Chapter One

 

They can’t be serious. Oscar St. Palgreen Concordia Mendoza II, Prince of Montecelia, glanced from his mum to Uncle Alexander, then back to his mum. The colorless complexion of the Queen of Montecelia spoke more truth than words.

“So the decision’s made.” He reclaimed his seat in the wingback chair by the window. Outside, the sun highlighted patches of the palace grounds and glittered off the pond. How could he be so out of touch he hadn’t heard the whispers questioning his readiness to assume the role of king? “Why call me home from Greece when you could have told me over the phone?” His villa on the Mediterranean served as his hideaway—his escape.

“Nothing is final.” Mum’s mouth lifted in a weak smile. “Especially for you, my darling Oscar, who is smart and charming. I believe if you want to convince the country you are a modern, caring king and not a disconnected prince, you will.” She turned to gaze at the maid who entered the royal family’s private gathering room pushing a silver cart.

The maid set a plate of tiny sandwiches, a white china teapot, and three cups on the sideboard. She poured tea and placed a cup and saucer on the walnut table beside the settee. Without a word or glance toward the royal family, she exited.

Oscar bit back his retort. Instead, he stood and helped himself to a cucumber finger sandwich. “A disconnected prince?” The corners of his mouth twitched. Better adjective than the alternatives, he supposed. Irresponsible, wild, and self-absorbed were a few that came to mind.

“I speak from a place of love. I know your father’s death has been hard on you. But despite your grief, you need to find the will to step out of the shadows.” She raised a yellow rose painted teacup to her lips and sipped.

“Parliament would never have discussed abolishing the monarchy if Father were still alive.” Frustration rolled through him like a stormy sea. If he was a different kind of prince, no one would question the importance of the monarchy in Montecelia.

King Marlon had been a force of nature bottled inside the human form of a man, and Oscar had lived each day for the six months since his father’s sudden death with the knowledge he would serve as an inadequate substitute. Now, he might be denied even that.

“A vocal segment of the population of Montecelia supports discontinuing the class system.” His mum’s voice held a touch of melancholy. “Since the funeral, I haven’t felt up for many public appearances. With your sister in England and you living at your villa in Greece, our family lacks a clear, visible advocate.”

He paused to study his mum, who appeared to have aged a decade in the months since her husband’s death. Seated with perfect posture on a Louis XV style settee, she looked as if she’d decreased in size. Her shoulders now sloped downward, and her dress hung looser than before. Oscar’s frustration faded to concern. While dealing with his own grief, he’d forgotten his mum had lost the love of her life. “You look exhausted. When’s the last time your doctor has come to the palace to see you?”

“Just yesterday.” She swiped a white gloved hand across her brow, gently brushing aside her silver-blonde bangs. “I’m in good health, or so she tells me. Though, I’d feel better knowing I’m not working to protect the Mendoza name alone.”

The sting of guilt cut deep. “Our titles are our family legacy,” he said, “Not a set of antique dishes you pack away when they go out of style.

Tension built behind his temples. Oscar closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, resigned that for the next few months, his life would drastically change. How could he not at least attempt to be a man worthy of leading his family and his country? Though he couldn’t stomach the thought of giving propaganda speeches and staged appearances all summer long.

Uncle Alexander, his father’s younger brother, sat on the sofa across from the queen. He shook his head, the movement not disturbing his perfectly styled silver hair. “Times change, my boy. The country now sees us as useless figureheads.” He snorted. “People nowadays want royals they can relate to, and they expect royals to relate to their own lives.”

Sounded like a puppet, dancing on stage while someone else pulled the strings. “Who would believe I suddenly connected with the plight of our ordinary citizens? I’ve never held a job, drawn a paycheck, or worried if I had enough money to pay the bills.”

“You’ve worked hard building your wooden boats.” Mum smiled over the rim of her teacup. “Just the other day, I heard Elizabeth von Miller rave about the one her husband is purchasing from you.”

“I craft fine, expensive boats for the rich.” He rested his head in his hands. “I don’t believe my hobby will improve my case.”

“Let me give you the contact information for an excellent speech writer.” Alexander slipped his cellphone out of the chest pocket of his suitcoat and began scrolling through the contacts. “He strings together words like a magician. You’ll have the public banging down the doors of Parliament, demanding the monarchy remain in Montecelia.”

Empty words and false promises. A good king led by example. He only looked to his late father for proof. What would Marlin Mendoza have done, given similar circumstances? Not dress up and give speeches. He would have found a way to prove his worth. Build something from the ground up—a venture solely his own.

Only one solution satisfied both Oscar’s pride and obligation to his family’s legacy. If he lived like a commoner for the summer, would he learn enough about regular life to make a sincere pitch to the public and parliament? When he returned home, could he demonstrate enough leadership to be crowned King Oscar in December, precisely one year after the death of King Marlon?

But where could Oscar reside while avoiding the royal treatment? And where could he hide the prince title and find temporary employment as simply Oscar Mendoza? “I’ll spend the summer in America.” As the words left his lips, he doubted the sanity of his impulsive plan. “I’ll find a job and a place to live. For legal reasons, a few people will view my visa but otherwise, I’ll keep my royal status a secret. Once I return, I can speak regarding my ‘everyman’ existence and our country will see I’m not the royal screw-up everyone believes.”

“You’re not a screw-up,” Uncle Alexander said. “Just full of your own desires. I was no different at your age, only I wasn’t judged as harshly. Leaving right now to hide in America is the last thing you should do. Not when we need you in the spotlight as much as possible.”

“I’m not my father.” The weight of responsibility pressed down on his shoulders. “King Marlon was the people’s king.” The healing edges of the hole in Oscar’s chest tore, and he pressed a hand over his heart to help ease the pain.

His mum flicked a glance at Alexander, then turned to Oscar. “Darling, whether you become king or not, our family will survive. If you honestly believe a summer living in America as a commoner will be beneficial, then go with my blessing. Select a city where you can blend in without fear of recognition. After you return home, you may speak about what you’ve learned and the importance of retaining the monarchy. That is, if you don’t find the common life just as grand.”

Alexander snorted a laugh. “If Oscar lives and works as a commoner, I guarantee after one week he’ll be on a plane back to Montecelia. He’ll either get bored or frustrated. Maybe both.”

Mum narrowed her blue eyes and stared at Alexander. “He understands the stakes. Oscar won’t treat this trip like a vacation.”

“My life already is a vacation. That’s the problem.” Oscar mentally sorted the American cities he’d visited prior. Living somewhere new wouldn’t be as large of a shock if he’d already spent time there. “A city where I can blend in? Like New York or LA?”

“I was thinking more central.” His mum smiled. “Your father and I toured the nicest American state several years ago. Their cheese rivals our own, and they craft iconic motorcycles.” She made a vroom vroom sound. “Your father spoke constantly about wanting one and cruising the open road.”

“I remember.” He laughed. “As well as you strictly forbidding him.”

“I bought one instead.” His uncle chuckled. “Harley Davidsons, they’re called. The King of Montecelia couldn’t be caught riding a motorcycle, but I could, his wild-child younger brother.”

Not being the king had some benefits. Oscar rubbed at the stubble covering his chin and pondered his options. At this point, did he have many left? “Do I dare ask, what is this American state called?”

Mum gently set her teacup on the saucer and grinned. “Darling, it’s called Wisconsin.”

~ * ~

When Amelia Newland started Royal Weddings Incorporated, she never thought in a million years a few misplaced decimals would someday threaten to sink her business. She gazed down at the paper set before her on the white linen tablecloth and swallowed a large portion of her pride. “The error, or more correctly, errors, were exclusively mine. I will get a check to you by the end of business today to make up for the underpayment.”

“Incorrect payments are only one issue.” Faith Kramer, the owner of Walking On Air Wedding Chapel, removed her purple framed glasses and tapped them on the table. “Your competitor, Elegant Engagements, is paying a premium fee to rent the space for the entire weekend. Money talks, Amelia, and given the recent billing issues we’ve had with you, I’ve made the decision to grant Elegant Engagements primary booking rights for the next year.”

The blow hit Amelia like a phantom punch in the gut. Walking On Air was the most desired wedding venue in the metro Milwaukee area, with fine service, a beautiful lakeside location, and high-class cuisine. “Faith, as a business owner, I understand the importance of the bottom line, but I’d booked September twelfth for a wedding, and now you’re telling me you’re voiding our contract?”

Their server brought over the bill for their lunches, and Amelia reached out to accept it. She scanned the prices on the ticket and stifled a grumble of annoyance. Had Faith purposely selected the most expensive lunch and glass of wine on the menu? After retrieving the company credit card from her wallet, Amelia slipped the card into the black folder and handed it back to the server.

Faith pulled out a light yellow sheet of paper from her bag and pushed it across the table. “The fine print clearly reads that if the deposit is not paid in full by three months prior to the event, we have the right to cancel.”

Clenching her fists under the table, Amelia plastered on a smile. She didn’t need to read the contract again to know she’d royally messed up. “I realize you have the right to cancel. I simply thought you’d give me the benefit of a notice before cancelling and rebooking. Not that long ago, you were a struggling new business owner, and I referred a lot of clients to your venue.”

Amelia slipped one hand into the side pocket of her dress and grasped her worry stone—a small, oblong polished opal her mom had gifted her when she’d been a little girl. She brushed her thumb across its smooth surface, transferring some of her anxiety into the stone.

After collecting the papers on the table, Faith stuffed them back into her bag. “I’m sorry, Amelia. I’m sure there are other places still available for your September twelfth wedding. While I appreciate your past and current support, I’m accepting Elegant Engagements’ offer.” She stood and straightened her charcoal pencil skirt. “I will give you one piece of advice.” Hooking the straps of her bag over her shoulder, she exhaled. “Eric Moore from Elegant Engagements has his sights set on crippling his competition, with Royal Weddings Incorporated being his biggest threat. He’s not afraid to use underhanded tactics, so I’m telling you as a friend to watch your back.”

As a friend? Amelia wanted to laugh. What type of friend canceled the booking for your second most important wedding of the season, only to hand it over to your competitor? “Thank you for the advice. I apologize again for the underpayments, and when I get back to the office, I’ll have a messenger bring over what we owe for our outstanding balances from the other accounts.”

Faith nodded and strode for the restaurant door.

Once Faith was safely outside, Amelia let out a groan and lowered her head, resting it on her folded arms placed on the table. What had started out as her most successful summer now threatened to be the worst. She’d spent fifteen years building Royal Weddings Incorporated from a one-woman gig to ten of the most sought after wedding planners in the State of Wisconsin. She took pride in offering constant, high-quality service, even personally managing their most demanding brides and grooms. Too much was at stake to stumble now.

Her strength—planning the perfect wedding—had grown her business. Her weakness—well, after today she fully comprehended her deficiency in accounting and spreadsheets. To be fair, though, she normally wasn’t responsible for those tasks. Heather, her business manager, was on maternity leave. Amelia had ridiculously thought she could handle both her own responsibilities and Heather’s for a few months. And it took one disastrous failure to realize she’d been very wrong.

Amelia raised her head and let out a long breath. Nothing would be fixed by sitting alone in a restaurant feeling sorry for herself. Once she returned to the office, she could begin searching for another venue for the September wedding and cross Walking On Air Wedding Chapel off her list of preferred wedding sites. Faith had made a mistake by trusting Eric Moore. If their deal collapsed, she’d own a great venue with no bookings.

Oh, well. Not my problem. Amelia could only worry about what she could control. Which at this moment, was ensuring she made no further mistakes in payments. What she needed was a temporary business manager, one who was smart and a hard worker but agreeable to leave the job after three months. So far, she’d found the temps she’d interviewed lacking.

The server returned with a receipt to sign and her credit card. After taking care of the bill, she collected her purse and hefted up her overstuffed leather portfolio. Housed inside was everything she needed, both personally and professionally, from lip gloss to a sewing kit to her daily planner. She’d also brought along the binder for an upcoming wedding. The bride had just changed the color scheme so Amelia planned to stop by the florist on the trip from the restaurant to alter their order.

She exited the building onto a sidewalk bustling with activity. Men and women in business clothes moved along at a rapid pace, most looking at a smartphone instead of the world around them. Fighting the inclination to do the same, she took her time heading back to the office, strolling in an attempt to clear her head. The brick-faced buildings on either side of the street sparkled with windows to restaurants, retail shops, and office spaces. Her favorite clothing store sat across the street. The salon she visited every six weeks for a cut and color refresh was one block to the south.

For a girl who started out in poverty and foster care, she was proud of the business she’d created. After her adoption, she’d been instilled with her new mom’s work ethic and thankfully a portion of her caring heart. A good combination when building a brand focused on selling the idea of eternal love.

These days, Amelia needed only a few things to be happy—a successful business, her mom, weekly calls with Lilly and Astrid, her two best friends from college, and a comfortable amount of money in her personal savings account. Finding love for herself had fallen further down the list as each year went by. Now, at thirty-seven, she’d made peace with the fact she might not find true love. And honestly, what woman had time to pick through the shallow dating options in the rare hope of finding a jewel buried in a pile of coal?

The warmth of the sun brightened the cloudless blue sky. The tall buildings on either side of the street offered protection from the cool lake breeze. As she turned the corner, the sidewalk, which butted up against a brick exterior wall, narrowed.

Up ahead, a group of college-age students moved toward her. They chatted loudly and appeared too deep in conversation to notice her. Figured. She’d be the one to step aside in an attempt not to get plowed over. Hopefully soon, her Monday would start looking up. If not, she had a frozen pizza and an updated marketing plan put together by the new firm she’d hired waiting at home.

The kids got closer, and she shifted toward the street, halting at the curb. As they passed, one of them bumped her shoulder. “Excuse me,” he mumbled before walking on.

“You’re not excused,” she huffed while circling her outstretched arms to maintain her balance. Wearing high heels, she see-sawed on the edge of the curb. Panic gripped her chest at the sight of a car heading in her direction, riding precariously close to the curb. If she fell, she’d likely become road kill.

With a wide swing of her arms and a burst of core strength, she gained enough momentum to wrench herself back to safety, both feet returning to the sidewalk. Whew… She exhaled a breath of relief.

A loud honking jolted her attention back to the street. In all the turmoil of trying not to fall, she’d accidently flung her portfolio bag into the street. No! She watched helplessly as a red pickup truck made tire tracks on the cream-colored leather. Heavy traffic halted her from running out after it. A rescue attempt meant probable bodily harm. But her bag was her life. She needed the contents, because none of that information was backed up on a computer.

Meaning she didn’t have a choice. The wedding binder was more valuable than her ability to walk. She could work in a cast. She had to risk darting into traffic. Weddings depended on it.

A line of cars drove by, each running over her bag in turn. Seriously? Why did the entire city of Milwaukee need to drive down this street right now? She cautiously stepped into the street. “Okay. I got this.”

“Stop.” A hand grasped her upper arm. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

At the sound of a deep, accented voice, she halted so fast she tumbled forward, almost into an oncoming car, surely ending her life then and there. This man made her tummy flutter with only a few words. She needed to concentrate on retrieving the contents of her bag. No man, no matter how attractive his accented voice, was more important.

“Let me help.”

Amelia lost focus long enough to glance up at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Was he her guardian angel? He did have the chiseled features of the divine, like the ones in the movies who appeared on earth in moments of need. His dark hair was neatly trimmed short. Add the fact he was pristinely dressed, and she decided he was either an angel or model. Or maybe both? “My bag,” she managed to choke out.

“I see it.” Mr. Perfect flashed a smile. Of course, his teeth were pearly white, straight, and all proportionate. “Stay here, and I’ll stop traffic. Once it’s safe, go out and retrieve your bag.”

Her heart danced a crazy beat. This man could stop traffic simply with his presence. “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

“No trouble.” His brown eyes actually twinkled when he smiled.

Before he could make much progress in stopping traffic, a large garbage truck rumbled down the street. Amelia moved out and waved at the driver but with no luck. The man grabbed her arm and jerked her out of the way just in time.

The truck’s massive front tire pushed her bag along the pavement for several seconds before the leather split, sending her important papers and fabric swatches into the air like an explosion of defeat.

Her eyes welled with tears. Unless Mr. Perfect could turn back time, she was in serious trouble.