The Bachelor Prince, Page 2

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Hope said, lifting her tired feet from the floor and securing them in the seat of the chair across from her. “It was something ridiculous about buying raffle tickets for a date with a prince.”

  “Hey,” Lindy said, taking notice, “I read about that. It’s part of the Madeline Marshall Romance Lovers’ Convention that’s going on at the Convention Center next week.”

  “The what?” Hope brushed a stray strand of blond hair from her forehead.

  “Come on, Hope, you must have heard about the conference. The newspeople have been having a heyday with this all week. It starts Thursday evening with a fancy cocktail party. Romance writers from all over the world are flying in to meet their fans. Why, it’s the biggest thing to hit Seattle since the World’s Fair.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “I’m not. Romance novels are big business. Bigger than the man on the street realizes.”

  “Are you telling me that you read romances?” Hope asked. Lindy? Her down-to-earth baker? It didn’t gel.

  “Of course I do. You mean you don’t?”

  “Heavens, no,” Hope said, shaking her head. “I don’t have time to read anything right now.” The demands of her business left little time for leisure activities.

  “Then you’re missing out, girl. Everyone needs to kick off their shoes and escape from the harsh realities of the world every now and again.”

  “But romance novels?” Her mother had been hooked on the books for years, reading them for therapy after Hope’s father had passed away. Although Doris had brought several of her favorite novels to her daughter, Hope had never taken the time to read one. Most of her reading material consisted of magazine articles and nonfiction.

  “Do you have something against romance novels?” the baker asked, standing. In her defense of the reading material, Lindy dug her fist into her hip and glared down at her employer.

  It was all Hope could do not to laugh. Lindy’s tall white baker’s hat was askew, and her eyes flashed with righteous zeal. Apparently her friend took the subject seriously.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” Hope offered as a means of keeping the peace.

  “You didn’t,” Lindy was quick to assure her, “but having someone trash romance novels without ever having read them is a pet peeve of mine.”

  “I’ll give one a try someday,” Hope promised, but doubted that it would be anytime soon. Romance didn’t interest her. Perhaps later, when Coffee Break, Incorporated, was firmly on its feet, she’d consider searching for a husband.

  “I bought a raffle ticket myself,” Lindy announced sheepishly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I won. I swear Prince Stefano is the handsomest man alive.”

  Hope had seen his picture often enough in the tabloids to agree with her friend’s assessment. The prince was said to be the world’s most eligible bachelor. “But if you won the date with him, what would you have to talk about?”

  Lindy wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Talk? Are you nuts? If I won the date with Prince Stefano, I wouldn’t waste precious time talking.”

  Hope laughed, then shook her head. “Of course you’d talk. That’s the point of the evening, isn’t it?”

  A dreamy look came over Hope’s friend. “Even if we did nothing but sit across the table and stare at one another all evening, I’d be thrilled.”

  Not Hope. If she was going to date a prince, she’d make sure the time was well spent. Oh, good grief, she was actually contemplating what it would be like. Clearly she’d been breathing too many fumes from the espresso machine.

  “You won’t need to call your mother back,” Lindy announced all at once.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I just saw her crossing the street.”

  Hope walked over to the picture window in front of her shop. Sure enough, her dear, sweet mother was heading straight for Coffee Break, Incorporated.

  “Mom,” Hope breathed when the front door opened, “what are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d come see my only child who never visits her mother anymore.”

  The hint of guilt hung in the air like a low-lying cloud. Hope didn’t think now was the time to mention that each visit had been turned into another matchmaking opportunity. The last two trips home had been enough to keep Hope away for life.

  “Mom, you know how busy I’ve been this summer. Besides, I talked to you no more than twenty minutes ago. Didn’t you trust me to call you back?”

  “I didn’t want to chance it. Besides I was in the neighborhood.”

  Her mother avoided trips downtown like the plague. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hazel and I came down to that fancy hotel on Fourth Street to make reservations for next week. Gladys and Betty, Hazel and I decided to spring for the big bucks and stay in the hotel for the conference.”

  “You’re actually going to stay at a hotel in Seattle? We live in Seattle.”

  “We want to network. Who knows all the fun we’d miss if we had to catch the five o’clock bus back to Lake City? We decided not to risk it.”

  “I see,” Hope said, but she wasn’t entirely sure she did.

  “By dividing the price of the room four ways, it costs hardly anything. You can’t blame us for wanting to be where the action is, now can you?”

  “Where’s Hazel?”

  “I left her at the hotel. She’s checking out the room they’re giving us. Rumor has it Prince Stefano’s suite is on the nineteenth floor.” She paused and Hope swore her eyes sparked with mischief. “Hazel made up a story about her blood pressure and the medication she’s taking. She insisted the higher the room, the better it is for her heart.” A smile dimpled each of Doris’s tanned cheeks. “It worked. Our room’s on the eighteenth floor.”

  Hope could see it all now. Four retired schoolteachers lurking in corridors waiting for a glimpse of Prince Stefano. “So you’re going to be rubbing shoulders with royalty.”

  “Just think of it, Hope. We might run into the prince on the elevator.”

  “Indeed you might.” Her mother sounded like a star-crazed teenager waiting for a glimpse of her favorite rock star.

  “It’s all for fun.” She glanced at her daughter as if she feared Hope would say she was acting like an old lady.

  “I think it’s great, Mom,” she said, resisting the urge to laugh. “You and your friends will have the time of your lives.”

  “You don’t think we’re a bunch of old biddies, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “We’re so excited.”

  “About meeting the prince?”

  “That, too, but the opportunity to see all our favorite romance writers, and get their autographs at the book sale. It’s like a dream come true.”

  “You’re going to have the time of your life.”

  Her mother didn’t seem to hear her. All at once her face grew somber. “I always said someday your prince would come, didn’t I? Now the time has come. He’s going to fall head over heels in love with you, sweetheart.”

  Already Hope could see the wheels turning in her mother’s fevered brain. It’d be best if she could root Doris in a bit of reality. “ Mother, my winning the date with Prince Stefano is a long shot. I imagine they’ve sold a thousand chances.”

  “More,” Doris said confidently. “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to win.”

  It wouldn’t do any good to point out the mathematical odds of that happening were highly unlikely. Letting her mother dream wasn’t going to hurt anything, Hope supposed. The whole thing was harmless. Hope had as much a chance of winning as the man in the moon.

  “You’ll be there for the drawing, won’t you?”

  “When?” Hope had no intention of attending, but she didn’t want to tell her mother that.

  “The lucky winner will be announced Thursday night at the cocktail party.”

  “I can’t,” she said automatically. “I’m meeting with my accountant to go over this qu
arter’s taxes. You’ll stand in for me, won’t you?”

  “If I must.” Doris looked a bit disappointed, but Hope could see that the more her mother thought about it, the better she liked the idea. “Naturally, Hazel and the others would want to meet him.”

  “Naturally,” Hope concurred. “I’ll tell you what, Mom. If I win the date with Prince Stefano, I’ll be sure that the four of you have a chance to chat with the prince, and it won’t be in any elevator.” It was easy to be generous when it cost her nothing.

  Doris’s face broke into a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. “Wouldn’t that be a kick.”

  Hope was convinced it would.

  Prince Stefano looked out over the crowded ballroom floor and felt a cold chill race down his spine. Glasses clinked, champagne bubbled. Lights glowed and warmed the room from the huge crystal chandeliers. Stefano swore the eyes of a thousand women followed his every move.

  He wasn’t a man who frightened easily, but this situation was enough to try any man’s soul. Stefano didn’t doubt that if he were to stumble from the security of the stage, he would be stripped bare of his clothes within seconds. The crowd resembled a hungry school of piranhas. For the first time in his lengthy history with Pietro, Stefano questioned if his secretary was friend or foe. After all, his agreeing to stand upon the auction block like a slab of fresh meat had been Pietro’s doing.

  Stefano’s gaze scanned the crowd until he found his secretary. His companion was standing against the wall with a short young woman, wearing a revealing dress that clearly made her uncomfortable. Each time Stefano glanced her way, she was nervously smoothing the full skirt, or adjusting the spaghetti-thin straps.

  So this was Priscilla Rutherford. Stefano had learned everything he could about the young woman in the past several weeks. She was the only daughter of one of America’s wealthiest men. As Pietro had assured him, she was a lovely creature, comely and pleasant to the eye. Priscilla Rutherford was a gentle soul who loved animals and children. She lived with her parents in their Lake Washington estate, and volunteered her time to a number of worthy charities.

  The only drawback that Stefano could see was her domineering, manipulating mother who would like nothing better than to see her daughter marry well. It was unlikely that Elizabeth Rutherford would find fault with Stefano, but he wasn’t looking forward to having a barracuda for a mother-in-law. A woman such as this could wreck havoc in his peaceful kingdom.

  “I sincerely hope you’re enjoying yourself, Your Highness,” Madeline Marshall said as she curtsied deeply before him. She offered him her hand and Stefano bent forward at the waist and kissed her fingers.

  “How can I not enjoy myself when I am with you?” he murmured. Madeline Marshall was another of life’s small surprises. The woman was an eccentric, true, but she was a cagey businesswoman who knew her product. And her product was romance. Madeline had earned his grudging respect with her organizational expertise and her leverage with the media.

  Pietro had reported to Stefano earlier in the day that the book sale and autographing that was scheduled for Saturday afternoon had the potential for drawing in nearly eight thousand ardent romance readers. Stefano had been amazed, and had suggested to Madeline earlier in that evening that San Lorenzo would be the perfect location for a future conference. The tourist bureau would appreciate the plug.

  “We’ve sold over thirteen thousand tickets,” Madeline whispered to him, her eyes twinkling.

  “I am honored that so many beautiful women are eager to spend an evening in my company,” Stefano said with a graciousness that had been drilled into him from his youth.

  “From what I understand, Priscilla Rutherford bought a thousand tickets. I don’t mind telling you, I purchased a fair share of them myself,” Madeline said with a short, nervous laugh.

  “I would be most happy if I were to draw your name, Ms. Marshall,” Stefano said, inclining his head toward her.

  The businesswoman broke out in a sigh and pressed her hand over her heart. “If only I were twenty years younger,” she whispered. “I’d give you a run for your money.”

  Stefano didn’t doubt the truth of that.

  Sighing once more, Madeline asked, “Are you ready for the drawing?”

  “Of course.” As ready as any man could be who was about to face a firing squad.

  Madeline Marshall stepped toward the podium. An excited hush fell over the crowd as a huge plastic barrel containing the entrants’ names was wheeled onto the stage. Two muscular hotel employees stood guard at each side of the barrel.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Madeline said, commanding their attention. Not that the hungry crowd needed encouragement. “The time we’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived. Romance lovers have snatched up over thirteen thousand tickets, all seeking the once-in-a-lifetime chance to date Prince Stefano Giorgio Paolo, the Crown Prince of San Lorenzo—the world’s most eligible bachelor.”

  An enthusiastic chatter circled the room. It seemed to Stefano that the group was pressing closer and closer to the stage.

  “As I explained earlier,” Madeline Marshall continued, “the winning ticket entitles the winner to an all-expense paid evening with Prince Stefano, at the restaurant of her choice. The monies collected for this evening’s event have been donated to the Literacy Councils of King, Pierce and Kitsap Counties.”

  Applause followed. The two burly men edged closer to the barrel and energetically stirred the hopes and dreams of thirteen thousand women. The white entries tumbled one on top of the other.

  When they’d finished, Madeline Marshall opened the trapdoor and motioned for him. “Prince Stefano, would you kindly do us the honor?” she asked.

  Stefano nodded, stepped toward the plastic barrel and with a sigh, inserted his gloved hand. He burrowed his fingers through the entries, grabbed several and shook his hand until only one remained. He pulled that one out.

  Stepping up to the podium, he looked out over the expectant faces of the women staring up at him. Priscilla Rutherford held her arms close to her breasts, her eyes closed and her fingers crossed. He wouldn’t dare to hope he would draw the name of the woman he planned to make his wife. The Fates would never make it that easy.

  He swore he could have heard a pin drop in the silence. He unfolded the slip, and mentally he reviewed the name.

  “Hope Jordan.” He spoke into the microphone.

  A scream came from the back of the room as an older, gray-haired woman raised both hands. Stefano’s gaze found her and he felt his heart drop to his knees.

  He was about to go out on a date with a woman old enough to be his mother.

  Chapter Two

  “YOU WON!” THE NEARLY incoherent voice shouted into Hope’s ear.

  Hope propped open one eye and stared at the digital dial on her clock radio. It was nearly eleven o’clock. One arm dangled over the side of the bed and the other held the telephone receiver to her ear. The side of her face was flattened against the pillow.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Lindy.”

  “For the love of heaven, why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”

  “To tell you Prince Stefano drew your name.”

  Both Hope’s eyes flew open. Scrambling into a sitting position, she brushed the hair from her face, pressing her hand against her forehead. “Why are you calling me instead of my mother?”

  “Because when your name was announced, your mother screamed, threw her arms into the air and promptly fainted.”

  “Oh, my goodness—” Hope bounded to her feet and paced across the top of her mattress “—is Mom all right?”

  “I think so. She keeps saying something about fate and Providence and the stars all being in the right place. The paramedics don’t have a clue what she’s talking about.”

  “The paramedics?”

  “That’s the other reason I phoned,” Lindy announced. “They need you to answer a few questions.”

  “I’ll be there as soon a
s I can,” Hope said, and in her rush nearly fell headfirst off her bed, forgetting where she was standing. She swore she never dressed so fast in her life, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt. She hopped around the room on one foot like a jack-rabbit in an effort to get on her tennis shoes.

  Driving to the hotel, she happened to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. And cringed. She must have been sleeping hard because the mattress had creased her cheek and the hair on one side of her head resembled a ski slope. Her deep blue eyes seemed to have trouble focusing.

  Hope left her car with the hotel valet and rushed around the ambulance parked by the entrance and hurried inside the lobby where Lindy was waiting for her. Hope’s appearance must have taken her friend aback because Lindy reached inside her purse and handed Hope her comb.

  “The prince is with your mother,” she explained when Hope regarded the comb.

  Hope had to stop and think what Lindy was telling her. “So?”

  “I…I thought you might want to freshen up a little.”

  “Lindy, my mother fainted, the paramedics don’t know what’s wrong. I think Prince Stefano isn’t going to care if I brushed my teeth.”

  “Ah right, all right. I wasn’t thinking.”

  If meeting Prince Stefano was enough to cause her mother to require smelling salts, frankly Hope wasn’t all that keen on being introduced.

  Lindy led the way to the elevator, and they rode up to the eighteenth floor. Her mother’s friends, Hazel, Gladys and Betty all rushed toward Hope when she stepped off the elevator. The three were all talking at once, telling her their version of what had happened after Prince Stefano read Hope’s name.

  “Your mother went terribly pale,” Hazel said.

  “I told you she wasn’t getting enough carrot juice,” Betty insisted. “She isn’t juicing properly.”

  Gladys agreed. “This is the kind of thing that happens when you let yourself get irregular.”

  “She asked for you,” Hazel said, ignoring the others, as she gripped Hope’s arm. She opened the door to the room, and with an indignant sigh, said, “Those firemen wouldn’t let us in. You tell your mother we’re out here waiting for her.”