The Prince's Secret Baby (A Baby for the Prince Book 1)(7)
Maggie allowed Raffaele to escort her through the house. She trusted him to lead her where they needed to go, so she let herself look around and marvel at the gorgeous house and beautiful people. She tried not to look like a country mouse gawking at the opulence, but she was pretty sure she squeaked on seeing one of her favorite actresses standing near an ornate bar covered in champagne glasses and silver plates of strawberries.
Raffaele leaned close to her ear. “I’ll introduce you later.”
Maggie gave him a wide-eyed look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
He grinned at her, the expression reaching his eyes even through his mask. She grinned back and relaxed. If there was ever a time for a regular girl from New Orleans to rub elbows with royalty and celebrities, Mardi Gras was it.
The holiday had always been Maggie’s favorite. Although most people thought of Mardi Gras in New Orleans as one big debauched party, Maggie knew better. Sure, the festival was a celebration, but at least if you were a local, it was one that was more about food and music and crazy costumes and family. Only tourists came to the city to get drunk and pass out on Bourbon Street.
Her favorite part was the food—the idea of indulging in rich comfort foods in the cold February season appealed to her, but she also loved the traditional favorites. That’s why she always included king cake on the menu at her restaurant during the season, and anyone who found the baby in their slice got a special gift certificate to the restaurant.
She hadn’t been out to celebrate Mardi Gras properly in years. She was always in the kitchen at BienVille. Although she would try to sneak out for a few minutes to catch one of the local parades during the day, it wasn’t the same as being able to attend the parties. Maggie hadn’t realized until now how much she missed the bright whirl of the festival. Being on Raffaele’s arm made it all the more exciting, and she was so happy she’d said yes to attending the party with him.
They walked down white marble steps into the ballroom, where fairy lights decorated climbing cast iron trellises around the edges of the room and thousands of purple, yellow, and green flowers filled towering vases. There was indeed a small orchestra playing on an elevated stage, while couples whirled around the dance floor in a bright swirl of colors.
Raffaele steered her to a couple standing off to the side of the room, where they were greeting guests.
“Prince Raffaele!” the woman held out her arms.
Raffaele kissed each of her cheeks carefully, not wanting to disturb her mask.
“Donna, thank you so much for the invitation.” Raffaele turned to the man and shook his hand firmly. “Thomas, it’s good to see you.”
“Likewise, Your Highness. Thank you for gracing our home.”
Raffaele waved off the flattery. “I’m delighted to be here. May I present my companion? This is Chef Maggie Bechet, from New Orleans’ finest eatery, BienVille.”
Maggie shook the hands of both their hosts, squashing an impulse to curtsy.
“Thank you for opening your home tonight. I’m thrilled to be here.”
Donna smiled at her. “We’re happy you’re here. Please enjoy the party, both of you.”
Raffaele nodded once and offered Maggie his arm again.
As they moved away, Maggie asked, “How do you know our hosts?”
“Thomas does business with a company based in Spiaggi. He and Donna have stayed at the palace a few times, and they always talk about the Mardi Gras party they throw every year. This year, they insisted I come.”
Maggie took all that in. “I can safely say I’ve never been at a party where the hosts knew royalty.”
Raffaele bumped her arm playfully.
“You know royalty,” he said, raising his eyebrows to emphasize his point.
Maggie tilted her head.
“So I do.” She smiled at him. “Not something I ever expected to be able to say.”
Raffaele smiled back at her and Maggie almost missed his next words because she was so distracted by that dazzling smile.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. At her puzzled look, Raffaele added, “I know how you chefs are. Cook all night and never stop to eat dinner yourself. Just because I had a fabulous meal tonight doesn’t mean you did.”
Maggie laughed, surprised at his knowledge yet again.
“Too true, and I am just a tiny bit starving.”
“Well, then,” Raffaele pointed her in the direction of the courtyard. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”
As they walked through the house, it seemed they couldn’t go two feet without someone calling a greeting to the Prince or coming up to them to say hello and introduce a date. Maggie thought the constant attention might get old, even as flattering as it was.
Each time someone stopped them, Raffaele introduced Maggie as one of New Orleans’ best chefs. She felt like a bit of a curiosity since it seemed that all of these people knew each other, but Raffaele treated her as if she belonged. It was lovely, and Maggie was having fun well before they reached the courtyard.
The courtyard was filled with tables of fruit, cheese, and pastries, while black-and-white clad servers moved quietly around the area with trays of appetizers. Maggie took a small puff pastry from one tray, and Raffaele watched her while she took a bite. She nodded immediately in approval and Raffaele smiled.
“I would have felt terrible if I’d brought you to a party with bad food.”