Fairy Godmothers, Inc_ - By Jenniffer Wardell Page 0,4
“rakes” tended to make a job easier for the first fifteen to twenty minutes after he and the girl met, at least until the prince got drunk or was caught staring down another woman’s dress and the girl lost interest entirely. Once warned, most Fairy Godmothers dumped on True Love as soon as the halves of the intended couple were close enough for the physical contact needed to make the potion work.
Kate’s muscles were so tight her head was starting to hurt, a traditional side effect of these special little meetings with Bubbles. “When do you want me to get started?”
“As soon as possible.” Bubbles swung her chair around to her office-sized enchanted mirror, clearly ready to dismiss Kate. “Another Fairy Godmother will be taking over your current case, and I’ll be expecting your report of the completed contract in two days.”
Kate’s eyes widened at this last-minute shove off the cliff of certain failure. “I can’t do this in two days! It usually takes a whole day just to do the initial consultation, and then we have to get the dress together, wait for the next scheduled ball since we haven’t already made arrangements with the local royalty—”
“Fine.” Bubbles waved her away with a hand. “A week then. But if you try and argue for more time, you’ll be talking to the board of directors.”
Knowing that a week was as good as she was going to get at the moment, Kate nodded and escaped. Clearly, this was not going to be one of the more pleasant happily-ever-afters she’d had to pull off.
TWO
Attack of the Ball Gowns
The ball was in full swing, which meant a few guests had grown bored enough to actually start dancing. Prince Jonathan Alistair Crispin Lorimer Charming was busy hiding, though not even he could escape Lawton when his friend had been fortified by five glasses of sherry.
“You do realize, of course, that you kissed the young Countess Hanslen’s hand a half centimeter too far to the right?” Lawton shook his head, tousled chestnut hair brushing the edge of his perfectly styled collar. “Bad show, Jon—your poor mother would be scandalized beyond repair.”
Jon’s gray eyes narrowed at him over the edge of a supposedly edible canapé, choosing not to dignify the comment with a response. Jon was, to his horror, actually a little jealous of the glass in his friend’s hand. He could have been downing his own dose of sherry, or at least fortifying himself with a sip or two of that unfortunately pink champagne his mother loved so much, if he hadn’t foolishly realized years ago that it all pretty much tasted like jewelry cleaner. “With the way her perfume was making my eyes water, it was lucky I managed to make contact with her hand at all,” he muttered, glaring at the swirling, chattering crowds. “Rupert should be here.”
“Do my ears deceive me, or did you just actually wish your older brother’s company upon us?” Lawton stared at him hard for a moment, then his eyes widened in horror. “When you say things like that, it makes me fear for your sanity.”
“I’m serious.” Deciding that the canapé had been left too long under the heat spell, he checked to make sure no one was watching before shoving it deep inside a nearby flower arrangement. Almost immediately, the roses started to wilt. “With Rupert here, all I would have to do is keep an eye on his champagne intake and be ready to drag him away before he managed to crawl all the way down the front of some woman’s dress. Without Rupert, I need to wear an outfit with enough gold braiding to hang someone, remember the names of at least forty-two pet poodles, terriers, and miniature dragons, and dance with women who can barely remember my name and keep referring to me as ‘Prince Jeremiah.’”
Lawton merely watched him with an amused expression on his face. “Even after all these years, it still astonishes me how you can sit through six hours of border negotiation meetings without a whimper of complaint, but consider dressing up and dancing with rich, supposedly attractive people to be a torture worse than listening to your mother’s singing.” He paused, as if contemplating something. “If I let you drone on about the intricacies of trade regulations for a few moments, will that soothe you?”
Jon’s eyes narrowed even further, pondering briefly whether anyone would notice if he grabbed the glass of sherry and dumped it over the other man’s head.