Almost My Prince

by Miranda King

  “Bella,” I called over to her. “That outfit fits you better than me. Consider it yours.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” I smiled at her.

  Divina smiled, too. She picked up the matching purse for her look-alike Poesie Sans Couleur Vanessa dress—a white raw silk, strapless sheath, trimmed in black at the top and accented with an impossibly large diamond. She looked like a princess—after all, she was one.

  “We’re late, even for me.” Divina addressed us all. “I think we’re about ready.” She scanned the room. “Let’s see, our overnight bags should already be in our rooms onboard the ship.” She did another once-over of the room. “We should head out now.”

  “Wait,” Bella said. “We still need—”

  A hard and deep knock at the door interrupted her. That knock was like Nathan’s personalized ringtone.

  He spoke from the other side of the door. “Your Highness, the groomer gave me a dog for—”

  Bella rushed to swing open the door.

  Nathan carried a little nine-pound bundle of white fluff, otherwise known as Bella’s Pomeranian.

  “Oh, Tessa!” Bella reached out and her dog leaped into her arms. “Tessa” was short for the Contessa. Yep, Bella had named her dog after our infamous ancestor.

  She cooed and brushed her nose against Tessa’s. Then she turned Tessa for us to see the black satin “dress,” custom-made for the little dog.

  “Just darling,” Divina said.

  Granny stroked the head of what Bella called Granny’s “Granddog,” and I kissed the side of little Tessa’s face. She twisted her head to lick me on my nose. Then she reached her little paw trying to touch something in my hair.

  Oh, I’d forgotten that I’d twisted a small strip of hair back with True Royalty Vanessa’s ship replica hairclip that Christian had given me. I’d slipped it in my hair where he might see it and recognize me.

  This was a masquerade, and masks were required. How else would Christian find me? But it was going to take more than a trinket in my hair to bring Christian to me. He had to want to come to me.

  I slid out the hairclip, and Tessa tried to scratch it with her paw. “No, no.” I petted her. “That’s not for you.” I slipped it in my back pocket. Yep, there was a back pocket on these hot pants, but so teensy that the hairclip was a tight fit.

  Tessa barked, upset that she didn’t get the trinket, and everyone laughed.

  “Now, are we ready?” Divina asked.

  I took one last look in the mirrors at myself wearing Sensuous Affair.

  Breathe in. He does want you…

  I breathed out. “Yes.”

  Christian had better be ready for me, too.

  “Princess Divina Grooms Sass for Royal Life as They Arrive Together at Royal Masquerade”

  -Gossip Weekly

  “Hollywood’s Bo Hunter & Other A-List Celebrities Attend Royal Masquerade”

  -Royal Rumor Report

  The masquerade mystique unveiled: If you truly knew someone, then a mask around the eyes—no matter how glittery, feathery, or intricately painted—didn’t prevent you from recognizing that person. So why even bother with the masks?

  Once we all had donned our masks in the limousine, I asked Divina because she was the only one of us who’d ever been to a masquerade.

  “Darlings,” Divina said. “It’s all about the illusion of not knowing who a person is,” she explained. “Tonight is about the freedom to be with whomever you want and pretend the next day that it never happened.”

  “You’ve done that?” I asked. She was my best friend, and I’d never heard anything about this.

  “Whatever!” she said. “If I had done that, you’d be the first to know about it.” She winked at us. “But that isn’t to say I haven’t been in the Naughty Nooks.”

  “Naughty Nooks?” I asked. “You didn’t tell us anything about those!”

  “Darlings, there’s nothing to tell if you do it right,” she said. “As long as you don’t take off your masks, no one can be for certain exactly who is doing what to whom,” Divina promised. “You’ll see for yourselves.”

  Granny gazed out the tinted window, and then she focused back to us. “Do you think my Lex”—that was Grandpa’s first name, and Lexi was named after him—“in Heaven would be disappointed if I let a man kiss me tonight?”

  My jaw dropped. Sure, Granny labeled certain Hollywood celebrity men—and, yes, even my Christian—she deemed worthy as DDGs and SOSs. But like I’d said before, I’d label Granny as an All Talk, No Action kind of gal.

  She fidgeted with her hands. “It’s been over ten years since a man’s kissed me, and there’s never been anyone but Lex.” She lowered her head and watched her hands fold into each other, twisting into knots.

  She exhaled a weary breath and lifted her face to us. “Do you think he’ll look down at me and be mad, thinking I’m unfaithful?”

  I heaved out a breath. A part of Granny had died the day Grandpa had. Not the Granny part, but the woman part of her.

  I didn’t understand that part of being a woman yet, but I had long thought Granny was incomplete, holding back on her own life while encouraging me in mine.

  “Grandpa would want every second of your life filled with love and laughter,” I said to her.

  “But shouldn’t his memory be enough to do that?”

  “Yes and no,” I said. “He gave you so much love.” I grasped her hand. “Perhaps so much that it’ll grow stale locked up inside of you unless you share it.”

  “Darling Granny.” Divina grinned. “I hope you’re the first one of us tonight to experience the Naughty Nook.” She did her signature wink again.

  I shuddered thinking about Granny in a Naughty Nook, yet, in a way, I’d just given her my blessing. Fair enough. She’d done the same for me with Christian.

  Christian…

  He was probably aboard the ship right now. The one that had set sail over an hour ago.

  Divina didn’t “do” on time for anything.

  I knew it. Granny and Bella knew it. Hell, Nathan knew it best of all.

  That was why he’d preordered a special ferry to taxi us to the cruise ship.

  Divina was a very lucky woman to have such a man responsive to her every need.

  Hadn’t Christian been the same for me? He’d arranged for me to have a car that first day, wrapped me in his jacket (twice!), custom-made my necklace, read that packet I’d kept teasing him about, written those notes, and best of all, brought me my Granny.

  And I couldn’t forget that chocolate kiss, and the real kisses that followed…

  I shivered, but the autumn air was still warm. It was the Mediterranean, and I’d fallen in love here.

  Oh, Maravista.

  Twilight descended and vast stretches of lights lined the ports. From a distance, they twinkled like Chinese lanterns. On the water, too. The lights from the partying yachts out in the ocean dotted around us.

  The portly ocean, decked out this time in velvety blue hues, danced among the yachts, and especially this ferry. The ocean and this ferry tangoed chest-to-chest, and along the ferry’s sides, the ocean kicked up playful spouts of water.

  But it was those white-tipped waves charging against the silken shoreline that once again mesmerized me. With each surge, they kissed, over and over and over.

  They slipped away into the distance, somewhere farther away from me, like they were escaping to their own Naughty Nook.

  Once onboard The Royal Diamond, the luxury liner sailing overnight with five hundred passengers, I counted it had thirty of its own Naughty Nooks. Dear Lord, don’t let Christian be in one of those Naughty Nooks with another woman.

  I still hadn’t found Christian among the throng of other guests.

  If I intermittently darted my eyes over to the Naughty Nooks, fifteen flanking each side of the ballroom, checking for him, then I wouldn’t own up to it.

  There were also two ballrooms. One played slow music
and featured blue accents and warm woods with soft white lights. That was the Saints Room. Christian wouldn’t be there… that much I knew.

  This Sinners Room featured a dazzling array of revolving, dimly colored lights cast onto the ceiling. Masked guests, gyrating like they were at some teen rave party, packed the dark-wooded floor and danced to the fast-paced club music.

  Steps away on each side of the dance floor were those Naughty Nooks, alcoves draped with heavy red theater curtains. I peeked inside a room before an impatient couple claimed it. Stretched long ways across the back wall was a bed topped with poufy pillows.

  Yes, a bed! Make no mistake about what that bed was for. But Divina said the Naughty Nooks weren’t actually for people to sleep together. If they wanted that, then every guest aboard ship already had his or her own bedroom.

  Good thing because the Naughty Nooks didn’t seem very private, even though the two stiff drapes were like a double layer of lead. Each of the two drapes folded all the way across, and when a couple was done, they had to push them back around gold wall hooks. Then a simple flip of a sign designated the room as either “Open for Sin” or “Sinning in Private.”

  Couples buzzed in and out of the Naughty Nooks like bees pollinating flowers.

  Most of the women headed to those rooms showed even more of their bodies—and their butts—than I did. Something about them had me thinking…

  “Are those Margarita Girls?” I asked Divina.

  “I know, right?” She shrugged her shoulders. “They make our party look like a debauched affair. This is not how it’s been in years past. It’s always been a classy, yet seductive evening.”

  “Then why are they here?”

  “Father had all these Margarita Girls invited at Kurt’s insistence to entertain the American delegation.” She sighed. “Kurt says. Father does.”

  “Who’s Kurt?”

  “He’s running the show at Diamond Corp., and Father lets him.” She cringed. “He also owns Margarita Girl magazine, and lots of WD businesses like the trash company,” she said. “Oh, and he’s your assistant principal’s father.”

  It was my turn to cringe. If it was like father, like daughter, then I already didn’t like this Kurt fellow.

  Granny went to “powder her nose.” I watched her leave and Michael head our way from my left. Granted, all the men, per dress code, had on black tuxedos and masks, but Michael had an unmistakable saunter, like he ruled the world.

  Well, technically, he would rule—not the world, only Maravista when his uncle died.

  Divina’s father, King Rex, had suffered a major heart attack and never attended public functions anymore—that obligation now fell on Michael’s shoulders.

  And yes, Michael was also Divina’s half-brother. It was a Hamlet situation.

  When Michael’s father died, his younger brother, Divina’s father, ruled as the next in line under a technicality. And Michael’s widowed mother had married the younger brother, kept her title as queen, and had more kids.

  So Michael and Divina shared a common mother, but not a father. But their fathers were brothers. Too confusing to keep track of, especially since Divina didn’t talk much about her family.

  She had her family secrets. I had mine.

  Sometimes we didn’t need a physical mask to hide behind. We wore invisible ones, not made of feathers, glitter, or paint—but the secrets we kept from each other.

  If there were painful scars behind those secrets, then true friends let each other keep the illusion that those scars marring us didn’t exist.

  Divina and I did it for each other, and I did it for Michael, too.

  Granny had said to Mom and me before I’d left for Maravista that every woman was entitled to her secrets. But so were men.

  That swagger Michael showed the world was equivalent to all that glitter and paint on his mask—it was a cover.

  Over the past year, I’d grown to understand that Michael had a mom who didn’t care to be reminded of him, nor her first marriage, and an uncle turned stepfather, who wished Michael had never been born.

  A man couldn’t have been raised in that kind of home—or palace—without a few scars. But as much as I wished I could be, I wasn’t the salve for his wounds.

  Yet I was still his obsession. He parted through the crowds on my left to reach me.

  Then I noticed crowds separating on the other side of the room to the right for the entrance of another man, impressively muscled and powerfully built.

  I sucked in my breath and released a whisper, “Christian.”

  Almost as if he could hear me from across the crowded dance floor, amid the blaring music, he honed in on me.

  He was heading my way!

  And so was Michael from the other direction…

  This was a grand ballroom and not the parking curb outside my school, but I swear at that moment, all I could see was a black Mercedes to my left and a red one to my right.

  It was my first day at school all over again, when I stood not just between two cars, but two men.

  “Choose one, and let’s be done with it.”

  Oh, Christian, it was always you…

  Poor Michael. I glanced over in his direction and back to Christian, but Christian had let his eyes follow mine.

  Hells bells, he’d seen Michael also approaching me.

  Christian halted—next to a tall brunette. Repeat: A tall brunette.

  “Everyone knows I prefer tall brunettes.”

  And by the looks of her, she was one of those Margarita Girls here tonight.

  Perhaps it was a mere coincidence that he stopped next to her?

  She grabbed him by the hand and led him to the edge of the dance floor.

  I thought not.

  Divina leaned in. “Darling,” she whispered in my ear. “I—I’m sorry.” Her sophisticated voice cracked, but I’m sure she’d never admit to it. Divina never “cracked,” or at least I’d honor that illusion for her.

  “Are you okay?” Her voice was now composed, controlled.

  No. “Yes.” She’d honor my illusion, too.

  Sometimes a scar, particularly a fresh one, just needed to be left alone. Picking at it, dissecting it with words, allowed emotion to inflame the wound—preventing logic from assessing and cleaning up the damage.

  And yes, I was damaged, trying not to let the emotion cut into me.

  But my nerves picked at both my head and heart:

  He doesn’t want me…

  Then logic and a little Divina attitude kicked my scantily-clad butt. I forced a smile and a haughty, “Whatever!” I flicked my hand. “Perhaps it’s time for me to show him what he’s missing out on.” It was my turn to wink at her for a change.

  I shoved off my satin jacket and flung it across a chair. I’d only planned on showing Christian what was underneath. But, what the hell. I’d stripped down to a sheer black blouse.

  Did I say sheer? I meant ultra-sheer… and then call this blouse even sheerer than that. When the world could tell the color of your bra underneath—yep, the word “sheer” just didn’t cover it, much like my red lacy bra didn’t cover much either.

  Oh, had I mention that the deep V of my blouse was unbuttoned so low that it spilled out that red lacy bra?

  I thought not. I had been keeping that a secret for Christian.

  I drew in a long, painful breath, and I buttoned up every button I could. That red lacy bra was for him, even if he didn’t care anymore. It was too private to showcase for anyone else.

  Now I wished the blouse still had that huge organza bow from the original Sensuous Affair outfit. It tied askew on the right side of the neck, and I loved it because it was like a package begging to be opened up, but not too revealing. But Granny, and I suspected Divina was in on it, had placed a surreptitious order for the tailor to remove it.

  Where was Granny anyway?

  A whistle came from somewhere beside me. Hollywood’s hottest leading man, Bo Hunter, opened his action hero arms and hugged
me. He was our doll convention friend, well, a secret one. He kept his real name under wraps, too. Perhaps the life he projected was an illusion, but his friendship was genuine.

  “Babe,” Bo said. “Here, follow my lead.” That was his commando voice. “Now, before Michael gets here.”

  Some men had detained Michael on his trek to me, presumably from the American delegation because Michael was in his business stance—hands in his pockets and nods where appropriate.

  Bo piloted me to the front lines of the dance floor. Christian, our target, was somewhere among the crowd. He explained that he’d seen the whole thing play out with that other woman, and he had a plan. Bo and I had continued our weekly calls, even while I was here in Maravista, so he knew tonight I’d been wounded.

  “Christian wanted you, not the brunette.” He held tight to my hand and dodged the writhing dancers, clearing a path for me behind him.

  “Sure didn’t look like it.”

  “Babe.” He looked back at me. “I was right there. She dug her claws into him.” He focused forward and pulled us in a sharp turn around another couple. He then spun his full body around to me. “He was like a wounded animal when he saw you look at Michael.”

  Bo also explained that Christian was about to walk off the dance floor, away from that brunette, until he saw us.

  Then Bo braced his hands on my shoulders, like a general did before sending a soldier out into the battlefield. “Do you want him back?”

  “You know I do.”

  “All right then,” he said. “We’re going to dance and drive him crazy, but don’t be surprised when I put my hands on your butt and shake it.”

  “You’re going to shake my butt?” I laughed.

  This was Bo. I wasn’t his type. No woman was. Yet he was going to pretend for me, and…

  “I suppose that wouldn’t hurt your image either.” I smiled up at him.

  “What can I say? Bo Hunter’s taking it for the team.” He smiled back. “Like you did for me when those pictures came out last year.”

  “I did that because you’re my friend,” I said. “And since you’re going to be shaking my butt and all, are you finally going to tell me your real name?”