The Keys' Prince (The Royal Heirs)
Read The Keys' Prince (The Royal Heirs) Online
Authors: D. D. Scott
PRAISE FOR D. D. SCOTT:
“…one of the top Romantic Comedy/Humorous Mystery writers out right now.” —ENT (Ereader News Today)
THE KEYS’ PRINCE
(The Royal Heirs, Book 1)
By:
D. D. Scott
Copyright © 2014 by D. D. Scott. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
First Electronic Edition: July 2014
Can happily-ever-after be found the second time around?
A European prince and the daughter of a billionaire shipping tycoon have found a break from the paparazzi on the beaches of Sarasota and St. Armand’s Key, Florida. They’ve also rekindled the love they shared twenty-five years ago. Back then, their love wasn’t strong enough to defeat the people trying to destroy them. Is it strong enough now?
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Stella DeAngelo took another miniature spoonful of her no-sugar-added, double chocolate gelato. With bits of Belgium chocolate brownies swirled into the rich milk, cream and dark chocolate confection, it was sinful. The yummy kind of sinful she could get used to.
Even though, like always, she’d ordered the teeny-tiny sample size, if she wasn’t careful, she’d end up gaining back part of the weight she’d lost before leaving her Ibiza villa for a new life in Sarasota. And if she did that, she’d blow her cover. A risk she wasn’t willing to take despite the lure of double chocolate gelato.
The gelato shop was next door to Stella’s new shop. Go figure, she thought, savoring one of her last spoonfuls. Nothing about her new adventure had been easy. But that’s okay. She’d never had it easy, even though most people probably thought that she had.
Sitting on the marble bench tucked into the palm trees and tropical gardens along the sidewalk in front of her St. Armand’s Circle store—Neptune’s Treasures, Stella finished her gelato and vowed to make it a weekly treat instead of a daily boost.
She loved to sit here, almost out of view, and catch peoples’ reactions as they stopped and took in her shop’s windows. She worked hard on her displays—her favorite part of shop-keeping. And according to the comments she’d overheard and the sales receipts from the holiday season, her windows were definitely working to increase her customer base.
She still couldn’t believe how well she’d done during her holiday grand opening stretch. Kudos to Auntie Eloise who’d pushed her to have the store ready to go for a Black Friday roll-out.
Auntie Elo was getting ready to celebrate her seventy-fifth birthday. But when it came to business, she still had the edge that had made her a fortune for over fifty years as a small business owner in the Florida Keys. If Stella kept soaking in her advice and trying her fabulous ideas mixed with her own creative instincts, she’d do very well for herself in her beach décor store.
Take the witches’ balls, for instance. Her bestsellers by far. At Auntie Elo’s suggestion, Stella had artfully hung dozens of them right inside the doorway. The hand-blown glass balls came in a terrific selection of colors, covering all of the moods of the Gulf of Mexico and its stunning bays and beaches—from brilliant turquoise and aquamarine to cerulean blue, storm-surge gray, sandy beige and glittering, sun-dusted copper and bronze. Hanging from satin ribbons, the balls dazzled under the shop’s lighting, shimmering even more from the natural light shining through the windows and door.
According to the card that came with each one, the witches’ balls offered protection against dark energies and forces. Stella wasn’t sure she believed in the balls’ mystical purposes, but she couldn’t deny that when she looked at them, hope surged through her being, reminding her that just maybe she could have a life outside of the one her father had left her.
So maybe the balls were magical. If they could help her see past her treacherous destiny, perhaps they were also reaching out to her customers in unexpected ways. Magic or not, the whimsical glass creations sure got people into her store and made them more willing to explore all she had to offer in Neptune’s Treasures.
“I know those balls are worth every minute you’re giving them,” Auntie Elo said, snapping Stella out of her gelato and witches’ ball fog, “but I thought you said you needed to be at the city commissioners’ meeting by one-thirty.”
“Oh boy, you’re right. Thanks bunches. I lost track of time,” Stella said, feeling her brief respite of hope deflate almost as quickly as it had come. More often than not, the meetings ended up being a waste of time. But as a business owner, she wanted to stay in-the-know, so she always attended.
“No worries, my dear. I just didn’t want you to miss the meeting. I know how important this issue is to you.”
The main issue on the agenda was important to Stella. Too bad there wasn’t another way to find out what she needed to know though. But in this case, there just wasn’t.
One of the few things she’d learned from her father and actually agreed with was his insistence on face-to-face meetings with everyone he did business with. ‘You can’t gage peoples’ reactions by reading reports of what happened,’ he’d said, ‘You have to be there and take it all in.’
In order to give anything the full support of the Anastas Foundation, Stella attended all public and private meetings made available to her. But attending those meetings in Sarasota meant she was taking a chance that someone would recognize her. So far, she’d been lucky. No one had figured out who she really was. But she knew better than to think or hope that—with or without the help of the witches’ balls—her luck would continue, indefinitely.
Auntie Elo led the way back into Neptune’s Treasures, with Stella following close behind.
“I hope Mr. Schmidt’s report is well-received,” Stella said reaching for the sequined cardigan she always slipped into her tote bag to shield her from the air-conditioning that blasted full-force in the commissioners’ meeting room. “It’s high time helping Sarasota County’s homeless population is more than a talking point on an agenda.”
“Oh, I think Dean’s going to blow ’em outta the water,” Auntie Elo said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Dean, huh? You two are on a first name basis?”
“Perhaps.” Auntie Elo’s cheeks had a red glow, despite her sun-worshipper’s tan.
Stella kept her observation to herself, not wanting to impede whatever progress her aunt was making with Dean Schmidt. It was about time Auntie Elo found a companion who cared about the community’s well-being like she did.
From what Stella had learned about Dean, when it came to dealing with the homeless, he was much more than a paid consultant. He cared about the population he was serving and had helped many counties and municipalities across the United States not only plan wonderful programs to get these often forgotten people the help they needed for long-term advancement, but he’d often stayed on for greatly reduced fees, and sometimes at his own expense, to implement his plans. With Dean’s guidance, many homeless people came off of the streets and forever stayed off of them.
“Perhaps I should invite Dean over for dinner,” Stella suggested, anxious to see how Auntie Elo reacted to the idea.
“Maybe I already have,” Auntie Elo said looking over her bifocals in the way she did that left no doubt she didn’t need her niece’s help when it came to deciding who she’d socialize with.
“Atta girl, Auntie Elo,” Stella said and laughed, not the least bit surprised that her aunt had beaten her to the proverbial punch. She often did.
“Maybe you should follow my lead,” Auntie Elo said, not shying away from the sweet ribbing she loved dishing out.
“You want me to invite Dean to dinner too?” Stella asked, knowing darn well that’s not what her aunt meant.
“Very funny. But Dean’s mine. That said, I’m absolutely positive he’s not the only eligible bachelor in Sarasota.”
Stella rolled her eyes and pretended to be way too busy packing her tote bag to consider Sarasota’s slew of eligible bachelors. For the sake of accuracy though, the county’s demographics gave Auntie Elo many more possibilities than it did Stella. Eighty percent of the population was fifty-five and older.
“You can ignore me now, but not forever, sweet girl. Just say the word, and I’ll have Emma Lou and Hollywood set you up a profile on the online dating service they’re using.”
“Oh no you don’t. First, I’m perfectly capable of creating my own profile. If I want to. Second, even if I did buy into online dating services, I would not enlist the help of Emma Lou and Hollywood.”
“Well, I don’t know why you say it like that. Those girls have a lot of fun with it,” Auntie Elo said acting as if she couldn’t possibly understand why anyone would have a problem with her friends’ man-hunting methods.
“I’m sure they do have fun. It’s the men they hook up with that I’m worried about. Emma Lou and Hollywood put them through hell and then some,” Stella said, thinking about the conversation she’d overheard the day before when Auntie Elo’s dear friends had been over for Happy Hour cocktails.
“You’re reading way too much into that,” Auntie Elo said, tsk-tsking her perfectly manicured fingers as if she were swooshing away a lovebug instead of Stella’s well-founded impressions of Emma Lou and Hollywood’s dating antics.
“I am? Am I? Emma Lou refuses to continuing seeing any man who, and I quote, ‘hasn’t put a ring on it in three months,’ and Hollywood only dates men who will agree to take her to all of her favorite fancy restaurants.”
Auntie Elo rolled her eyes and pretended to fill the stapler, which was already full of staples.
“Don’t roll your eyes, Auntie Elo. You heard the same conversation I did. Those two nut jobs said if the poor chaps can’t measure up to their standards, they’d just keep on clicking,” Stella said, still laughing out loud at the absurdity of their demands.
“Aren’t you going to be late for that meeting?” Auntie Elo asked with a smile.
“Okay. Okay. I’m going. But no Emma Lou and Hollywood to the rescue. Got it?”
“Got it. For cripe’s sake. I’m just trying to help you. It’s been way too long since you’ve even attempted to find someone.”
“I don’t need that kind of help,” Stella said, kissing her sweet and sassy aunt’s soft, wrinkled cheek before heading for the door. “So when’s Dean coming over for dinner?”
“Your meeting, nosy posie?” Auntie Elo asked, shooing her toward the door.
Stella laughed while walking under the witches’ balls and out into the Sarasota sunshine.
Even though she did find the sense of humor in the whole situation, she tossed up a little prayer that the balls would protect her from her aunt’s and her friends’ meddling enterprises. She had enough to worry about trying to keep her new life under the radar while at the same time building a new business. She didn’t need a new man to complicate things.
Two hours later, Stella was still in the commissioners’ meeting. Despite the wear and tear from the lengthy meeting, she could tell by the look on most of the players’ faces that Dean’s proposal was a hit. The sixty-page report he’d walked all of them through appeared to have the political backing to pass a vote, so long as local, deep-pocketed foundations pony up the cash to make it happen.