CHAPTER ONE

      Shey Carlson was waiting for a prince.

      Not in a waiting-for-her-personal-Prince-Charming-to-come-riding-to-her-rescue sort of way; rather she was standing in the small airport in Erie, Pennsylvania, waiting for a real, honest-to-goodness royal runs-a-country sort of prince.

      Prince Eduardo Matthew Tanner Ericson of Amar to be exact. The unwanted fiancé of Parker Dillon—Shey’s best friend—to be even more exact.

      How a girl from humble beginnings ended up waiting to greet a prince was a bit of a mystery. But then it was no more mysterious than the fact that the same girl had a princess as one of her best friends.

      A man dressed in an impeccable suit, with perfectly styled dark brown hair and an ultrawhite smile, walked through the terminal door surrounded by three large men with serious expressions. Bodyguards, their stances practically screamed. The trio scanned the area, alert for any hidden danger.

      The tallest guard had a thin, muscular build and dark skin, the middle-size one, who was still akin to a giant, was bulkier, and had more of a wrestler’s build and a crew-cut. The third was Asian, with a wiry, lean body. He winked at her as they approached and shot her a thousand-watt smile that Shey was sure worked on most women.

      She scowled her response.

      Shey Carlson was not most women.

      The prince had arrived with his entourage.

      “Your Highness?” Shey asked, though she didn’t need to. This man’s mere presence shouted royalty, just as the other three radiated come on and try something.

      “Marie Anna, you’ve…” the prince started then paused, obviously searching for something to say. “You’ve changed since we last met.”

      Shey looked down at her leather jacket.

      She couldn’t imagine Parker wearing anything like it. Not that Parker was prone to wearing a tiara and ball gown, but she wasn’t the leather-jacket type, either.

      “Since I’m not Marie Anna—who, by the way, goes by the name Parker these days—I guess change is an accurate word.” She thrust out her hand to shake. “Shey. Shey Carlson.”

      The prince ignored her gesture. He was probably more accustomed to people bowing to him and kissing his ring.

      Wait a minute, wasn’t it the higher-up clergy who expected ring-kissing?

      Did you curtsy to a prince?

      This kind of protocol had never been necessary in her lower East Side neighborhood when she was growing up. But whatever it was she was supposed to do, the handshake was the best she had to offer.

      Shey Carlson didn’t curtsy or bow to anyone, and she certainly wasn’t into ring-kissing.

      Not even for a handsome prince.

      “You’re not Marie Anna…Parker?” He scanned the crowd. “Do you mind if I inquire where my fiancée is?”

      “Ah, there is another little problem,” Shey said. “You see, Parker’s not your fiancée.”

      Mr. Ultrawhite-smile wasn’t smiling now. He frowned. “That’s not what our betrothal papers say. Not what her father says, either.”

      “Unless you’re planning to marry her father, I figure it doesn’t matter what he says, or what some papers say. Parker’s not your fiancée.”

      “Why don’t you allow Parker,” he drew the name out with obvious distaste, “and I to settle this. Where is she?”

      “She doesn’t want to see you, that’s why she asked me to pick you up.”

      “And I insist you take me to her.” There was a small tic on the left side of his upper lip.

      Did it indicate annoyance?

      Shey sure hoped so.

      “Fine,” she said with a shrug. “But I don’t have room for your gargoyles on my bike.”

      “Bike?”