The limo drove slowly up a long, semicircular driveway, giving Maggie a chance to look at the setting for the party. The mansion was huge—the stone walls made it look more like a castle than a house—and it sparkled with lights.

Both Maggie and Raffaele donned their masks, his dark gold with a black ribbon and a black fleur-de-lis embossed on the side. Raffaele helped her tie the purple ribbons on her mask, and Maggie got goosebumps on her arms as his fingers brushed across her hair.

Purple and green decorations lined the driveway, and bright torches stood every few feet leading up to the massive double doors. Light spilled out from each window and when they got out of the car, Maggie could hear music from what sounded like a small orchestra.

Raffaele held his arm out and Maggie took it. As they approached the heavy oak doors, they swung open and a butler greeted them both with a bow.

“Sir, madam, welcome. You’ll find your hosts in the ballroom, or you may take supper out in the courtyard.”

The butler gestured to another man dressed in black-and-white, who offered Raffaele and Maggie glasses of champagne.

Raffaele inclined his head slightly. “Thank you.”

He took the glasses and gave one to Maggie, before raising his glass in a silent toast; she smiled and did the same. As she drank from the glass, Maggie thought how easy it would be to get used to being met by a butler at every door with a glass of champagne.

This party was definitely not her normal scene, though. More diamonds sparkled on ears, necks, and wrists here than she’d ever seen, even with her upscale clientele at BienVille. Maggie was pretty sure she saw more than one couture dress (and wouldn’t Anna, her maître d’, be proud of her for recognizing a couture dress), and all the men were dressed in sharp tuxedoes that could have been a fashion show in and of themselves.

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.”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t think a party in a house like this could ever serve bad food.”

He laughed. “You’d be surprised.”

“What’s the worst food you’ve ever had at a party?” Maggie asked, curious.

Raffaele thought for a moment.

“About two years ago, I attended an after-party for a big movie premiere. The studio hosted it, and they must have been worried that the movie wasn’t going to make any money because the food was terrible. It tasted like they’d simply picked up a bunch of frozen appetizers and put them on trays.”

“Tell me they at least thawed them out first.”

Raffaele laughed. “I think a few of them might not have been.”

A tuxedo-clad man with an elaborate gold mask stopped Raffaele with a hand on his arm. “Raffaele, my boy. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Raffaele shook the other man’s hand. “You know me, Marcus. Wouldn’t miss an opportunity for a grand party.”

“Of course. And who is your lovely date?” He turned to Maggie.

Maggie didn’t wait for Raffaele to introduce her this time, holding her hand out for the other man to shake.

“Maggie Bechet.” She added cheekily, “Of the New Orleans Bechets.”

She could see Raffaele biting his lip, trying not to laugh.

“Ms. Bechet is the head chef at BienVille. Are your parents in town?”

Marcus seemed surprised at the non-sequitur.

“They are, as a matter of fact.”

Raffaele nodded once firmly. “Good. Impress them by taking them to BienVille. You can show them you’ve grown out of those fast food restaurants you love so much.”

Marcus laughed. “They’d love that.” He turned to Maggie. “Please tell me you at least have a hamburger on your menu?”

Maggie shook her head. “But, for you, I’ll prepare something special.”

“Well, then, how can I resist a promise like that? Consider it done.” Marcus shook her hand again. “Chef Maggie Bechet, it was a pleasure.”

As he moved away, Maggie asked Raffaele softly, “Who was that?”

Raffaele answered, “A cousin. I think.”

Maggie laughed. “You don’t know?”

Raffaele shrugged. “Royal family trees can get pretty tangled. He’s a second cousin three times removed, or something like that. We spent a lot of time together as kids, but don’t get to see much of each other as adults.”

Before they walked three more steps they were stopped again when a stunning woman with flame-red hair grasped Raffaele’s arm.

“Raffaele, it’s so good to see you.”

Raffaele kissed both her cheeks. “And you. Let me introduce you to Maggie Bechet, New Orleans’ premier chef. Maggie, this is Alexa Rondeau.”

Alexa shook Maggie’s hand. “What’s the name of your restaurant?”

“BienVille.”

Alexa nodded. “I’ve heard good things. My husband is something of a foodie—I’ll have to take him there soon.”

Maggie said sincerely, “We’d be happy to have you dine with us. Please let me know when you’re coming in; I’d love to stop by your table and say hello.”

As they moved away, Raffaele leaned towards her again. Maggie was so enthralled at the sensation of having his voice in her ear that she almost missed what he was saying.

“After tonight, you’re going to be the go-to place for every celebrity in New Orleans.”

Maggie leaned into his arm just a little.

“So, I really do get to count tonight as work. I just need to put it under our marketing budget.” She grinned and added, “I may have to pay you a commission for all the new business you’re sending my way.”

Raffaele laughed. “Just promise me that I get my favorite table whenever I’m in town.”

“Done.”

Maggie found herself hoping that the Prince made it back to New Orleans frequently. She’d keep his booth open all the time if it meant she might have the chance to see him again.

“You know, I feel like a princess in a fairy tale,” Maggie said softly and then grinned at Raffaele. “Though I’m pretty sure that makes you my fairy godmother instead of Prince Charming.”

Raffaele threw his head back and laughed.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret: we keep a fairy godmother on staff. You know, just in case.” He stood and held out a hand. “So, that definitely makes me Prince Charming. However, since this is a ball, I can’t be your Prince Charming unless you dance with me.”

Maggie shook her head. “Oh, no. I can’t dance.”

Raffaele gave her a questioning look.

“No, really,” she added. “I actually took ballroom dance in high school as my sports elective, and the one thing I learned is that I’ve got two left feet.”

“So, you know how to dance?”

“Technically, yes. But trust me, knowledge doesn’t translate into ability.”

Raffaele leaned down and took her hand. “Have I let you down yet?”

Maggie sighed and shook her head.

“I promise I won’t let you fall.”

Maggie decided there was no way she could resist a statement like that, so she took Raffaele’s hand and let him lead her onto the dance floor. The orchestra stuck up a waltz, and Raffaele whirled her around the ballroom. It was the first time she’d danced at an honest-to-goodness ball, and she had to admit, it was fun.

In the Prince’s arms, Maggie felt light on her feet. True to his word, Raffaele didn’t let her fall. Maggie smiled up at him, and when Raffaele smiled back, she thought this might be the most perfect moment she’d ever experienced.

She felt she could dance forever like this, so when the song ended and another began, Maggie stayed right where she was.