Too Damn Rich by Judith Gould

mental
picture of having packed formal
    gowns and cocktail dresses on the run. The
image was so powerful and ridiculous she didn't know whether to
burst into laughter or tears.
    "Sweetie?" A troubled shadow flitted across
Dina's features. "Is something the matter? Did I say the wrong
thing?"
    "No, of course you didn't. It's just that I
left so suddenly I didn't have a chance to pack a thing. In other
words ..." Zandra gestured at herself. "... what you see is what
you get."
    "Oh, dear," Dina said, without looking in the
least bit perturbed. "Well, I'm sure we can find something for you
to wear." She stood back and gave Zandra a critical once-over, her
skilled eyes measuring her as accurately as the most experienced,
sharp-eyed couturiere. "Would you believe, we're still the same
size?"
    "But why the big worry about clothes? Dina,
what in the world is up?"
    "What's up? Ah, I'll tell you what's up. I,"
Dina purred, producing two thick vellum invitations seemingly out
of nowhere and waving them in a manner so giddily rhapsodic that
they could well have announced the Second Coming, "have just been
messengered invitations for the party of the season. Yes, the
season! And, would you believe, it's being thrown by none other
than—guess who? Ta da!"
    With a flourish, she held the invitations
right under Zandra's nose.
    "Yes, sweetie, your very own cousin, Prince
Karl-Heinz von und zu. And, as you can see, there are two
invitations. One for Robert and me, and another for you and your
escort." Dina all but swooned with excitement. "Well, sweetie? Are
you surprised, or what?"
    "Oh, Dina," Zandra tried to beg off. "Not
tonight. Please? I'm frightfully tired. I've hardly slept for the
past two days and—"
    "And nothing. I shall not, I repeat not, take
no for an answer. Since the festivities do not begin until
seven-thirty, there is plenty of time for you to take a nap and
wake up totally rejuvenated."
    And taking Zandra by the arm, Dina guided her
gently but firmly out of the guest suite, down the grandiose hall,
and up the sweeping staircase to her own sprawling suite,
chattering like a happy magpie the entire way.
    "Thank God my closets are bursting at the
seams with clothes I could never begin to wear ... so, first we'll
pick out that appropriate little something, then we'll go through
my jewelry to match it with a bauble or two—no, I will not let you
utter one word of protest—and after that, I'll give you one of my
magic sleeping pills and tuck you in myself. You might not believe
it, sweetie, but I assure you: when party time rolls around, you'll
look and feel fresh as a daisy!"
     

Chapter 8
     
    What a difference a day makes.
    The man who sat down to lunch yesterday in
his grand, book-lined study in the Auction Towers penthouse was the
world's most eligible thirty-nine-year-old bachelor. The man who
was served lunch at the same library table today had turned
forty.
    It was Prince Karl-Heinz von und zu
Engelwiesen's Big Four-O, and the fact that he had turned forty
made him aware of more than just his own mortality. The
responsibilities his fabulous wealth and title engendered, as well
as the peculiar laws of inheritance which had governed his family
for nearly three-quarters of a millennium, weighed heavily on his
mind.
    That he should concern himself with these
matters now was in itself disconcerting—especially considering the
past two decades of lusty, carefree living.
    For Prince Karl-Heinz, indisputably one of
the savviest businessmen in the world, was also acknowledged to be
one of the most notorious playboys of all time. An exciting,
passionate, and well-endowed lover, his life was a chronicle of
liaisons and affairs. Movie stars, showgirls, supermodels, and
other beauty queens—his amorous adventures did not stop there. An
inspired lover of women—all women—his conquests had included the
happily married wives and even daughters of friends, business
associates, celebrities, and politicians.
    Now, hearing a light