Throne for a Loop: It's Reigning Men, #6

What people are saying about Jenny Gardiner's books:

A fun, sassy read! A cross between Erma Bombeck and Candace Bushnell, reading Jenny Gardiner is like sinking your teeth into a chocolate cupcake...you just want more.

—Meg Cabot, NY Times bestselling author of Princess Diaries, Queen of Babble and more, on Sleeping with Ward Cleaver

With a strong yet delightfully vulnerable voice, food critic Abbie Jennings embarks on a soulful journey where her love for banana cream pie and disdain for ill-fitting Spanx clash in hilarious and heartbreaking ways. As her body balloons and her personal life crumbles, Abbie must face the pain and secret fears she's held inside for far too long. I cheered for her the entire way.

—Beth Hoffman, NY Times bestselling author of Saving CeeCee Honeycutt on Slim to None

Jenny Gardiner has done it again—this fun, fast-paced book is a great summer read.

—Sarah Pekkanen, NY Times bestselling author of The Opposite of Me, on Slim to None

"As Sweet as a song and sharp as a beak, Bite Me really soars as a memoir about family—children and husbands, feathers and fur—and our capacity to keep loving though life may occasionally bite."

—Wade Rouse, bestselling author of At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream

Throne for a Loop

(book six of the Royals of Monaforte series)

by Jenny Gardiner

Copyright © 2016 by Jenny Gardiner

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

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All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

http://jennygardiner.net/

Chapter One

Isabella Annelisa Violetta Stefania Easton was perfectly suited to be the princess royal of Monaforte because she liked nothing better than a good party. And who spends more time celebrating at festive occasions than royalty, for whom life always seems to be one big fête?

So it was kismet when her dear friend Clementine sort of stumbled into an event-planning business. Isabella, always up for helping others, wanted to support her friend’s enterprising spirit. Plus, she was in the mood to celebrate her upcoming birthday. No doubt, someone would have organized some sort of gathering for the event without enlisting her friend’s help, but it seemed like more of an adventure to put it all in Clementine’s capable hands and see what sort of bash she cultivated with only the seeds of an idea from Isabella.

The two of them hatched the plan over drinks while warming by a fireplace at their favorite restaurant on a bitterly cold January evening. The holidays had concluded and it seemed a good time to start thinking of something else they could do to stave off the winter funk that always wanted to settle in at this time of year.

Your birthday falls on the weekend that everyone will be celebrating Valentine’s Day, Clementine said. So it seems obvious to go with the whole red hearts and valentines theme. Hmmm, let’s think how we could vary this so it’s not too clichéd.

Not queen of hearts, Isabella said, tapping her pointer finger against her cheek in thought. Because I’m not the queen. Mother wouldn’t appreciate that.

Would princess of hearts be weird?

Isabella scrunched her nose. Yeah, sorta. Reminds me of Princess Diana, and I don’t want people thinking that.

How about we shun the whole annoyingly predictable-slash-hackneyed Valentine’s Day trope and go for a lonely hearts theme.

Isabella knit her brow and looked at her friend in disbelief. Really? You’re suggesting my birthday party be a loser-girl bash? Because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s not like I have a boyfriend anyhow. Such a theme will only reinforce the status quo in everyone’s eyes.

Yeah, but that’s just because you scare men off.

Her friend’s eyes popped wide open. What?

"Well, not you, personally, but your position. Your status. I mean, being princess can be a little off-putting, amiright?"

Who knew what a curse being the chosen one could be, Isabella said with a sigh, her tongue planted firmly in cheek as she splayed her fingers and feigned checking out her nails with an air of faux boredom. Me, the only girl in the royal brood. Though with my brothers, well, geez, they don’t even go looking for anyone and women drop at their feet. Yet I practically have to pay someone to be my escort. Except for those loser social-climbing men who I have absolutely no interest in being near, let alone dating.

Simon Baroni ringing a bell? Clem said with a slight cackle.

Ugh, don’t even bring up his name. Acting as if I’d be lucky to carry his spawn. Can you imagine someone telling you they have ‘superior seed’ with a straight face? She let out a shudder.

Sounds like he should go to the farm co-op with that information.

They both laughed out loud as the waiter brought them more drinks.

It was funny to even have such a conversation about Isabella’s difficulty in the dating department. Even on a dreary winter night, she was breathtakingly beautiful and stylishly dressed, with thigh-high stiletto black leather boots, a black leather mini, her favorite black biker jacket, and a colored scarf draped around her neck. All this, paired with long dark hair that framed her lovely heart-shaped face and sparkling blue eyes made her a force to be reckoned with.

Honestly, Clem, I just don’t even care anymore, Bella said. If someone’s not interested in me for me, well, to hell with them. I’ve got plenty of things to fill my days without having to worry about some annoying man trying to make a play for the family riches.

So, maybe that’s all the more reason to have it be a ‘lonely hearts club’ theme. Like a big joke.

Isabella shook her head. No way, she said. We know it would be done in jest but others wouldn’t, and can you imagine how that would come across? Maybe instead we could do some sort of play on the princess thing—maybe a ‘Fairy tales will come true’ theme. Come as your favorite princess or something like that.

Ooh, I like that, Clem said. Maybe someone will come dressed as you!

Better still if it’s a man in drag, Isabella said. "Now that I would totally love."

No one would have the audacity to do that. Would they?

Bella shrugged. I doubt it, but if someone did, I would crown them princess for the day and make sure they got a first cut of the cake. Her eyes lit up. You will have cake, won’t you?

Of course. What’s a birthday party without cake?

Lots and lots of it, please. I don’t want to run low on cake.

Rest assured, there will be cake for the masses, Clem said. We will let them eat cake. All of them.

I suppose ‘Let Them Eat Cake’ is a bad theme to use? Isabella picked a cuticle, distracted.

Clem shook her head. Pretty sure not enough time has elapsed in the history of Europe for that to go over without offending people.

Damn, Isabella said. I sort of liked the irony of that one.

You can feel free to dress like Marie Antoinette and go around spouting that to people all night long if you’d like. I’m not stopping you.

Fine, we’ll nix the self-indulgent queen thing. How about instead of a queen of hearts theme, we go with heartless queen, she said with a laugh. I sort of like that. Could be rather amusing. Shame I hate hoopskirts.

Is that what Marie wore?

God knows. Something very flouncy and yet ridiculously tight in the bodice. I am so lucky I wasn’t a princess in the time of corsets or I’d have been a dead princess.

Yeah. Something to be said for Lycra. Clem gave a two-thumbs-up gesture.

So who are you going to have cater this shindig?

Shindig? You think this is some farm-girl hoedown? Clem said with a smile. I’m going far more upscale than that. I was thinking we’d try DaVinci’s. The old man retired and sold the business to a hot chef who did a stint at Le Cordon Bleu and apprenticed for a few years at a famous patisserie in Paris.

In that case, we’ll definitely have some good cake.

Did I not already promise you fantastic cake?

Pretty sure I’ve got you signed with blood on that vow.

Just you wait, Clem said. It will be the best one ever. You have my word on it. It will be a cake you won’t soon forget.

Chapter Two

Sawyer Patterson was exhausted. He’d been working round the clock for weeks, first with the onslaught of catering jobs and special orders over the December holidays, and now, with the referrals he got from his highly successful first season as new owner of DaVinci’s. The bakery and catering business had been passed down through the DaVinci family for over a hundred years. Old man DaVinci ran out of willing heirs to perpetuate the family name, so he had no choice but to sell the business. At least, he got to keep his name over the shop. Sawyer could’ve cared less whether his name was hanging on the storefront. He just wanted to make sure it was his quality products that went out the door.

He was thrilled to have his shop located in the historic district of Porto Castello, what with the charming timbered Alpine farmhouse-style structures, complete with gingerbread wood tracery, and those spectacular overflowing flower boxes. It was something out of a postcard of a quintessential European town. All with a view of the Mediterranean from the front bay windows and the now snowcapped Alps out back. Sawyer was in heaven here in Monaforte. After stumbling around in the dark trying to figure himself out for so long, he’d finally made it, and he was damn sure not going to let anything jeopardize that.

The bell above the front door jangled and a beautiful woman with straight blonde hair and mesmerizing cerulean-blue eyes approached the counter.

Oh, my God, these pastries look divine, she said eyeing the case filled with delicacies made from puff pastry, phyllo dough, marzipan, and spun sugar. She reached for some samples on top of the case and popped a piece in her mouth. Her eyes rolling back in her head said it all. That and the groan.

You like? he said, smiling at her reaction.

She could only moan.

Kouign amann. It’s a French pastry from Brittany. A little slice of heaven, n’est-ce pas?

Heaven isn’t generous enough, she said. I could just dive into that thing and curl up for all eternity.

Would be mighty sticky, he said with a laugh.

Good point, she said. Sorry, I got distracted. I’m actually here because I need you to cater my girlfriend’s birthday party.

Sounds like fun, he said. A big event?

She nodded. "Oh yeah. Isabella doesn’t do anything small. It’ll be the place to be in Porto Castello."

Then you’ve found your man, Sawyer said. I am at your disposal, happy to do whatever it takes to make the night a huge success.

Clementine proceeded to tell Sawyer about the princess’s fairy tales do come true theme and they went over the menu for passed hors d’oeuvres.

And the cake, she said. For some reason, Isabella is all fixated on having a great cake. And lots of it. I’ll leave it in your capable hands to come up with the perfect dessert.

Sawyer smiled. I’ve made a few cakes in my day. Pretty sure I can please your friend.

~*~

After learning about the party giver’s princess status, Sawyer felt somewhat conflicted about this event. As a British expat and the son of fervent antiroyalists, he didn’t grow up having particularly warm feelings about royalty. According to his mum, they were a drain on the system, sucking away funds that could go toward music education in the schools or housing the poor. If he heard it once, he heard it a hundred times: his father grumbling when he saw the Queen on the telly waving her beauty pageant wave with one of those pastel-colored pocketbooks dangling from her wrist. Bloody hell, he’d say with a growl. Those damned people are the worst of them on the public dole. Why don’t you give me some of those riches you’ve got holed up in the Tower of London? And while you’re at it why don’t the bleedin’ bobbies haul them off to the Tower for sucking at the teat of our bloody taxes for far too long. Or something to that effect.

But this... well, this job meant he’d be on the receiving end of royal largesse, in a way, so how could he balk at it? He stood to make a pretty penny—not to mention likely get loads of referrals—with this catering gig, so he knew he had to set aside his parentally imposed biases and play nice. He would make the princess her perfect cake and afterward he’d happily cart off the cash in a wheelbarrow if need be, even if he did sort of think royalty didn’t necessarily deserve to be, well, royal.

~*~

We’ve got several big events in the next few days, Sawyer told his staff as they prepped for yet another crazy busy holiday weekend. I’m feeling a little swamped with all of the Valentine’s Day orders, plus we have the big birthday soirée for the princess. I know I can count on you all to help make this happen.

Chef, we just got this order in for a special cake for a divorce party that’s also being held Saturday night at the same time as the princess’ party, Louie Petard, a long-time pastry chef at DaVinci’s, said.

Divorce party? Sawyer said, curious.

Louie handed him the order form. Guess she’s not too happy with her ex. Celebrating getting rid of the ol’ ball and chain.

Sawyer’s eyes squinted as he scanned the order for wording on the cake. "Good Riddance to the Big Dick, he said with a chuckle. Guess that says it all. Not your typical Valentine message."

Yeah and the lady who ordered it—

Sawyer held up his hand to stop him. Honestly, I don’t need to hear anything more about it. I’m so swamped it would be a huge help if you could just take charge of this one, Sawyer said. I’m sure whatever they need you’ll be able to provide for them.

Louie threw Sawyer a sidelong glance that almost looked like a glare. But Sawyer couldn’t imagine there was any reason he’d be mad at him.

Okay, folks, let’s get to work, Sawyer said, clapping his hands.

Chef, I’m going to need the truck to deliver this cake to the divorce party, Louie said. "You want me to take care of delivering