Every wish comes with complications…

 

November 17, approximately 10 p.m.

 

Samantha Blaine held her breath and rubbed the copper lantern on the desk in her father’s office one more time. A little harder. A little longer.

But still… nothing.

No smoke, no genie, not even a dust bunny. She was being ridiculous; the thing was as much a genie lantern as Albert, her double-crossing, soon-to-be-fiancé—make that, her double-crossing, soon-to-be-ex-soon-to-be-fiancé—was Prince Charming.

Useless. Albert thought she, like this lantern, was useless.

“Trust me, Henley,” he’d said during the phone conversation she’d inadvertently overheard not ten minutes earlier. “Daddy’s little girl is clueless. Useless. On all fronts. Run the company? Her old man must have had another stroke back when he had that will drawn up. She’s incapable. Inept. Hell, she doesn’t even have a clue what I’m up to. She doesn’t have a clue about anything, so as soon as this memorial thing is over, I’ll get my ring on her finger and my hands on the contents of that safe. Then you’ll get your money.”

Samantha flicked the edge of the letter with the combination to the safe. Dad’s attorney had given it to her earlier. He’d said Dad had wanted her to have it tonight during the funeral—no, during Dad’s life celebration. That was her father, always looking for the good in everything, but what good had there been in opening it now, in the middle of this party, just to retrieve a souvenir from her parents’ honeymoon? She didn’t really want a reminder of the happily-ever-after she apparently wasn’t going to have with Albert. Without him. Whatever.

She traced the lantern’s curved spout, thoroughly appreciating the irony that Albert had been tearing the house apart for weeks trying to find the combination to the safe, yet she’d been the one to open it.

Useless, was she? Who was the inept one now?

She tapped the flame-shaped finial on the lid. Finding this wasn’t a victory, though, because while Albert might not have been Prince Charming material, she’d thought he’d had some redeeming qualities, namely claiming to love her for her. Not because of who her father was or how much she’d be worth someday, or what great merger-acquisition material she’d be, but because of her. Not Samantha Blaine, heiress, but Samantha, the woman who had hopes and dreams of a long, loving relationship like her parents’ and the big family she’d never had. She’d wanted so much to believe, so she’d let herself hope that this time it was for real.

The troll had helped the illusion along not only by offering to sign a pre-nup, but also by stepping in and taking over the burden of running her father’s custom-car manufacturing company while she’d been at Dad’s hospital bedside these past six months. She’d been so grateful.

And now this. And tonight of all nights. The jerk.

She blinked back the tears, determined not to let him get to her. But, God, she’d been so trusting. So hopeful. Again.

And again she’d been disappointed.

Samantha tucked some curls behind her ears, plopped her chin in her palm, and ignored Wanda, the housekeeper, who was calling her name from the foyer. Samantha wasn’t up for seeing anyone right now.

Oh, not because Albert had just broken her heart. Sadly, deep down, she’d known he wasn’t the guy for her. She’d known that. But he’d been the first—she’d thought—guy in her life who’d sincerely been interested in her. When Dad had had the stroke, Albert had been there. He’d helped out with the company and hadn’t made any demands on her other than to sign paperwork.

That was when he’d started mentioning marriage, and Samantha had let herself go along with the idea because, more than Albert being her One True Love, she hadn’t wanted to deal with the fact that when Dad was gone, she’d be alone in the world. Mom had died when she’d been a toddler, so it’d just been the two of them all these years. She’d never felt the lack of family more than she had when Dad died.

Albert had offered her a way out, so she’d given in to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he was the real deal. Stalwart, supportive, there when she’d needed something… That was what she’d always wished for, so she’d let him in. Trusted him. Believed in the fairy-tale ending.

And now he’d betrayed her.

She shook the long sleeve of the djellaba over her street clothes up her arm and picked up the lantern, her reflection not distorted enough to hide the pain in her eyes at being betrayed.

Again.

Why was everyone always looking for handouts from her? What was wrong with her that she couldn’t have someone want her just for who she was instead of what she had in her bank account or what she could do for them? It was sad, really, how, with everything money could and had bought for her, love wasn’t one of those things.

She ran her fingertips over the lantern’s rounded side. Wouldn’t it be perfect if this actually were a genie lantern? She could use a little magic in her life right now.

For her first wish, she’d turn Albert into a belly-crawling lizard. Then she’d bring Dad back, and then…

“And then I’d wish for the genie to take me away from all this to some place where all my troubles would just disappear.”

And, in a billowing cloud of orange smoke, that’s exactly what happened.

Or… was it?