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Prologue
ONCE UPON A TIME, in a faraway land, in a world called Elatyria, there lived a handsome prince who believed in true love.
This prince had been raised by parents who adored each other. Their lives were filled with love, joy and happiness. He had always looked forward to the day when he would meet his own soul mate, with whom he could share his life and his kingdom.
Unfortunately, though he tried and tried, the prince could not find a bride who loved him for himself. All the eligible maidens he met proved to be more interested in his crown, his palaces and his lands than in his person.
Growing discouraged, he began to cast off his royal duties and go out into the world to meet as many women as he could, looking for his one-and-only, forever love—and finding along the way a lot of one-of-many, for today lovers.
With his parents aging, and his kingdom needing an heir, the prince realized the time had come to settle down and do his duty. Relenting to family pressure, he agreed to make one last foray into the wide world in search of his soul mate. If she was not to be found, he promised to marry a girl his parents chose for him.
With time running out, the prince had one last hope, and one final place to go to try to find the woman of his dreams....
A magical city called New York.
1
“IF I DON’T COME UP WITH the money, I’m in big trouble.”
Claire Hoffman had been trying to ignore her brother, Freddy, who had burst into the kitchen of her candy shop, ranting about his latest financial emergency. It was under four weeks until Christmas; she had a ton of work to do, and no time to deal with his histrionics.
But unlike usual Freddy’s tone, he didn’t sound cajoling and playful now. He sounded serious. Very serious.
Her hand shook, ever so slightly, but enough to sabotage the delicate lacework icing she’d been applying to a tray of tiny petits fours. She lowered the icing bag. “What are you talking about?”
Ignoring her for a moment, Freddy grabbed a café con leche truffle—one of her specialties—and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Freddy?” she snapped.
“I’m starving. I don’t even have money to feed myself.”
She didn’t ask why. Freddy made a fair wage ushering at one of the theaters on Broadway, but whatever he made was never enough to keep him solvent between paychecks. Which was why she hadn’t immediately panicked when he’d burst in a few minutes ago, looking for cash. She was used to slipping him a twenty she could hardly spare, knowing the money was worth avoiding the nagging.
But she suspected a twenty wasn’t going to cut it this time.
“What have you done?”
He finished chewing, then looked down at his feet, scuffing them on the floor. It might have been cute when he was ten and, five years older, Claire was practically raising him, since their delicate, prima ballerina mother was so often ill. But it wasn’t cute now that he was twenty-one, and a lazy, often unemployed college dropout who seemed happy to coast through life.
After he’d spent his share of their mom’s life insurance policy, he’d started bumming from Claire’s. Now that she had invested every penny in updating the ancient building her uncle had left her, and starting her shop, I Want Candy, she could no longer serve as Freddy’s ATM. “What. Have. You. Done?”
“It shoulda been a sure thing. I mean, that race...”
“Jesus, Freddy!”
A flush rose up his neck, mottling his cheeks.
“How much did you lose?”
“Well, it wasn’t so much the race....”
She reached for a truffle and bit into it, then grabbed another one. She needed to busy her hands so she wouldn’t strangle him, and busy her mouth so she wouldn’t scream.
“See, when I realized how deep I was in, I went to leverage what I had left on last weekend’s NFL games.”
He snagged a petit four. She snatched it back. “How much?”
He mumbled a reply, so softly she couldn’t be sure she’d heard right. Oh, God, please let me not have heard right. “What?”
“Um...ten large.”
“Tell me you mean ten oversize one-dollar bills.”
He shook his head, looking miserable. “Ten grand.”
The truffles threatened to come back up. For a moment Claire couldn’t think. As if on autopilot, she reached for a nearby bottle of Grand Marnier she’d used in the truffles, twisted off the top and swallowed several mouthfuls. The liqueur burned a fiery path down her throat, snapping her out of her lethargy.
Setting the bottle down, she stretched her hands out and strode toward her brother, ready to choke him.
“Hey,” he cried, shuffling backward. “What are you doing?”
“Strangling you. Your life insurance is paid up, right?”
“That’s not funny.”
“You think I’m joking? I am mad enough to kill you, Freddy!”
“I’m sorry,” he squealed.
Her fury seeped out of her. “How could you do this?” she mumbled, collapsing onto a stool in front of the counter.
Of all people, Freddy should know better. But the fact that their gambler father had lost all his money and died of a stroke at fifty apparently hadn’t taught him anything.
“I didn’t mean to. Claire, you gotta help me. If I don’t make good, the Rat King is gonna send the Nutcracker after me.”
She gaped at her brother. “The who is going to send the what?”
“The Rat King’s a bookie. The Nutcracker is his enforcer.”
Torn between wanting to burst into hysterical laughter or scream, she stared at her imbecilic sibling. “The Nutcracker?”
“Yeah. He got his name because if you don’t pay, he, uh...”
Claire waved a hand. “I think I can figure it out.” Considering she’d often thought her brother needed to grow a pair, she wasn’t sure the collector would be cracking much.
“I can’t help you,” she stated calmly.
Freddy’s eyes rounded into saucers. “What?”
“I have barely enough to cover my expenses for the rest of the month. I’m counting on a big holiday season to make this place pay. My lines of credit are totally tapped out.”
“You could rent the upstairs apartments....”
“No.” The argument was a familiar one. “They’re one step up from needing to be condemned.”
“Come on, it’s Midtown. People would pay five grand a month for the location alone. Screw the peeling paint on the walls!”
It wasn’t just peeling paint. Her great-uncle Harry had left her the run-down property, but no cash. Her mother’s life insurance had given her enough money to get the first-floor shop renovated, along with the apartment behind it, where Claire now lived, but nothing else. The upstairs units—two on each level, going up three floors—were uninhabitable. Squatters living up there had had the good sense to move out, driven away by the frigid air that poured through the cracked windows. Then there were the holes in the walls, the mildewed bathrooms and the drooping wallpaper. Not a pretty picture. Someday, when the shop was thriving, she’d have enough money to continue the renovations and make the whole building a lucrative investment. But not now.
The only way she could get any money out of this place would be if she agreed to sell it to the investor who’d been coming around a lot in the last month. Yet the idea of giving up her chance to build a future for herself made her heart clench. Especially if she had to do it to bail out her idiot brother.
Claire got so tired of taking care of him...of everyone. When their mother had gotten sick, Claire had been the one to nurse her. When her father had lost his money, she’d started working to help support the family. When they were both gone and it was just her and Freddy, she’d become a mother to a teenager, when she wasn’t much past her own teenage years.
She was tired. So damn tired of being the caretaker. It had been such a long time since anyone had taken care of her, she honestly didn’t remember what it felt like.
“Freddy, even if I would consider renting them, I couldn’t get the permits. Everything above this floor is a ruin.” Seeing him about to speak again, she threw a hand up. “And no, I’m not renting under the table. Legal trouble is the last thing I need.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” he asked, sounding petulant.
She bit her tongue to prevent herself from suggesting that he grow the hell up, be a man and deal with his own problems.
“What about a payment plan?” she asked. “You could promise to give him a certain amount of your paycheck every week....”
Her brother rolled his eyes. “Bookies don’t finance.”
“You’ve got no other options. You have to at least ask.”
If the “Rat King” said no, then she’d go into full panic mode and start considering selling organs on the black market. She could think of a few of Freddy’s that could be spared, like his useless brain.
