book back to the child, more pieces of paper fluttered in her face. Remembering her instructions, she signed a few of them and turned to leave, waving back to the fans and calling out, “Thank you, everyone.”

  Continuing her stroll, she was repeatedly stopped by Entertainment Tonight, Extra, NBC, Access Hollywood, E! and other newsworthy media. The same questions were repeated.

  “Who did your gown?”

  “Armani.”

  “What’s your next movie?”

  “I’m still reading scripts.”

  “Anyone special in your life?”

  Stacia shook her head. “Not yet.”

  More fluff questions followed, and her answers reminded her of making photo copies of the same picture. Sameness didn’t change.

  Finally, the mini-interviews were over, and she joined her brother once more. They entered the theater and stood in line with the other celebrities and guests waiting to be escorted one-by-one with their partners to the top of the staircase leading down to the ballroom.

  When it was their turn and her name was announced, Stacia stood poised for a moment at the top of the stairs. Taking a deep breath, and with a big smile on her face, she took Ryan’s arm. They proceeded down the steps to mingle with the rich and famous invited to this star-drawing, charity event.

  The night’s elegance and sophistication matched the glitz and glamour always present at a high society affair, except this evening an aura of hushed excitement hovered over the crowd. The overall effect made shivers slide up and down her arms.

  As Ryan and she stepped through the archways leading to the entry of the ballroom, she realized the Caviar-on-Ice Extravaganza’s name fit the room’s crystal castle like Cinderella’s slipper fit her foot. Camera flashes bounced off the ice, causing a mirrored mirage of twinkling, falling stardust. Piano music drew her into the promise of romance, while the orchestra’s violins, harps and other string instruments serenaded her. Soft lighting cast a misty glow to the icy land they had entered.

  “Hmm,” she said, returning to the reality of the evening. “Where do you suppose the guest of honor is?”

  “You mean the invisible Prince Clayton Alexander – the one who refuses to have his picture taken or be interviewed?” Ryan asked. “Makes you wonder why, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe he wants to be judged for his art and not his riches.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter what he wants anymore, he’ll be unveiled tonight along with his work. From the amount of photographers here, he will be known around the world by morning.”

  “Hal said they’re calling him the best in his field.”

  “Doesn’t your agent call you that too?”

  Stacia fought the urge to laugh out loud. “Don’t you think Hal might be just a little prejudiced, like you? He has to think that, or he wouldn’t be able to get me any roles.”

  “I think your Mr. Montgomery knows talent when he sees it.”

  Answering her brother with a quick smile, her attention was captured once more by the splendor encasing them. “It’s unbelievable that he’s created all this ice magic.”

  “Yeah, it’s beauti – Damn it, Stace, I have to take this,” Ryan said as he checked the calling number on his cell phone. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Take your time. I’ll wander around the room and see the rest of the prince’s frozen kingdom.” As he walked away, Stacia decided to explore the massive sculpture in the middle of the room.

  Four ice-chipped statues of fantasy fish stood perched on their tails around the circular ice-chiseled pool. Each fish shot cascading champagne from its mouth, the color dependent on the rainbow reflections of the rotating spotlights aimed at it. Huge silver plates with high pedestals held caviar and were embedded in the sides of the pool between each fish. Blocks of ice steps covered with plush red carpeting, which seemed to be everywhere, led up to the stacks of glass plates waiting for the guests to indulge in all the caviar th
ey desired. A fountain in the middle of the fish odyssey shot up continuous streams of champagne.

  After studying the center work-of-art, she moved on to the giant polar bear standing with one paw held high, his shiny claws implanted into the sides of an ice-sculptured salmon. Stark white spotlights accented the bear’s frigid transparency. Silver plates held the salmon delicacy for the guests to enjoy. Wherever she looked, other ice sculptures came to life and captured her imagination.

  How could any one person be so artistic? How could he coordinate his chiseling chores to come up with such masterpieces and not have ice melting all over? The temperature in the room was perfect for her sleeveless gown, yet she couldn’t see any water drips no matter how closely she inspected each sculpture. What kind of secrets did he have stored inside him to accomplish such a feat?

  Her mind strayed even further when she started to wonder what the prince looked like. Was he handsome as a prince should be? Was he young? And where did his talent come from? Did he –

  Bump! She felt the rub of someone else’s derriere against hers.

  “Ah, my little chickadee...” a deep, raspy voice began.

  Stacia turned to face, in her opinion and everyone else’s it seemed, the sleaziest movie producer in Hollywood. Farrell Fontaine had a fetish about W.C. Fields and did his best to imitate him in everything he did. He stood in front of her, staggering slightly, a champagne flute swinging precariously between his thumb and forefinger, its contents dripping down the front of his enormous potbelly. He certainly was well into his dream world tonight, even though only appetizers and champagne had been served so far.

  “Been-meanin’ ta-call ol’ Hal about you, my little-red-haired-vixen.” His words slurred together and when he took another sip of his drink, he drooled even more liquid down his tux and onto the floor.

  A cocktail server, her lavish endowments blatantly displayed, chose that moment to appear with a fresh tray of drinks. As drunk as he was, Farrell managed to deposit his empty glass onto her tray, grab a full one and the woman’s behind at the same time. Stacia took the opportunity to slide away from him, hoping and knowing at the same time he’d never miss her.

  She made a mental note to discuss Farrell’s remarks with Hal. Farrell needed a hit badly as he was descending fast into the land of has-beens, and lately he’d produced movies that were borderline porn. She wanted none of that, as if her agent would allow it anyway.

  To keep her distance from Farrell, Stacia headed back to the caviar. Though she had never liked those delicacies the limited times she’d tasted them, surrounded by such magnificence tonight, she thought it only appropriate to try those little fish eggs again. A passing waiter offered her champagne. She accepted and strolled toward the red carpeting. Might as well take advantage of every speck of glamour she could soak up tonight. After all, this was Hollywood at its best, and she was a glamorous actress – well, the actress part was correct. Who could ever call a farm girl who used to milk cows glamorous? Not with the way she looked then, all freckled and tanned, pigtailed and scrawny. Anyway, when would she have the opportunity to view a North Pole illusion like this again? Probably never, at least, not containing Prince Clayton’s creative abilities.

  As she approached one of the platters of caviar, a guy examining the ice sculptures as she had, leaned sideways, lost his balance and bumped into her in the same manner Farrell had jarred her. The chain reaction continued as her glass plate flew out of her hand, hit one of the ice steps and smashed. At the same time, her grip on the champagne glass loosened, and the liquid splashed down the front of the man’s pants.

  “Oh my gosh,” Stacia exclaimed.

  “Damn,” he uttered, almost under his breath. “Sorry, I never swear in front of a beautiful woman. I was just…” he started to say as he bent over and tactfully tried to brush off the blotches of spilled champagne on his pants.

  “And I’m sorry too.”

  “For my ego or my soggy pants?” He straightened up, a grin surfacing on his face.

  “Both, I guess.” She opened her evening bag and pulled out a couple tissues. She held them up to him. “Will these help?”

  He stared at them and shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. On all this black fabric, the lint would make it look like it had snowed on me.” He went back to his job of removing the champagne spots from his trousers. “It wasn’t your fault, you know. I’m the one who lost my balance.”

  “Oh darn, and I thought you were just falling for me.” She pretended to pout. Why am I flirting with this stranger? She was surprised by her interest and lack of tact. She’d never done that in her life ever.

  “That would be easy to do.” His grin turned into a full-fledged smile. “Fall for you, I mean, with the way you look tonight.”

  Now he was looking her up and down. Her face tuned into a full-fledged blush.

  “Unfortunately, lovely lady, we’ll have to continue this conversation later.” He gave her a small salute, turned and walked away.

  She just stood there and didn’t know if she should be insulted or complimented. Obviously, her attempt to flirt with him had failed, but what he’d said didn’t sound like she was a failure. Who was he? Some celebrity she didn’t know? Or a new handsome actor she hadn’t seen before? Maybe even a charming gigolo? A waiter? No…not likely. A waiter would be passing out champagne.

  “Is everything okay, Stace?” Ryan asked as he suddenly appeared in the stranger’s place.

  “I’m having a great time. How about you?”

  “I’ve got a problem,” he said, grimacing.

  “What’s wrong?” Her tone was casual from force of habit, as if she didn’t know the answer from the disappointments past experience had taught her.

  “I just talked to the chief, and he ordered me to come in. Right now.” He turned both hands palms up and shrugged. “It’s hell being a detective sometimes.”

  “Did you tell him your ticket cost $25,000?”

  “Yes, and he said we’ve been working on this drug bust, which is worth millions, so how could I compare it to a piddling amount like $25,000?”

  “Did you say you were working on your own case, trying to find out who sent the tickets?” Stacia was grasping at straws – anything to keep her brother from missing out on the rest of the evening.

  Ryan laughed. “Yeah, like I’d say that. Besides, Brannigan was already rambling on about this affair and all the security he had to provide for it. He said he needed every available man at the station immediately, and that included me, and I should get my ass back there.”

  “In your tux?” Stacia had to smile at the thought of her brother appearing at the station house in his tux. Boy, would he get teased, just as she was teasing him now.

  Ryan chuckled. “You know I have clothes in my locker at the station.” A serious look crossed his face. “I think you should go also. I don’t like to leave you here unescorted. I’ll take you to the limo and...”

  Stacia had other ideas. She’d never attended an affair like this before and did not want to leave under any circumstances. “Don’t be silly.” She dismissed him with her hand. “Scoot now, big brother. I’ll tell you about the rest of the evening tomorrow.”

  “Leave a message on my cell when you get home.” Ryan turned and disappeared from her side as quickly as the stranger had moments ago.

  She thought about leaving too, but remembered her agent suggesting she should enjoy what she’d worked for. Although being alone at a Hollywood event like this might be committing party suicide and fuel for the paparazzi and gossips mongers, she could handle that.

  “Dinner is served,” a deep male voice announced.

  She moved with the crowd toward the line forming to enter the dining room, smiling, waving and saying, “Hi, how are you?” to celebrities she knew. George Clooney. Tom Hanks. Rita Wilson, Merle Streep and other actors she’d met before.

  As she approached the doors, a formally-attired maître d’ stood there. Stacia noticed he had a re
al talent for recognizing everyone who approached him, and she received the same recognition. “Ah, Miss Saunders, you’ll sit at table two. This gentleman will escort you there.”

  A handsome man, complete with white gloves and black tuxedo, made a slight bow and presented her with a single long-stemmed red rose nestled in baby’s breath. Then he offered his arm to her. “Right this way, Miss Saunders,” he said.

  “My brother had to leave,” she replied and watched as he summoned a waiter who removed Ryan’s chair and place settings.

  Once seated at the table, she laid her rose across her plate. She glanced at the calligraphy-written place card bearing her name, and then proceeded to read the name on her left. Oh no, it couldn’t be – not Farrell Fontaine! She couldn’t bear to put up with him throughout dinner. Who was on her right? She read the card. Nathan Sterling. She tried to find a face for his name but couldn’t. Whoever he was, he had to be better company than Mr. Fontaine.

  The room began to fill up. Mr. Sterling still had not arrived when Farrell was ushered to his seat next to her.

  “Oh, my lit’le-chickadee, where-did-ya-fly to so quickly before? I hadn’t finished talkin’ ta-you.” His words were still slurring together, and it was obvious he’d reached the stage of total inebriation and was fast approaching the pass-out point.

  Farrell tried to sit down next to her, missed half the seat and started to fall. He grabbed for Stacia’s shoulder, almost knocking her off her chair. She struggled to maintain her balance. His hand felt hot and clammy on her shoulder, and the stench of his breath made her gag. He managed to squirm to a sitting position, and Stacia turned her face. She could handle this, she really could – after all, she was an actress. Where was Nathan Sterling anyway?

  A guy who looked as if he’d just applied to college, crew cut and all, was being seated on the other side of her. He smiled, which she took as an indication her dinnertime could be rescued. “Hi, I’m Stacia Saunders,” she said.

  “Yes, I know.” He slipped into his chair. “I’m Nathan Sterling, and this is my partner...” He gestured toward the man next to him. “Arthur Keyes.”