“He’s a prince, literally, and he works at the UN as the ambassador for his country.”

  Phil returned in time to hear the last of that. He set two shopping bags on the floor. “Yeah, he dragged Casey off to Dumbassistan—”

  “Danislova,” Casey corrected.

  “Kept her there for weeks and then broke her heart,” Phil concluded.

  “He did not break my heart.” It might not be broken, but it could sure use some maintenance.

  “Then why do you keep dragging your butt around the apartment?” Phil said.

  “Why do you keep working me to death?” Casey answered.

  “It is late, Philip,” Dixie said.

  “Women.” Phil huffed. “You must all belong to the same club so you can pick on men.”

  “Yes, Philip, dearest,” Dixie said. “This is all about you.”

  In the meantime, Cupcake had gone into the hallway to the bedrooms and had started yapping again.

  “Isn’t that cute,” Dixie said. “I think she wants to get on the bed the way she used to sleep between us.”

  She headed off in that direction, and Phil followed.

  “Don’t go in there,” he ordered. “It’s my bedroom.”

  “It used to be my bedroom, too,” Dixie answered.

  Casey stayed where she was. As much as she enjoyed Dixie sticking it to Phil, she didn’t have to witness their domestic squabble. The fact that Dixie and Cupcake could make Phil’s life miserable was more than enough to make her happy.

  “I meant it, Dixie,” he shouted. “Do not go into my bathroom!”

  “Why, Philip,” she cried. “Why on earth would you keep flowers in the bathtub?”

  Dixie reappeared, carrying a vase full of dozens of crimson long-stemmed roses. “These should be out here so you can enjoy them.”

  “Put that back.” He grabbed for the roses, but Dixie held them out of his reach.

  “Oh, look, there’s a card.” Dixie pulled a small envelope out from among the blossoms and handed the vase to Casey. Dixie opened the card and read for a second. “Hey, these aren’t yours. They’re for Casey.”

  “For me?” Casey stared at the amazing blossoms. Only one person could have sent them. She managed to shove the vase back into Dixie’s hands and take the card from her.

  “Liebchen,” the card read. “Masters tonight at seven. Time for our date.”

  “Ohmigod. It’s from Kurt,” Casey said.

  “Your prince?” Dixie asked.

  “He’s singing tonight at a club. I’m supposed to meet him there.”

  Dixie set the roses on the coffee table and then walked up to Phil, her hands on her hips, and stuck her nose up into his face. “When were these delivered?”

  Phil turned five shades of red and didn’t answer.

  “The truth, Philip, or I’ll cut your tongue out and nail it to the front door,” Dixie said.

  “This morning.”

  “And you kept them all this time?” Dixie said.

  “Look, the guy isn’t good for her.” Phil gestured wildly in what appeared to be a plea for understanding. “She can do better.”

  “And you’d try to sink that for her, too, wouldn’t you, Philip?” Dixie said. “As my granny used to say, ‘the skunk can paint over its stripe, it’ll still stink.’”

  “Holy shit,” Casey said. “He must have been texting and calling all day to see if I got the flowers. And my damned cell phone is missing.”

  Phil turned a deeper red, if that was possible.

  “Oh, no,” Casey said. “Phil, you didn’t.”

  Dixie moved in even closer until she was standing on Phil’s feet. “Where’s Casey’s phone?”

  “My dresser,” he answered. “Top drawer.”

  “Among your shorts?” Dixie shouted.

  “They’re clean.”

  “I’ll get it, Casey, honey,” Dixie said. “I’ve seen his shorts before.”

  Dixie went off in the direction of the bedroom again, and Phil followed back toward the hallway. “Hey, those are my shorts.”

  “You said they were clean,” Dixie shouted back.

  “How could you?” Casey demanded.

  Phil stood where he was, avoiding eye contact. “He wasn’t good for you.”

  “What a pile of bullshit. You just wanted to keep me working for you. That just ended. I so quit. After tonight, you’ll never see me again.”

  But she would see Kurt again. Just as soon as she got her ass over to Masters. What if Dixie hadn’t shown up and Cupcake hadn’t wanted to go into the bedroom? She’d have gone back to her apartment sans her phone and wouldn’t have found out until she opened her personal e-mail that Kurt had sung at Masters. If he even bothered to e-mail her after she’d stood him up.

  Dixie emerged with the cell phone finally. “Lots of messages from overseas.”

  “I didn’t answer any of them. What has he thought?”

  “I swear to God, Philip, if I could, I’d marry you again so I could divorce you again,” Dixie said. “And this time I really would take all your money.”

  “I have to get to the club. What time is it?” Casey asked.

  Dixie looked at the phone. “Six-forty.”

  “The show starts at seven. I’ll get a cab. I won’t be too late,” Casey said. “Damn you, Phil Comstock. Damn you to hell.”

  “You hold on, young lady.” Dixie caught Casey’s arm. “You’re not going to meet your prince looking like that.”

  Casey glanced down at herself. She wasn’t rumpled or dirty despite her faux fight with Phil. She wore her regular work clothes, though, jeans and a sweater. Not how one usually dressed at a nice club like Masters. But she had to get there...fast...her dress didn’t matter.

  “I don’t have time to go home and change,” she said. “I’ll miss too much of his act.”

  The mere thought of Kurt opening without her in the audience curdled her stomach. He’d risked so much to perform—his dignity as a prince and ambassador and his father’s disapproval. He’d done it all for her. She had to be there.

  “I have a solution.” Dixie pulled out her cell phone. “Morgan, honey, find someplace to park. Pay someone a hundred dollars for his space if you have to. Bring up those packages I just bought.”

  “What are you doing, Dixie” Phil asked.

  “This is none of your business, Philip,” Dixie said. “Just shut up and stay out of my way.”

  “But I’ll be late,” Casey said.

  “A few minutes. He’ll still be singing.” Dixie grabbed Casey by the arm. “We’ll put some make-up on you while Morgan’s bringing up those things.”

  The next thing Casey knew, Dixie grabbed her purse from where she’d set it on a table and dragged Casey into the bedroom—Phil’s bedroom—and pushed her to sit on the end of the bed.

  After fishing around in her purse, Dixie produced an impressive collection of blushers, eye shadows, mascara, and all the other trappings of femininity Casey didn’t mess with except for special occasions. Well, this was a special occasion, and Casey dutifully surrendered her face to be painted. Dixie was just finishing when her chauffeur, Morgan, entered with a dress bag and a few boxes.

  The gown took Casey’s breath away. Made of golden silk, it shimmered as Dixie removed it from the bag. The deceptively simple lines spoke of expert design and tailoring. The dress must have cost a month of Casey’s salary, if not more.

  “You’re going to let me wear that?” Casey asked.

  “I’m going to insist you do.”

  When Morgan left, Casey shucked out of her clothes, only keeping on her panties and bra. She didn’t have a slip, but no one would notice. Dixie helped her put on the dress, and it slithered down her body, finally pooling around her feet.

  “How were you going to wear this?” Casey asked. “You’re no taller than I am, and it’ll drag on the floor.”

  “The glass slipper.” With a wicked grin, Dixie opened one of the boxes and produced a pair of high-heeled pumps with platforms. Not glass, but silk, they matched the dress so perfectly Dixie must have had them dyed to create a special outfit.

  “I can’t wear those,” Casey said. “I’ll fall over.”

  “Now, you listen to me.” Dixie waved a finger under Casey’s nose. “You have a prince waiting for you. You’re going to look like a princess if it kills you. Now, sit down and put on these shoes.”

  When Dixie Ann Beaumont gave you an order, you followed it. Casey sat on the bed again. The shoes didn’t fit, but she put them on anyway and rose again.

  She finally got the courage to look at herself in the mirror. In that fabulous gown, she looked so good she hardly recognized herself. She was tall, for one thing, and Dixie had applied the make-up with a skilled touch. Not overly done but enough to enhance her features.

  “Now, if I can walk, I can get to Masters.”

  “Morgan will drive you. You only have to get into the limo and into the club,” Dixie said. “Your prince will whisk you off your feet, I guarantee.”

  “Here goes nothing.”

  From another box, Dixie produced a small handbag that matched the shoes. She shoved it into Casey’s hands. “Put your house key in here and go. You’re pumpkin awaits.”

  *

  Casey wasn’t here. Kurt had expected nerves, for his voice to fail him in public, for a complete lack of audience response or maybe even boos. He hadn’t expected the woman he loved to stand him up, especially on the date they’d planned for since the beginning of their relationship.

  He finished his opening number—an upbeat song he’d rehearsed all the way across the Atlantic. Like a fool, singing to himself on a jet. Who knew what the pilots thought about their prince’s behavior? Now, he received polite applause. Nothing enthusiastic.

  “Thank you,” he told the audience as he scanned the room for the sixth time. Each dark-haired woman might be Casey, but none of them were, and his heart sank to the vicinity of his stomach.

  “Many of us are here with that special person who means so much to us,” he said. More of the silly patter he’d written and memorized. He couldn’t just stand here and sing. He was supposed to woo the audience. Doing it felt stupid and contrived, especially without the woman he most wanted to woo. “So, hold that person close for a moment.”

  He nodded, and Guy played the intro to Embraceable You. Tonight he also had a bass behind him and a drummer using the brushes to create a soft, romantic feel.

  “Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you,” he crooned to the best of his ability. He hadn’t been trained for this, and it didn’t come out anywhere near right. Maybe his father had been right about singing humiliating him. He’d finish his set as quickly as he could and get out of here, never to come back. Then, he’d have to figure out why Casey hadn’t answered any of his texts of calls and why she hadn’t shown up. God, it hurt.

  “…you irreplaceable you…”

  Was she so upset with what had happened in Danislova that she’d given up on their relationship? Could he have misread her e-mails and phone calls, not seeing the evidence that she’d pulled away because he didn’t want to see it? He’d believed things were good between them, but perhaps he’d glossed over problems in his hopes to get her to marry him. After all, she’d flatly refused to discuss their future. Maybe they didn’t have one.

  “...come to papa, come to pa—”

  A figure in gold walked into the club, and the words to the song flew out of his head. Casey. Oh, Casey. His heart melted as she walked down the aisle between tables and stood facing the stage.

  She was more beautiful than ever with her hair spilling down her back and her eyes wide with wonder. He was supposed to sing for her, but what? His mind had gone completely blank.

  Behind him, Guy cleared his throat. He couldn’t stand there like a statue. He had to finish the show.

  “Funny Valentine,” he said softly, and the trio started playing again.

  “My funny Valentine, sweet comic valentine, you make me laugh with my heart.” The words came easily as he poured everything in him into his voice. She smiled and stood there, the love clearly written on her face. A moment ago, he’d feared making a complete fool of himself. Now nothing mattered more than making this woman happy. He continued, imagining the lyrics wrapping around her and pulling her toward him. She did take a few steps forward, and suddenly the urge to have her in his arms became too strong to resist.

  When the song finally ended, he dropped the microphone. It made quite a noise with the impact amplified through the club. Who cared?

  He jumped from the low stage, went to her, and circled her in an embrace. That got him more applause than his singing had, and soon a grin spread over his face.

  She responded with a giggle. “So much for your singing career.”

  The small band picked up the slack of Kurt’s miserable performance with a ballad. Kurt guided Casey in a dance, pulling her firmly against him. A few other couples joined them, using the spaces between the tables as a dance floor of sorts. Masters definitely wouldn’t have Kurt back, which was just fine with him.

  “Sorry I was late,” Casey said. “I only found out about this forty minutes ago.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Phil hid the flowers and my cell phone,” she said. “The bastard.”

  “How did you get so tall?” Her nose almost came to his, which made gazing into her eyes easier. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Platform shoes. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  Yes, later. Now, they had a later. Either her apartment or his. They’d have plenty of time to for love and lovemaking later.

  “Needless to say, I quit,” she said. “Looks like I’m out of a job.”

  “I know of one perfect for you.”

  She bit her lip. “Do tell.”

  “It involves international travel,” he said.

  “I can do that.”

  “And wearing more gowns.”

  “I’ve done that, too,” she said. “The shoes will take some getting used to, though.”

  “You’re perfect, then, as princess of Danislova.”

  She stopped dancing and stared at him as his meaning sunk in. “Friedrich…”

  “…has seen the light. He’ll welcome you into the family.’

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Casey, I wouldn’t put you in a situation where you weren’t utterly adored,” he said. “I adore you. I want you to marry me.”

  “Well…” For a moment, she seemed dumbstruck. Her mouth opened and closed. “I guess I’ll just have to do that, then.”

  “Casey, I—”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. “So, Prince Charming, why don’t you take me home and show me exactly how much you adore me?”

  Epilogue

  Holy sh...good gracious, she was a princess. They’d made it official in the cathedral, the wedding presided over by a portly, smiling bishop. Though the service had been in German, Kurt had translated it all for her in advance and coached her in making her responses. Felice had given her lessons in graciousness—the proper way to wave and all that. And she’d gotten through the whole thing without missing a line or using a curse word, even though Vaclav had occupied one of the seats in the family pews.

  Now, she was in her father’s arms for the first waltz. An American tradition Kurt and the whole family had happily adopted.

  He gazed down at her out of blue eyes so much like her own. “Well, honey, you’ve been living a fairy tale.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch more,” she said. “It all happened so fast.”

  “No matter. As long as you’re happy, your mother and I are, too.”

  “Mom cried through the whole thing. She’s probably still crying.”

  “I might have sniffed a few times myself,” her father said. “We’re proud of you. He seems like a fine young man.”

  “He is, dad. Wait ‘til you get to know him.”

  “We’d like to stay a while and do exactly that,” her father said. “If Prince Friedrich doesn’t mind a couple of house guests.”

  “You’re more than welcome in my home.” Friedrich had come up on them without Casey or her father noticing him.

  Her father stopped dancing. “That’s very kind of you, sir.”

  “Not kind at all,” Friedrich said. “You’ve given me your daughter. I want you to know she’ll be well cared for and happy.”

  “I’m sure she will, sir…er…Your Majesty.”

  Friedrich seemed not to notice her father’s awkwardness but stood smiling at her father to reassure him. Gracious. Casey still had a lot to learn about that, but she had wonderful teachers.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to borrow the new princess for the next dance,” Friedrich said.

  “Of course...certainly…it’s your house, isn’t it?” her father said. “Palace, that is.”

  “Please free to make yourself at home,” Friedrich said.

  “Sure thing.” Her father kissed her on the forehead. “Have fun, honey. It’s your day.”

  Her father blended back into the crowd. She’d spend more time with him and Mom later. Right now, she’d have a dance with her new father-in-law. And how impressive he was. He wore a perfectly tailored cutaway suit with a sapphire sash across his chest. His white hair contrasted with his dark skin, and he stood straight and tall. Kurt would look like that in a few decades, and then, she’d never be able to take her eyes off him.

  The orchestra started a new waltz, and she allowed Friedrich to wrap one arm around her and take her hand in his. All very proper and yet intimate in a way she’d never thought to share with him.

  He danced as well as Kurt did, and soon his overwhelming presence became more natural. She easily kept in step with him, and when he smiled at her, she very naturally smiled back.

  “You call your father dad,” he said.

  “It’s the American custom. Is it all right?”

  “Fine,” he said. “It makes it easier to ask you to call me father.”

  “Really?” Okay, that came out as a squeak. She’d have to work on poise as well as graciousness.