The Prince's Secret Baby (A Baby for the Prince Book 1)(4)

Joshua gave her a teasing look.

“Hot date?”

Maggie grinned. “As a matter of fact, I just got invited to a party tonight.”

Joshua whistled. “You go, girl.” She grinned at him and he started to shoo her off. “No, really—go! I’ve got things covered here. Go have some fun!”

“Thanks, Joshua!” She threw her jacket onto its peg and grabbed her things. “Call me if you have any problems.”

“We won’t. Don’t worry about us!” he shouted as he headed back into the kitchen.

Maggie rushed out the back of the restaurant. Fortunately, it was only a few blocks to her apartment. She could change and maybe tame her hair and still be back in time. She walked quickly, unable to stop smiling.

Somewhere in those few blocks, though, doubt started to creep in and she wondered if she was making a mistake. She really needed to take inventory, and why on earth would a prince want to spend time with her? She was going to be so out of place at the party, and he would be embarrassed to be seen in her company.

By the time she reached her apartment, Maggie had half talked herself out of going, but when she pulled her closet door open and flipped through everything there, she realized something important. She had one dress that was appropriate for a party, and that fact meant she desperately needed to get out more. If she didn’t go to this party, Maggie thought there was a good chance she might just give up and hide in the kitchen for the rest of her life, and she wasn’t ready to declare that an option.

Plus, the Prince had really great dimples when he smiled.

And he knew his food. Even just talking with him for a few minutes had made her want to spend more time with him. So, she was going to this party, even if she had to go in hours early tomorrow to make up for the lost work tonight.

Maggie quickly shucked her chef whites and took a fast shower, just enough to get the smell of the kitchen off her skin.

She shimmied into the dark purple dress and slipped on some heels. Her hair was wavy from the time spent curled up in a bun, so she simply brushed it lightly and left it down. After adding jewelry and mascara, she gave herself an approving look in the mirror. She might not be royalty, but she would do just fine.

Maggie made it back to BienVille in record time and found Raffaele waiting next to a limo. He was standing on the sidewalk chatting quietly with someone who Maggie assumed was the driver, based on the uniform.

She took a moment to admire the Prince as she approached. He was wearing a perfectly tailored maroon suit, complete with a gold pocket square. The color of the suit set off his dark hair and Maggie’s breath caught at how handsome he was.

Maggie wasn’t blind; attractive men crossed her path not infrequently, not that it did her any good. She worked when other people traditionally scheduled dates, which meant she never went on dates of her own. Dating, much less a real relationship, wasn’t something she had the time to pursue.

Not that she expected anything from her date with the Prince. He was—after all—royalty, and he lived thousands of miles away. Sure, the party would be interesting and Maggie was pretty sure she would have fun. She’d made up her mind to enjoy the evening, whatever happened.

The Prince looked up and his face broke out into a brilliant smile that sent a rush of warmth through Maggie. The appreciative look he gave her didn’t hurt, either.

Okay, she was definitely going to have fun, even if it was just for a few hours.

Raffaele said a few words to the driver, then bowed to Maggie as he opened the door to the limo for her.

“Chef Bechet, your carriage awaits.”

Maggie shook her head. “I didn’t know princes opened their own car doors.” She made her tone teasing and smiled to show him she appreciated the gesture.

“Ah, but tonight is about you, and I am here to make your evening a wonderful one.”

Maggie grinned. “In that case, you should probably call me Maggie.”

The Prince laughed. “Indeed. But only if you call me Raffa.”

Maggie slid into the car. “Not Raffaele?”

He slid into the car next to her and closed the door. “If you like, but my closest friends call me Raffa.”

“Mm-hmm. What does your mother call you?” Maggie asked jokingly.

Raffaele chuckled. “Her darling youngest child, the light of her life, and the bane of her existence.”

“Oh, that I certainly understand.”

Raffaele gave her an interested look. “You’re the youngest?”

Maggie shook her head. “Only child. My parents are wonderful and supportive, and despair of me ever having a life outside the kitchen.”

He nodded. “I’ll make sure you have a good story to tell them, then.”

Maggie laughed. “Thank you. The fact that I’m attending a Mardi Gras party with a prince is a good start.”

Raffaele reached for something and held it out to her. Maggie realized it was a gorgeous mask, a deep green with gold filigree and purple ribbons falling from the edges of the upturned corners.

She took the mask reverently and turned it over, looking at the detail.

“It’s lovely,” she breathed.

“We’re attending a masquerade party, in case that wasn’t obvious. And I think what makes it lovely is that you’ll be wearing it.”

Maggie looked up at him and he looked back, and she could have sworn that there were visible sparks in the air where their eyes met. She ducked her head, studying the mask again.