Chapter 41

Thirty Minutes Later

Near The Taylor Estate

Bel Air, California

“Is everyone ready to have a good time at the party?” Michael questioned, peeking over the top of the small compact mirror he held, checking his make up for smudges.

Michael Jackson was resplendent in his after party outfit, the tight, shiny blue silk satin ensemble. His hair even sparkled.

I was just happy that all the tightness that he’d had before the awards was gone and now he was his usual happy-go-lucky self.

That was my Michael.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to meet Elizabeth Taylor. She’s one of my favorite actresses.” I laughed, blowing a curl out of my eye.

I wore my after party dress, and not to toot my own horn, but damn, I was looking fine!

It fit me perfectly and was actually a minidress, the skirt stopping several inches above my knees.

My hair had been taken down and now flowed over my shoulders in loose waves.

“I’m proud of you Daddy!” Paris called leaning over and giving Michael and hug and kissing the dimple in his chin.

“Me too Dad.” Prince nodded. Beside him Blanket was giving Michael a thumbs up.

“You’re the man!” Jonas laughed and Skylar bobbed his head in agreement.

“I’m glad that you’re all so proud of me. I’m proud that I was able to share the night with all of you!” Michael beamed.

“You did good Uncle Michael. You didn’t even break a sweat when that chick came running at you. Very smooth!” Taryll, who was squished in beside me--furthering the boyfriend effect--commented, picking at his dark curls.

A point Michael harped on.

“Thank you, now Taryll remember, you’re supposed to be Brynn’s boyfriend. So try to kind of hang around her. And keep your flirting to a minimum. You have an image to uphold.” He instructed taking a small sponge and patting some of the powder on his nose which was shining a bit.

“Cool it. You know you can trust me.” Taryll assured him and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

“Ain’t that right…Baby?” He murmured seductively.

Maybe he was taking this boyfriend role just a tad too seriously.

Just a tad.

“Oh! There’s Liz’s house!” Michael said excitedly, pointing.

As the kids showed their awe by “ooh”-ing and “aahh”-ing, I let out an inner gasp.

Elizabeth Taylor’s home, named Molto Grazie Manor, was nestled at the top of a hill like a diamond. (I don’t know why rich people named their homes.)

As our car moved up the lane, her home suddenly came into view.

It was a beautiful, sprawling estate, made to look like an Italian villa, and was painted a warm terra cotta color.

Lights illuminated the pathway and the crown jewel in the center of the manicured lawn was a large fountain, in the center of it, a cherub spouting water.

As we pulled into the parking lot on side of the house, I saw that we weren’t the first guests to arrive.

Passing through the open double doors and disappearing inside were Lionel Richie and his family.

As our car came to a stop in front of the house, a valet quickly ran over and held the door to the car open for us.

He appeared to be a kid in his late teens with a face full of acne.

His pimply face lit up at the sight of Michael.

“Oh! Hello Mr. Jackson and company. Welcome to Molto Grazie Manor.” He chuckled, flushing, as he helped us up and out of the car.

“Thank you. Something for your trouble my man.” Taryll said confidently patting the kid on his back and handing him a twenty dollar bill.

“Gosh, thank you Sir!” The boy sniggled as he took the wheel from Scott, who had been driving, and proceeded away to park the car.

Looping his arm through my bare one, Michael chuckled,

“Come on, let’s get to partying!”

* * *

Sometime Later

The Grand Ballroom

Molto Grazie Manor (AKA The Taylor Estate)

“…and I’m telling you man, when I saw that girl running at you, I was like, aw hell, Mike about to be taken out!” Chris Tucker cackled nasally and took a sip of the tall glass of Port wine he was holding.

The ballroom on the ground floor of Elizabeth Taylor’s mansion was absolutely breathtaking.

The theme of the after party was “Golden Opulence.”

All around the marble covered room, bolts of black and gold fabric had been draped from the ceiling, and crystal chandeliers and was wrapped lazily around the pillars in the room.

Even the string quartet and DJ in the back of the room on a small platform were dressed in black tuxes and tails, all trimmed in gold.

All of the round tables had been painted black and were inlaid with a mosaic pattern of black and gold tiles, into the shape of an “E”. I guess it was so that no one forgot just who was hosting this shindig.

About three hundred people were attending the party.

The tables were made to seat about ten, but Michael’s table was especially crowded, because it seemed that everyone one wanted to be seated near him.

In addition to Michael, Taryll, the Jackson Trio, Jonas, Skylar and me, there was Chris Tucker who’d been running off at the mouth since we’d sat down.

There was Steve Harvey and his wife; Eddie Murphy, and Dave Chapelle.

It was a table full of comedians.

Rusty was nowhere to be seen. He was in Pasadena delivering Michael’s award to the hotel personally.

I was having the time of my life, I was nearly splitting my sides laughing at the men’s jokes and floating because I had never been surrounded by so much star power in all my life.

A whole parade of celebs had made their way to Michael to congratulate him, including Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, Mariah Carey, Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher and even Bruce Willis!

My mind was spinning!

I couldn’t wait to meet the hostess herself, Elizabeth Taylor.

But her appearance would be a while in waiting; Michael told me that she liked to be fashionably late for an event--even if it were hers!

“So, Miss Lady Ma’am, you’re Michael’s new little protégé? Hmmm?” Eddie Murphy questioned as the first course of the dinner started being passed out. He was handsome in a white smoking jacket and black trousers. (Everyone else was in simple black suits.)

It was a chilled lobster and lemon appetizer arranged delicately on a gilded platter.

“Yes, Michael just finalized signing me to Neverland Records earlier this week.” I nodded, sipping at my own wine. (Michael let me have it--we were celebrating!)

“Well you look like you have the star quality. Yes.” Dave Chapelle nodded before digging into his food.

“Thank you.” I could feel myself blushing. I couldn’t believe I was getting compliments from the funniest men in entertainment.

“She has a really good, pure unique sound. Very fresh. And she’s very young--only nineteen.” Michael pointed out, forking food into his mouth.

“Damn man, For real? You’re nineteen?” Steve Harvey stroked the thick mustache covering his upper lip.

“Yeah, I am.” I nodded. I didn’t mind admitting my age, because everyone around us thoroughly believed that Taryll was my boyfriend.

(Even though at the moment he was staring dreamily over at supermodel Petra Nemcova.)

“Michael be catching them new acts early!” Chris laughed loudly.

Michael hummed happily.

Our secret was safe.

As I busied myself helping Jonas to pluck his lobster out the shell, someone hooted.

“Michael Jackson! How are you doing man?”

I turned around in time to see that Michael was out of his seat and embracing another man warmly.

He was quite attractive with longish dark blonde hair falling into his wide sleepy blue eyes. His pink, plump lips were curled into a grin as he leaned back and continued conversing with Michael.

I had seen this man somewhere before. I knew he was an actor, but I couldn’t put my finger on his name.

“Brynn, Honey, I want you to meet a dear old friend of mine!” Michael tittered, reaching and pulling me to my feet.

“Brynn McAllister, this is Macaulay Culkin.” He snickered.

“You’re…Macaulay Culkin?” I gasped as the man took my hand and pulled me against him in a friendly hug.

I couldn’t believe it. This was one of Michael’s very best friends in the world. And one of the best former child actors. (Star of the first two Home Alone films.)

“Oh, we’re gonna be friends Brynn--call me Mac!” He laughed, leaning back and winking at me.

He waved a hand at everyone else at the table.

“Okay…Mac.” I grinned. “I really love your movies. I’m a big fan.”

It was all I could think to say to him.

Turning rosy Macaulay snickered once more. “Thank you. If you’re good enough to be working with Michael Jackson, then I know I’ll be a fan of your singing.”

I could only smile.

At that moment, the string quartet, which had been calmly playing classical pieces winded down and the DJ took over, and threw on a techno beat song.

As people started getting up and flooding by us to get onto the gold lighted dance floor in the middle of the room, Macaulay leaned over and patted Taryll on the shoulder.

“Hey Tar, could I possibly steal your girlfriend for a few dances? Hmm?” He questioned, raising a soft brown eyebrow.

Taryll in “Hawk Mode” jumped onto his case.

“You wanna dance with Brynn? Where’s your girlfriend? Milla?” He demanded, downing the remainder of his wine and motioning to the waiter for more. From what I knew Macaulay Culkin had been dating Milla Kunis one of the stars of That 70’s Show.

Macaulay ran a hand through his hair and groaned.

“She’s not here man. She’s off doing a photo shoot for Blender magazine. Come on! Let me dance with Brynn. I wanna dance, not steal her way. Geez.”

I noticed that Michael was staying out of the mix and was instead bending behind Paris and chatting with her and Blanket.

He really was leaving me to act like Taryll’s girlfriend.

Hell I didn’t have to impress Taryll. Michael was on the only Jackson I ran behind.

Grabbing onto Macaulay’s hand, I said,

“Come on, let’s go dance. I’ll be back Taryll!”

As I started leading a triumphantly laughing Mr. Culkin away, I heard Taryll call,

“You wouldn’t be doing this if I were Michael!”
“Sure!” I replied with a giggle as Macaulay and I joined the mass of moving bodies.

Near the back of the room, grooving on a tabletop was the Pink Heiress herself, Paris Hilton.

I was laughing then.

If only I knew.

If only I knew.

* * *

An Hour Later

“…Oooh she’s a Bad Mamma Jamma! She’s built…She’s staked!…”

“I love this song!” Macaulay exclaimed twirling in a circle.

“Me too!” I replied.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun.

Macaulay was an excellent dancer--he’d only stepped on my toe once, during Brick House--and we’d been keeping company well on the dance floor.

Looking around, I saw that the Jackson Trio and Jonas and Skylar had found their way onto the floor and were dancing amongst themselves a few feet away.

The men remained at the table.

I knew that Michael wasn’t going to dance. He’d already been on display earlier that evening and we both knew that if he got on the floor it’d go from an Elizabeth Taylor party to a Michael Jackson concert in ten seconds flat.

Oh, all night people had been trying to get him on the floor, but he wouldn’t budge.

Even Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie had tried to get him up. He tuned them down flat.

The crowd cheered as a Bad Manna Jamma came to an end and a lively guitar riff rang through the room on the speakers.

I recognized the riff instantly and almost tripped over my feet.

The opening bars to Prince Nelson’s song Kiss began blaring.

Part of me wanted to leave the floor immediately, out of respect to Michael. I knew he hated The Purple One with every fiber of his being.

And I was going to leave, but my dance card with Macaulay wasn’t quite full.

“I dig this jam too!” Macaulay confided, grabbing onto my arms and spinning me in a circle.

I wanted to leave but the lure of the dance floor proved to be too much for me.

I found myself wiggling along with Mac and I was even singing along to the music.

“…you don’t have to be rich to be my girl…you don’t have to be cool to rule my world!” Macaulay sang, a bit off-key, holding onto my waist and dipping me.

While I was down, I saw that Michael was full on frowning.

I knew I had to get off that floor--right then.

No one at the party other than those closest to Michael really knew about his distaste for Prince Nelson, but I knew just the same he’d be happy if I weren’t dancing to that song.

This was Michael’s night. Not Prince’s.

Using my better judgment, I patted my partner’s shoulder.

“Woo--hey Mac, would you mind if I sat the rest of this one out? I’m a little warm.” I questioned, and pretending to be hot, I fanned myself with my hand.

Running a hand through his thick sandy mane, Macaulay laughed.

“No. We have been going for a while. I should return you back to Taryll. He might have forgotten what you look like by now. Hey, do you want me to go to the bar and get you a drink?” He questioned as he took my arm and began escorting me off the dance floor.

The golden bar was in the center of the room, just off the dance floor.

“No, that’s okay. I can get it myself. Thanks for the dances, Mac.” I giggled, and hugged Macaulay.

“No prob. You just better send me a copy of your first CD when you make it!” He crowed, and he turned and started towards Michael’s table.

“You got it man!” Giggling to myself, I started towards the bar.

There were only two people there--the bartender and Paris Hilton’s younger sister, Nicky. (From what I knew at some point in time, one of Elizabeth Taylor’s eight husbands had been a Hilton.)

“Hi Brynn!” She greeted me as she sipped her martini.

“Hiya Nick.” I grinned.

It seemed as though everyone knew who I was. It was a lot to swallow, but I was just treating everyone like a normal person.

“What’ll it be ma’am?” The bartender asked.

“White wine spritzer, with a kiwi twist.” I nodded and the tender set to work.

“I’m gonna go dance. You think Macaulay will dance with me?” Nicky asked, tossing her long blonde hair and adjusting the top of her mint green strapless minidress.

“I think he’ll dance with anything on legs.” I giggled.

“That’s cool.” Nicky winked at me and setting down her drink proceeded onto the floor.

“Here you are ma’am A white wine spritzer with a kiwi twist. Enjoy.”

My drink was slid across the glass tabletop to me.

“Thanks.” I smiled and started sipping at the beverage. It was good.

I bounced against the bar to the music.

Over the speakers I could hear Kiss coming to an end.

“…all I want is your….KISS!” The last lyric to the song blared.

As I brought my glass to my mouth once more, I felt a strange sensation on my right cheek. A mild dampness.

Had someone just kissed me?

Curious, I spun around.

“Oh…God!” I gasped , my free hand flying to my mouth.

I could feel my eyes swelling with a mixture of horror and awe.

There, standing before me boldly, was Prince.

Not cute little blonde Prince Jackson either.

Prince Nelson.

I blinked. I had to make certain that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.

The image in front of me remained the same.

This couldn’t be true.

This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be!

What in the Blue Hell was he doing at Elizabeth Taylor’s party?

Maybe he’d crashed.

I didn’t know.

But there he was.

In the flesh and just as ravishing as ever.

Prince’s diminutive form was clad in a bright red button up silk shirt and matching trousers. The top was loosened as always to display his chest growths. A gilded symbol on a chain glittered.

The collar and cuffs were embroidered with dozens of little versions of his symbols, all in gold thread.

The look bled down onto his shoes, also red. on the tip of each boot a golden symbol had been embroidered and the four inch golden heels glimmered.

As I continued to stare at him, too stunned to speak, to even utter a sound, I noticed a sexy change to Prince’s appearance.

His hair, which was usually cut with a razor edge and left short had been lengthened--with what had to be extensions--and just brushed the tops of his shoulders. And shined and bounced even though he wasn’t moving. There were women who would have killed for hair like that.

It was curled slightly and teased, and ratted to get the most volume possible out of it.

A few strands hung into his eyes which were outlined heavily in Kohl.

Eyes that were fixated on me.

Silence filled the air between us.

It seemed as though time itself had slowed.

We just stood there staring at each other.

Finally…finally, Prince spoke.

“Hello My Pretty Brynn. My, don’t you look lovely this evening?” He mumbled, his voice hitting it’s deepest registers.

I truly had no words.

Prince was there, at the same party that Michael was attending!

And Prince was speaking to me as if it were his own party at Paisley Park!

Reaching with a ring laden hand, Prince took my glass from me.

“What are you drinking, my Pretty One?” He questioned and started sipping my damn drink.

I watched wordlessly as he proceeded to consume my entire drink and place the glass on the bar.

“That’s cute. Michael let you have a drink. He must really be out his mind tonight. Hmm…hmm…hmm. “ Prince chuckled lowly, his lips curling into a mousy grin.

At the mention of Michael, my tongue unglued itself form the roof of my mouth.

“Prince--what are you doing here?” I questioned breathlessly as Prince had the audacity to motion for a refill on the drink.

If he had indeed crashed, it would be a matter of time before security came around the threw him out. And that was if Michael didn’t notice him first and hang a rhinestoned foot up his ass.

Prince took the time to take a sip of the full glass before answering.

And the reply shocked me.

“I’m here for the same reason as you--I was invited.”

“You were invited?” I shook my head, not fully believing him. “How do you know Elizabeth Taylor?” I demanded placing my hands on my hips.

Raising his left hand, Prince pointed out the canary diamond ring highlighting his pinky finger.

“You see this ring? It was three hundred and seventy five thousand dollars. I bought it from a place in Beverly Hills calls Stars Hollow Jewelers. While I was in there having this little thing cleaned, Elizabeth came in to have a necklace cleaned. Who knows, she might have it on in her sagging cleavage tonight if she ever shows up. Anyway, she saw me and invited me. So here I am.” He tossed his hair arrogantly.

“Any other time, I knew that I would have skipped it, but I knew that Old Needle Nose would be here and wherever he is--you are.” Another mousy grin.

“And you look damn pretty tonight. All that blue and white. Shit.” A cool hand was placed on my bare arm.

“No!” I jerked free of his grasp. The last thing I needed was for Michael to not only see me conversing with his sworn enemy, but for him to be touching me too?

It was too much.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Prince questioned leaning closer to me, his straight little nose bumping my cheek.

The scent of lavender was emanating from him in a violet colored cloud.

“I’m happy to see you. I’m always happy to see you.” His voice was soft as he spoke off into my ear.

His breath smelled of mints and kiwi.

Once more his hand was wrapped around my arm.

“There’s too many people in this room. Cramping my style. I wanna talk to you privately. Come on.”

With a sharp tug, Prince began leading me from the bar and along the east wall towards the open wrought iron adorned doors that led to the expanse backyard of Molto Grazie Manor.

I was led outside into the backyard, which was made to resemble a garden from the English countryside. Several paths split the yard, all accented with vine and rose covered walkways.

I knew I should have broken his manicured hand and ran away, but for some reason, I allowed myself to be led away from the crowd by Prince.

I only prayed that he left his clothes on.

Prince quietly picked a path and began leading me away, quietly until the sound of the party was but a faint whisper. The only sound was that of our heels on the cobblestones.

The walkway was dim, the only light coming from the moon.

When it was clear we were out of earshot and sight, Prince came to an abrupt stop.

He stood and silently looked up, through the hanging, intertwined vines, and gazed at the moon.

Is this what he’d wanted to do?

Play astronomer?

Find Orion’s Belt?

“What…what did you want to talk about?” I questioned, breaking the tranquil silence.

Plucking a pink rose and holding it under his nose, Prince replied luridly,

“Things.”

I watched as he began plucking the petals.

“You know, I was at the auditorium tonight.” He said suddenly, turning to gaze me. He dropped the naked stem to the ground.

In the moon glow his eyes shone green.

“You were?” I was shocked. Prince had been at the HAAs? I never saw him. No one mentioned him.

“Yeah, I didn’t hang around too long. Too boring for me. I cut out right after Jacko’s tubby ass nephew showed up. I saw that big bastard kiss you. Is he your man too?” Prince plucked another flower and began dismembering it.

Was he still hanging onto that story?

“Prince, what part of ‘it’s a lie’ is going over your head? He just did that to make the story that Michael’s been passing around seem real. It meant nothing. You know that.” I flipped my hair angrily. “What kind of person do you think I am. I’d never date an uncle and nephew.”

“Just checking.” Another stem hit the ground. “And what was that shit with you and that Culkin kid? You dating him? Y’all were dancing for quite a while.” Prince was tearing another flower to bits.

“Mac just wanted to dance. He’s just a friend--he has a girlfriend.” I couldn’t ‘t believe that Prince was thinking I was hooking up with any and everyone. “And just for the record, I’m not dating Eddie Murphy, Dave Chapelle, Steve Harvey or Chris Tucker either.”

“No, apparently, you only go for men who can glow in the dark.” Prince snickered.

“You’re not exactly a shadow yourself.” I pointed out. Prince and Taryll were about the same color. “Quit worrying.”

“I’m not worried. It’s just that there’s so many men buzzing around you. I’m already sick and fucking tired of Michael Jackson monopolizing your time. You’re my woman and you should be with me, damn it.”

A half killed rose was thrown down and stepped on.

“Michael Jackson doesn’t deserve a woman like you. He really doesn’t. He doesn’t know how to handle and treat a woman like you.” Prince latched onto my hand so hard I winced.

I was so tired of him insulting Michael.

“He doesn’t know how to treat me? Do I look mistreated to you? Do I?” I demanded.

“No…” Prince’s eyes, wide and glassy stared at me. “You don’t look mistreated. You look…you look…” He inhaled loudly. His glossy lips shined.

“You look delicious.”

Before I could stop him, Prince had slammed me against the vine wall and his mouth, wet, steamy and minty was crushing mine.

I flailed around trying to push him off me.

If Michael caught us kissing…

It’s be Hiroshima all over again.

My efforts were futile, Prince calmly reached up and grasping both my hands, held them back against the wall.

His mouth was ruthless, and he sucked and smacked away at my mouth mercilessly, his tongue flicking about and smacking against mine.

I could feel my body going limp as he continued attacking my lips.

After a while, Prince yanked his lips from mine and began kissing on my neck.

“Please…stop. You’ll give me a hickey! Stop!” I begged in a whisper trying to struggle against him to free my hands.

“If you get one, say Jacko’s nephew gave it to you. I don’t care. You taste so sweet. Damn. I like holding you down. Ha!” Prince cackled, his mouth rubbing my throat.

“Stop it! Please!” I begged. I was enjoying this a bit too much.

I tried to push against him.

“No. I’m not--” Prince stopped arguing swiftly and in the dim light, I saw his eyes widening at something.

Following his gaze, I saw that he was staring at the large diamond ring on my finger.

“Brynn, what the fucking hell is that on your hand?” He demanded, pulling himself off me and brining my hand closer to his face, examining the bauble.

“A…a ring.” I whimpered, his sudden change in demeanor scaring me.

“I’m not stupid I can tell it’s a ring. What in the hell is it doing on your hand? That’s a big ass ring.” Dropping my hand, Prince took a few steps back.

“Please, please don’t tell me you up and married Michael Jackson’s crazy ass. Don’t tell me you’re Michael’s wife.” He gasped, his jaw hanging.

“What?” I started at Prince. Gob smacked.

He thought I was married to Michael Jackson?

“No…” I chuckled. “Princey, I’m not married to Michael. This is just a ring. It’s just for pretty. I’m wearing it on my right hand. If I were married to Michael, it’d be on my left hand.” I explained, leaning against the flowers.

“I had to ask.” Prince wrapped his arms around my waist. “I knew you wouldn’t be insane enough to marry him. That’s no real man. I still don’t get what you see in him. What’s he do, fuck you on a bed of diamonds and feathers or something? Damn.” Prince shook his head.

“I don’t get it. After being with me, you go back to Michael. Makes no sense. He can’t treat you the way I can. I just hate you’re with him all the time. I want you back with me. Where you damn well belong. You belong in Uptown. Not in that child’s fantasyland playing surrogate mama--”

“Leave the children out of this. Okay.” I cautioned. It sickened me when he was evil about Michael’s children.

“It makes my ass itch something fierce when you defend those rug rats. Hell.” Prince lamented and started to kiss at me.

Placing my hand over his immaculately made up face, I proceeded to push him back, by way of squishing his nose into a mess of flesh.

“If your ass itches so bad, then scratch it! You hear me? Scratch your ass! Stop bitching about the children. They‘re nice.” I ran my hands through my curls and Prince felt his nose.

“You and those damn kids!” Prince gripped my arm with a crushing power.

“You’re hurting me!” I groaned as he tugged me back and forth a few times.

“You want a baby so bad…we can make one right now!” With a swift shove, Prince threw me on the cool ground.

I landed on my stomach with a dull moan.

I felt a weight on my back and it was a moment before I realized that Prince was lying on me.

Was this man going to rape me?

Right there?

In Elizabeth Taylor’s backyard?

With Michael a few yards away?

“No! Prince! Stop! No! Please! Don’t do this!” I pleaded, clawing the ground trying to get away from him.

His hand was on my thigh and traveling under my dress.

His hand was clutching my bottom.

“You got such a tight ass baby.” Prince snickered, running his spare hand down my neck. “Perfect for fucking.”

“Princey--no!” I begged, as his nails dug into my skin.

I needed help. This man was going to hurt me.

“Michael!” I cried out and in an instant, Prince’s hand was over my mouth and squeezing so hard, I thought he was gonna break my teeth.

I mumbled and tried to throw him off me.

“Brynn…Brynn, shit calm down!” Prince’s voice was hot in my ear. “ What kind of man do you think I am? You think I’d really rape you? In some old woman’s garden? Baby please.”

He had been joking?

What the hell?

Prince hopped to his feet.

My instance of fear was consumed by sheer anger.

“You ugly, long headed, horse faced son of a bitch!” I screamed climbing to my feet.

That Damn Man stood smiling at me.

“I was just kidding. Calm down.” He giggled reaching at me.

“Kidding? You’ve got a warped sense of humor, bitch! That’s funny to you? Go to Hell!” I leapt at him.

The nerve of him.

Prince yanked another rose down and held it out to me.

“I’m sorry…really Brynn. It was all in fun. I was just joking with you. I went too far. I’m sorry. Forgive me? I love you!” He widened his eyes and poked out his pink bottom lip.

I looked at the flower quivering in his hand.

Prince seemed sorry. And I knew that by nature, he was an extremely sexually unrestrained person. There had been times I had seen the man hump air.

Taking the flower and twirling it under my face, I said coyly,

“Okay Princey I forgive, but if you try a stunt like that again, I’ll castrate you.”

Placing his arm around me and kissing at my cheek, Prince laughed.

“You’ll do anything to touch my balls, huh?”

I elbowed him in the stomach.

* * *

Fifteen Minutes Later

Prince had made himself scarce since our little encounter in the garden and I had made my way back to Michael’s table, after stopping to clean up my appearance.

As I made my way back to the table, I saw that someone else had finally deiced to grace the party goers with her appearance.

Dame Elizabeth Taylor.

I could see her as I approached the table. Sure, she was older and bit plumper than she had been in her heyday, but she was still glamorous.

Standing over Michael, Dame Taylor was clad in a gorgeous, low cut black velvet dress covered with a gold lace overlay.

Diamonds glittered from everywhere on her, from her ears, in her cleavage, on his fingers.

Her hair, long and dyed black, had been gathered on top of her head into an elegant French twist with a gilded rosette attached to the side of it.

“Ah! There she is!” Michael exclaimed when he sighted me. Hopping out his chair and running over to me, he grabbed onto my hands.

“Bunny, where have you been? Look who wants to meet you!” He chuckled, pulling me over.

“Brynn, I’d like for you to meet Elizabeth Taylor.” He smiled.

Dame Taylor smiled warmly at me, her violet colored eyes glittering. Her lips painted a bright red parted in a smile.

“Hello Darling! It’s so nice to finally meet you. Michael’s been talking of you half the night. Seems smitten!” Dame Taylor teased and Michael’s ears turned red.

“It’s so nice to meet you too, Dame Taylor.” I whispered, taking her hand and shaking it softly.

“Oh Darling, ‘Dame’ is just a title. Please, call me Liz, Honey.” She giggled, her voice highlighted by a tinkling English accent.

“Okay, Liz Honey.” I winked at her.

Everyone at the table burst into laughter.

“Oh Michael! She is a keeper! I like her! I like you!” ‘Liz’ cackled and pulled me against her in a warm hug.

I was a ‘keeper”.

Now there was a hell of a thought.

I glanced at the doors that led to the garden.

Yes, I was a ‘keeper’.

Keeper of Secrets.

673