Isabella Annelisa Violetta Stefania Easton was perfectly suited to be the princess royal of Monaforte because she liked nothing better than a good party. And who spends more time celebrating at festive occasions than royalty, for whom life always seems to be one big fête?
So it was kismet when her dear friend Clementine sort of stumbled into an event-planning business. Isabella, always up for helping others, wanted to support her friend’s enterprising spirit. Plus, she was in the mood to celebrate her upcoming birthday. No doubt, someone would have organized some sort of gathering for the event without enlisting her friend’s help, but it seemed like more of an adventure to put it all in Clementine’s capable hands and see what sort of bash she cultivated with only the seeds of an idea from Isabella.
The two of them hatched the plan over drinks while warming by a fireplace at their favorite restaurant on a bitterly cold January evening. The holidays had concluded and it seemed a good time to start thinking of something else they could do to stave off the winter funk that always wanted to settle in at this time of year.
“Your birthday falls on the weekend that everyone will be celebrating Valentine’s Day,” Clementine said. “So it seems obvious to go with the whole red hearts and valentines theme. Hmmm, let’s think how we could vary this so it’s not too clichéd.”
“Not queen of hearts,” Isabella said, tapping her pointer finger against her cheek in thought. “Because I’m not the queen. Mother wouldn’t appreciate that.”
“Would princess of hearts be weird?”
Isabella scrunched her nose. “Yeah, sorta. Reminds me of Princess Diana, and I don’t want people thinking that.”
“How about we shun the whole annoyingly predictable-slash-hackneyed Valentine’s Day trope and go for a lonely hearts theme.”
Isabella knit her brow and looked at her friend in disbelief. “Really? You’re suggesting my birthday party be a loser-girl bash? Because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s not like I have a boyfriend anyhow. Such a theme will only reinforce the status quo in everyone’s eyes.”
“Yeah, but that’s just because you scare men off.”
Her friend’s eyes popped wide open. “What?”
“Well, not you, personally, but your position. Your status. I mean, being princess can be a little off-putting, amiright?”
“Who knew what a curse being the chosen one could be,” Isabella said with a sigh, her tongue planted firmly in cheek as she splayed her fingers and feigned checking out her nails with an air of faux boredom. “Me, the only girl in the royal brood. Though with my brothers, well, geez, they don’t even go looking for anyone and women drop at their feet. Yet I practically have to pay someone to be my escort. Except for those loser social-climbing men who I have absolutely no interest in being near, let alone dating.”
“Simon Baroni ringing a bell?” Clem said with a slight cackle.
“Ugh, don’t even bring up his name. Acting as if I’d be lucky to carry his spawn. Can you imagine someone telling you they have ‘superior seed’ with a straight face?” She let out a shudder.
“Sounds like he should go to the farm co-op with that information.”
They both laughed out loud as the waiter brought them more drinks.
It was funny to even have such a conversation about Isabella’s difficulty in the dating department. Even on a dreary winter night, she was breathtakingly beautiful and stylishly dressed, with thigh-high stiletto black leather boots, a black leather mini, her favorite black biker jacket, and a colored scarf draped around her neck. All this, paired with long dark hair that framed her lovely heart-shaped face and sparkling blue eyes made her a force to be reckoned with.
“Honestly, Clem, I just don’t even care anymore,” Bella said. “If someone’s not interested in me for me, well, to hell with them. I’ve got plenty of things to fill my days without having to worry about some annoying man trying to make a play for the family riches.”
“So, maybe that’s all the more reason to have it be a ‘lonely hearts club’ theme. Like a big joke.”
Isabella shook her head. “No way,” she said. “We know it would be done in jest but others wouldn’t, and can you imagine how that would come across? Maybe instead we could do some sort of play on the princess thing—maybe a ‘Fairy tales will come true’ theme. Come as your favorite princess or something like that.”
“Ooh, I like that,” Clem said. “Maybe someone will come dressed as you!”
“Better still if it’s a man in drag,” Isabella said. “Now that I would totally love.”
“No one would have the audacity to do that. Would they?”
Bella shrugged. “I doubt it, but if someone did, I would crown them princess for the day and make sure they got a first cut of the cake.” Her eyes lit up. “You will have cake, won’t you?”
“Of course. What’s a birthday party without cake?”
“Lots and lots of it, please. I don’t want to run low on cake.”
“Rest assured, there will be cake for the masses,” Clem said. “We will let them eat cake. All of them.”
“I suppose ‘Let Them Eat Cake’ is a bad theme to use?” Isabella picked a cuticle, distracted.
Clem shook her head. “Pretty sure not enough time has elapsed in the history of Europe for that to go over without offending people.”
“Damn,” Isabella said. “I sort of liked the irony of that one.”
“You can feel free to dress like Marie Antoinette and go around spouting that to people all night long if you’d like. I’m not stopping you.”
“Fine, we’ll nix the self-indulgent queen thing. How about instead of a queen of hearts theme, we go with heartless queen,” she said with a laugh. “I sort of like that. Could be rather amusing. Shame I hate hoopskirts.”
“Is that what Marie wore?”
“God knows. Something very flouncy and yet ridiculously tight in the bodice. I am so lucky I wasn’t a princess in the time of corsets or I’d have been a dead princess.”
“Yeah. Something to be said for Lycra.” Clem gave a two-thumbs-up gesture.
“So who are you going to have cater this shindig?”
“Shindig? You think this is some farm-girl hoedown?” Clem said with a smile. “I’m going far more upscale than that. I was thinking we’d try DaVinci’s. The old man retired and sold the business to a hot chef who did a stint at Le Cordon Bleu and apprenticed for a few years at a famous patisserie in Paris.”
“In that case, we’ll definitely have some good cake.”
“Did I not already promise you fantastic cake?”
“Pretty sure I’ve got you signed with blood on that vow.”
“Just you wait,” Clem said. “It will be the best one ever. You have my word on it. It will be a cake you won’t soon forget.”