Wanted: Royal Princess Shock and Awe: Royal Hearts of Mondoverde Series Vol. 4

By Anna Dynowski

Prince Maximillian, the playboy prince, is having way too much fun with the ladies, young and old and everything in between, to keep his name clean. Incorrigible, he’s been synonymous with scandalous headlines since he turned sixteen. While his laughing eyes, smooth talk, and charming manner make him the darling of Mondoverde, or at least, with the female population, the Graziano royal family despairs of him ever settling down. But can he find a woman who will rein in his wild streak and fix his princely image?

Christian Youth Network leader Adrianna Danek is fulfilled with her role in coaching emerging leaders for the youth groups, but when she is invited to the Principality of Mondoverde to assist in the formation of the CYN there, she accepts the invitation and the challenge to be the voice on behalf of the Mondoverduvian
youth to the church, government, and society. But a certain charming man becomes the biggest challenge. He’s a royal prince.
She’s an ordinary girl. Nothing can come of it.

After all, she’s not princess material.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Write Words Inc.
• Release date: Nov 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781613863077

Book preview

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Wanted: Royal Princess Shock & Awe

Royal Hearts of Mondoverde Series, Vol. 4

by Anna Dynowski

© 2016 Anna Dynowski. All Rights Reserved

Published at Smashwords by Write Words, Inc.

ISBN 978-1-61386-307-7

Dedication

To:

The Lord God who created romantic relationships as a gift to be enjoyed in marriage,

My very own prince of romance, my husband of 31 years, Henry,

And every girl who dreams of her own Prince Charming who will say to her, Get up, my true love, my beautiful one, and come with me. (Song of Solomon 2:10, God’s Word)

Letter to the Reader

Dear friends,

Many young girls, after reading Cinderella or seeing the movie, dream of being that princess who catches the love and attention of the handsome prince, and together, they live happy-ever-after. It is my humble opinion, we never outgrow this desire to love and be loved, forever and ever. We search the heights of mountains and the depths of the seas for this love, this romance, because we all, in the core of our being, want to love and be loved, to live out this special romance, to be this specially-chosen one, the one who is exclusively treasured and adored, where we can say, I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine. (Song of Solomon 6:3, God’s Word Translation)

But romantic love is odd. It’s a mystery. It has its own timetable, its own seasons. Love chooses its recipient and is tenacious about its choice. You can’t force yourself to fall in love with a man or force the man to fall in love with you. You can’t create a fire if there is no spark. There has to be a spark, a click between two people, and usually this spark, this click exists from the very first moment. But when the season of love does arrive, even if there is no castle or carriage, it is simply Cinderella-ish.

God, who is romantic, created romance and love and marriage and happy-ever-after. He also created our beloved. He’s out there, waiting for his divine directive to come to us. But we have to exercise patience and wait for our God-appointed mate to arrive. This is not always easy, this waiting and keeping ourselves chaste. You will not awaken love or arouse love before its proper time. (Song of Solomon 2:7) This wait keeping ourselves chaste is also not the way of the world. The world says, Go ahead and have fun. But why would we want to admit someone into our most private area of our body and soul if they’re only using us to have fun? Would it not be more prudent to save our body and soul for the God-appointed person we will share them with on a life-long basis, the one who will treasure them and us, forever?

The princes of the royal House of Graziani may not start out searching for their forever love, but they will never settle for anything less. They want the hub of their marriage to become a treasure-trove of memories and affections and happy-ever-after. Royal rogue Prince Maximillian had no intention of settling down, but when Adrianna Danek, his God-appointed mate arrived on the scene, she brought with her the season of love. Watch out, Max!

In every romance, there is the beloved. In the romance between us and God, our beloved is God and we are God’s beloved. God cherishes us. Imagine…the God of Heaven is excited about little ordinary us. We are special to Him. We are chosen by Him. We are loved by Him. The God of Heaven loves us! He treasures us. He adores us. He will keep us as the apple of His eye.

Dear friend, let this truth excite you. When God looks at us, He sees someone who is lovely, beautiful, worthy of love. He chooses to see us that way. He is fully aware of our faults and sins, but that doesn’t deter His passionate love for us. He passionately loved us by sending His Son, Jesus Christ, to the Cross of Calvary, to be the Sinless and Perfect sin offering on our behalf, so that we could live eternally with Him. And Jesus passionately loved us that He willingly gave up the glories of Heaven, to become the payment for sins that a Holy God demanded, so we wouldn’t go to an eternity in hell. That, my friend, is grace. We are given what we do not deserve (eternal life in Heaven) and not given what we truly deserve (eternal life in hell).

Now that is love, romantic love, passionate love in the highest degree. God is offering you His love. Will you accept His love? I hope you do.

See you in Heaven.

Love,

Anna

Scripture

Love’s flames are flames of fire, flames that come from the Lord.

—Song of Solomon 8:6 (God’s Word Translation)

Chapter 1

Maximillian Graziano made a low inarticulate sound, but managed to keep his face from contorting with the grimace of premonition.

Maintaining eye contact with his father, he murmured a conciliatory "Certamente, Papa," and inclined his head in an admission of defeat.

What else could he do? When the ruler of the Principality of Mondoverde summoned you into the hallowed interior of his office, and that ruler happened to be your father, Prince Alessandro, the sovereign of the Royal House of Graziani, the leading light of the island nation, and the head of the government, not to mention the military, you admitted to a double dose of defeat and answered the summons.

A triple dose if you knew the intent for the summons.

And Max knew.

In every cell of his twenty-three-year-old body he knew.

Following his father into the plush office, Max closed the wooden door behind him, the sound ominously like the clanging shut of a prison door. He was not the heir to the throne — Grazie a Dio. Nor was he yet the stipulated age of twenty-five. But to the man now seated behind the stunning 18th Century style desk in cherry wood, hands folded together atop the desk, with the ring on his right hand, the ring bearing the royal crest, clearly visible, these two incidentals meant niente. Nothing at all.

Or rather, it did mean something. To Max.

It meant trouble. Trouble of the connubial kind.

Slicing off the sigh winging up his throat, he crossed the floor covered in the Tappeti Abruzzesi, the antique velvet Italian rugs, wearing a quasi-calm expression on his face, a calm he far from felt judging by the grinding going on in his gut, and lowered his six-foot frame into the visitor’s chair opposite his father.

His father, agile and strong and fit at fifty-five, wore a sprinkling of silver through his dark brown hair and a heavy measure of sparkling blue mischief in his eyes.

Max forced the corners of his mouth to tip up in a grin, the grin the press and the women—oh yes, the women, all the women, young women, old women, and every woman in between—labeled as charming, one of his traits or ... special talents, he mused, that made him the irrepressible, incorrigible darling of Mondoverde. The others being his laughing blue eyes and smooth way with words. He held the title of ‘Royal Rogue’ with distinction. He enjoyed his playboy status with absolute delight. The grinding in Max’s gut tightened.

"So, figlio mio, his father began, his tone understated. Do you have anything you would like to share with me this morning?"

Max held his father’s astute and penetrating gaze without flinching, a mind-blowing feat in itself given the rumbling and roiling in his stomach had swelled to mammoth proportions, and he had to consciously restrain his inclination to squirm.

He had not been intercepted in the hallway by the ruling monarch of Mondoverde for idle chitchat.

Prince Alessandro had a mission.

A marital mission.

When Alessandro Graziano did not march in his role of hereditary sovereign of the Principality of Mondoverde, taking care of country business, he stormed in his responsibility as the head of the family, taking care that each of his sons followed suit and married. A responsibility he took very seriously. Too seriously. A responsibility at which he was much too adept.

Maximillian slouched in the chair, extending his legs, crossing his ankles, and rubbing a palm across his stomach.

One by one, his brothers, Stefano, Cristiano, and Lorenzo, had all succumbed. One by one, they all had met their forever mate and fallen in love. One by one, they had all raised their white flags of surrender, and without a dispute, however anemic, laid down their bachelorship.

One by one, they had all happily married and now doing their part in increasing the family numbers. Max was pleased for his brothers. He was. It was just...

I am not ready for marriage! I do not wish to get married! I am still having fun with all the women. I do not wish to surrender. Not yet. Not now. I am only twenty-three. It is not time for me to capitulate!

He dropped his gaze to his hands, surprised to find them curled into fists at his waist. He found himself surprised even more by the sense of ... something ... something feeling like ... discontent. He went still.

Discontent? He shot up in his seat, his spine ramrod straight. Was he crazy? Him? Discontent? He had just about everything in a skirt and high heels hanging off his arm. And he was discontent? What was there to be discontent about?

And yet the peculiar feeling, the inappropriate feeling, the incompatible-with-his-character feeling persisted.

Maximillian?

Yes, Papa? Knee-jerked back to the here and now, Max lifted his gaze to his father and met the innocent expression, the piercing gaze, and squirmed.

Do you have anything you would like to tell me? After he repeated the question, Prince Alessandro’s lips twitched once, then firmed.

No.

No?

No, Max repeated, ignoring the grinding in his gut and the sudden, fierce weight pressing down on his chest.

Prince Alessandro remained in a contemplative silence. One second passed. Then two. Three. The silence in the office thickened. A fourth second. Then a fifth. Finally, when Max could stand it no longer, his father swiveled in his chair to pull open a drawer, and reaching in, he pulled out a folded newspaper. He set the newspaper on the desk, pushing it toward Max. Settling back into his chair, his fingers curled around the arms in an easy grip, he watched his son, his expression keen, with shades of tender amusement swirling through it. When Max made no move to pick up the paper, an imperial brow lifted. A silent, yet undeniable command.

Maximillian searched his mind for any possible misdemeanor he had committed and dutifully recorded by the press, but his brain coming up blank—after all, he was the darling of Mondoverde. What infraction could he have committed? He leaned forward, and reached for the folded newspaper. A quick glance at his father gave him no hint at what had been typed in black ink. Returning his attention to the paper in his hands, he slowly unfolded it, and at once he felt the tight coil holding his stomach captive loosen, then fall away. Pleasure tugged at the corners of his mouth. Enjoyment fueled his lips to form a grin. Delight coaxed out a chuckle.

"I am comforted, figlio mio, Prince Alessandro said, his voice sardonic, you find this morning’s headlines ... amusing."

Max read this morning’s headlines again, and his laugh downgrading to a smile, he let his gaze settle on the picture of him taken last evening at the Royal Alessia Hall, his family’s registered charity promoting arts and sciences. The leading figures in music and dance, sports and politics had appeared on the stage since Prince Stefano I, Max’s grandfather, had it built for his wife, Princess Alessia, in 1964. The iconic venue was open during the day to the public for tours of the building, live music, and free exhibitions. Last evening, he, Max, was the star attraction.

I see nothing wrong here. Max’s smile widened into his famed irrepressible, incorrigible grin. Everything is as it ought to be.

Yes, his father drawled, leaning more comfortably into the back of his chair, and crossing his legs. "The picture plastered on the front page of Il Messaggero di Mondoverde is of my son, my youngest son, a royal prince, and he is swarmed by women. Screaming, hysterical women."

Like I said. Max moved his shoulders in a what-can-I-say shrug. Everything is as it ought to be.

Maximillian, his father chided, your mother despairs of you. He shook his head. The press adore you—

And the women. Max waggled his eyebrows. Do not forget the women. They adore me, too.

How can I forget your women? Prince Alessandro asked in a dry tone. You and they are constantly in the newspapers. But your mamma... He shook a reproving forefinger at Max. She is, shall we say, becoming ... fretful.

I shall reassure Mamma that I am fine.

Fine? The imperial brow rose again. Motioning to the newspaper, he said, According to that picture you were practically mobbed. I am surprised you did not have your clothes ripped off.

I could only wish, Max said on a melodramatic sigh.

Maximillian.

Papa, I cannot help it if I am much loved by the women. It is burden I must bear. Max would have it no other way. Right? Of course. Dropping his gaze, he frowned. Then why did the feeling of discontent return?

Perhaps we can put this topic of conversation aside and discuss another matter of interest.

His father’s voice sounded far too reasonable for Max’s comfort. Warning bells blasted.

Yes? The grinding started again.

We have invited a Christian Youth Network leader from Canada to come to our island nation.

A Christian Youth Network? Max sat back and crossed his legs, relieved the conversation went in an entirely different direction.

Yes. We want to form the CYN here, in Mondoverde. We want our youth better represented to our church, our government— Prince Alessandro waved a hand in the air. —society. Our young people need a voice on their behalf, yes, but also groups for them to belong. However, we need leaders for these youth groups. We need to train these leaders, not just to be their voice, but also to guide our youth, to help grow them into wise and stable adults.

This sounds an ambitious, but worthwhile project. Max nodded his head, wondering what this had to do with him. It did not take his father long to enlighten him.

Maximillian, I would like to impose upon your ... talents ... and have you escort the CYN leader throughout Mondoverde, helping her get a feel for our youth.

Her? Max sat up straight, interested, oh, definitely interested.

Yes, the leader is a young woman. His father lent a dry tone to his words. Will you oblige me in this little request?

Grinning, Max replied, "Certamente, Papa. Of course. I shall endeavor to do my utmost to be of service for my Prince and country." Most especially if it involved a woman.

I never entertained a doubt. Now. Prince Alessandro arose, rounded the desk, perched a hip on it, and placing a hand on Max’s shoulders, said, About this matter of marriage.

Maximillian groaned.

* * *

The Cinderella style carriage, drawn by two magnificent white horses, pulled to a stop in front of her parents’ modest house in the north district of Toronto at precisely seven o’clock. The night air was still and the critters were silent. The moon, low-hanging and unnaturally large, beamed its bright gilt light from the black velvet sky. The coachman, in the Revolutionary-period blue brocade coat and knickers and plumed tri-cornered hat, alighted from his seat while the footman, dressed in similar attire, remained standing at his post at the back of the carriage. The coachman opened the door, lowered the steps, and then stood at attention.

Wearing a beautiful golden gown sparkling with jewels, a tiara nestled in her swept-back brown hair, and the prettiest glass slippers on her feet, she approached the carriage. Assisted by the coachman, she settled in the plush leather seat, spreading her gown with careful fingers, and waved a gloved hand to her parents standing on the front porch. As the horse-drawn carriage pulled away from the curb, she relaxed, and romanticized about the gala and the glitterati and her gorgeous Prince Charming.

Two fingers snapped in front of her face, startling Adrianna Danek.

Her dream, a recurring dream, faded away and heat sprouted in her face. Cheeks burning not from the sultry outdoors but with painful mortification, she snapped her gaze to the iced cappuccino on the table. A nanosecond later, she bounced her eyes on the patrons sitting at nearby tables on the patio, enjoying their Tim Hortons coffees and conversations with friends, and wondered if any of them had noticed her humiliating lapse into fantasyland.

Where were you? Avery Hall, her absolute best friend from their kindergarten days, asked, an indulgent smile curving her mouth. I was talking to you and you just zoned out.

Sorry, Adrianna muttered, and looking for a distraction, she lifted her cappuccino for a sip. Her skin cooled and her scratchy throat sang, Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Well?

With careful, methodical attention, like the act she performed was of the utmost importance and of supreme delicacy, Adrianna set the tall cup on the table. Well, what? Only a slight tremor of residual embarrassment tinted her words. She felt rather proud she sounded almost normal, with emphasis on the word ‘almost.’

Eyebrows arched, Avery leaned forward, and bracing her elbows on the table, she used the stern mamma-tone she reserved for her three little munchkins when they joined together to craft bedlam and pandemonium. Where. Were. You?

Avery. Her BFF was in danger of being demoted. Similar to a pit bull, once she’d sunk her teeth into something, nothing and no one could tear her away. No one did obstinacy like Avery did.

Adrianna. Her friend’s dogged expression and honeyed tone promised obstinacy at its best.

Adrianna released a breath full of resignation and irritation. Sometimes, Avery could be a royal pain. All the time, Avery got her way. Averting her eyes, Adrianna ran the palms of her hands up and down the cup a couple of times, ending by skimming a finger over the rim. In a matter-of-fact voice, she offered, Like you said. I zoned out. Her shrug said, What’s the big deal?

You were some place real nice. Give it up. Tell me. And just in case there was the slightest possibility of Adrianna making a run for it, burning off the soles of her shoes by snaking around a patio full of tables at breakneck speed, Avery clamped her fingers on both of Adrianna’s wrists, lowering them to the table, and holding them prisoners. You had this quirky smile on your face, Ria. She gave the wrists a jerk. I’m your best friend. We’ve always told each other everything. She yanked the wrists again. "You have to tell me.