§ § § - July 14, 1996

As luck would have it, two of their fantasizing guests—longtime best friends from Sioux Falls, South Dakota—had always been fascinated by, and followed the doings of, royalty from all countries that still had royal families. Their fantasy, naturally, was to be princesses for just one weekend, "just to see what it's like," in Gina Clay's words. So when she and Marcy Beaumont hosted a royal ball as part of their fantasy, Christian—having been told by Roarke what was happening, and having agreed to play up his own royal status—asked Leslie to be his escort to the party.

"I don't think I have a suitable dress," she protested, startled. Up till then the tentative plan had been for Roarke to discreetly supervise the ball and Leslie to make the usual rounds, including dropping in at the luau.

Roarke raised an eyebrow. "Leslie Susan Hamilton, of all the people on earth, how could you fail to remember where you are? There will be a dress for you, never fear. What's the real reason you'd prefer not to go?"

She turned red and slid a skittish sidelong glance in the direction of an amused Christian before shrugging. "I'm just not much good at formal galas, that's all."

Roarke folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. "I seem to recall that you acquitted yourself very nicely at Prince Errico's engagement gala."

"That's because I wasn't with any of the luminaries," Leslie said. "The only person I danced with was you, and since neither of us was really in the spotlight, it wasn't so bad." She finally faced Christian directly. "But you really are royalty, and with the nature of this particular party, any royalty is going to be in the spotlight."

"You'll be beautiful, my Leslie Rose, don't worry about that," Christian assured her.

She sighed. "It's not that. I just don't know how to dance."

At that both Roarke and Christian burst out laughing. "Is that all?" Christian exclaimed, chortling. "What on earth did you do when Mr. Roarke asked you to dance at Errico's ball? You said you danced with him, after all."

"All we did was kind of sway slowly around the floor," Leslie said. "I sat out all the formal dances, and Father went on to dance with some of the other guests."

Roarke eyed her in realization. "And you claimed your feet hurt," he said, shaking his head again. "Oh, Leslie, if only you had said something. I could have taught you to waltz before the gala. And quite a few young men asked me if I could talk you into returning to the dance floor that evening."

"Perhaps it's better that she didn't ask to learn to dance back then after all," Christian mused, drawing more laughter. "Actually, Leslie, learning to waltz isn't so difficult. There are still several hours before this little fantasy ball, so why don't I teach you myself. Mr. Roarke, do you happen to have the appropriate music?"

"Indeed I do," said Roarke with a smile. He went to one of the built-in bookcases, where a stereo system with a CD player rested on a shelf, and looked through the dozen or so discs there before choosing one, turning on the stereo and putting the disc in the player. "The 'Danube Waltz' is the perfect starting point for any beginner."

Several minutes later Christian and Leslie were moving around the floor, and Leslie was amazed to see that her stumbles and missteps were becoming rapidly less frequent. In the midst of the lesson there was a knock on the door. "Excuse me," Roarke said and left the couple still dancing while he went to the foyer and admitted Marcy Beaumont and Gina Clay. "Good afternoon, ladies."

"Hi, Mr. Roarke," Marcy said. "We were going to ask you if we could try on different gowns for the ball…" Her voice trailed off as the movement in the study caught her eye, and she gasped loudly and grabbed her best friend's arm. "Gina! Do you see who that is?"

Gina peered past Roarke and clapped her free hand over her mouth for a second. "Oh my God! Mr. Roarke, isn't that Prince Christian, from Lilla Jordsö? Is he here for our ball?"

"He does plan to attend," Roarke said, smiling, without really answering the question. "Come inside, ladies, and I'll introduce you." He led the way into the study, where Christian and Leslie were just three-stepping back toward the middle of the room. They stopped when Roarke and the women came in. "Prince Christian Carl Tobias Enstad of Lilla Jordsö, may I present Princess Regina of Capria, and Princess Marcianne of Tours-Anjou."

Christian grinned. "Pleased to meet you, Your Highnesses. Very catchy names you've thought up for your realms."

Gina and Marcy looked sheepishly at each other. "So you're in on the fantasy," Gina said with a sigh. "Oh well…at least our fancy fake kingdom names sound good."

Christian's grin graduated into a laugh. "I promise not to tell anyone," he assured them. "It's my understanding you're hosting a ball this evening, and fear not, I'll attend." As the women's eyes popped with delight, he turned to Leslie and added with exaggerated threat, "And so will you. You waltz perfectly well, Leslie Rose, so you have no more excuses not to be there with me."

"Well, if you're willing to risk being able to swim without flippers…" she began, and at his confused look, grinned. "Your toes are liable to be so flat by the end of the evening that you'll look like you've got duck feet."

"I'll take that chance," Christian said and dropped a kiss on her lips. "Very well, and what time does this wonderful royal ball begin?"

"Seven o'clock sharp, Your Highness," Marcy said, beaming.

"Seven it is. My Leslie Rose and I will be there, and I promise to save each of you ladies one dance…but only one. I can't let Leslie get out of practice."

"You're impossible," said Leslie, but she chuckled. "We'll see you then, Your Highnesses. And oh yes…about the dresses. I'll go with you. I need something suitable myself."

In a small, exclusive shop in Amberville, Marcy, Gina and Leslie examined dress after dress, ranging from ethereal clouds of floaty fabric to fussy, jewel-encrusted affairs with trains, sashes, bows, tiaras and other frilly accessories. Leslie was contemplating a pale-turquoise satin gown with a full skirt and long off-the-shoulder sleeves when one of their guests cleared her throat a little too deliberately. "Leslie…uh, is there something going on with Prince Christian?"

Leslie turned to Marcy, one hand on the hook of the hanger that held the dress she was eyeing. "Something such as what?"

Gina smiled, a dreamy look in her eyes. "I think he's in love with you, Leslie, there's no mistaking the way he looked at you. Anyone could see it from a mile away."

"It's true, isn't it?" Marcy persisted breathlessly.

Leslie chose her words carefully. "Well, we've been seeing each other while he's here on the island, anyway. He's really here to set up a website for Fantasy Island."

"Oh, that's right, Gina—he's a website designer and computer expert. I'd forgotten all about that," Marcy exclaimed to her friend before turning back to Leslie. "But I'd say he's got something in mind other than building a website. Imagine how lucky you are, Leslie! He's such a catch—probably the most eligible royal bachelor in the world!"

"There's still Prince Edward of England," Leslie pointed out.

"I heard he's dating someone," Gina said dismissively. "Besides, he isn't half as good-looking as Prince Christian. Believe me, I can tell: he has his eye on you, Leslie, and in my not-very-humble opinion, you'd be nuts if you didn't want him."

"Of course, if you don't, I'll be more than happy to fill in," Marcy added, and all three women laughed.

Leslie finally relented. "Oh, okay…yes, I think he's told me he loves me, and I have to admit, I've fallen in love with him too. But please—don't say anything. You know how the media pounces all over anything that has to do with royalty, and he's not here in an official capacity. He's simply transacting business, and I think he's happy not to have all the usual attention that comes with being regal."

"But it's got to be the most thrilling thing on earth," Gina protested, her eyes aglow. "I mean, he's a prince! Doesn't it make you feel special to have a prince in love with you?"

"He doesn't strike me as being a prince, in the sense that you feel like you have to be formal around him all the time," Leslie mused, turning back to the dress and experimentally rubbing the satin between her thumb and index finger. "With me, he's just Christian. And I really think he likes it that way."

"I can't imagine wanting to be an ordinary old nobody," Marcy said incredulously. "It just isn't any fun."

Leslie looked up again and smiled knowingly. "That's because you and I are 'ordinary old nobodies'," she said. "We've always been that way and we're used to it. Christian's always been a prince and doesn't know from ordinary, and to him being a nobody must look pretty tempting at times. When you're famous, every move you make is on display to the world. You can't eat, sleep or breathe without some journalist begging for an interview or some photographer poking his head out of the bushes with a camera. There's no privacy, and in this day and age, there's really nowhere in the world you can run and hide anymore. So obscurity probably looks good sometimes to Christian, and maybe quite a few other royals." She saw their looks. "I know you two are really enjoying your fantasy, and that's wonderful. But think about what it's like to be on the other side."

Marcy and Gina looked at each other, and Leslie knew they were still doubters. "If you say so," Gina said finally, "but I really can't imagine it. Anyway, Leslie, since Christian's obviously taken by you…will there be any other real-life royals at our ball tonight?"

"Oh, definitely," said Leslie. "Prince Errico of Arcolos has two unmarried younger brothers, and they'll both be at the ball this evening. And I think at least three other European countries have sent representatives from their respective palaces, so there'll be some bona-fide glitterati in attendance."

Marcy and Gina both squealed with delight. "Omigod, that's perfect!" Gina cried. "Come on, Marce, we'd better find dresses quick if we want to look as good as the real royals do! And by the way, I claim dibs on Prince Carlono!"

Leslie snickered to herself and pulled the satin dress off the rack where it hung. Their guests' enthusiasm was amusing but fun to watch, and she hoped their illusions wouldn't be too badly shattered this weekend.

By nine that evening dinner had been served and eaten, and dancing was in progress. Roarke had arrived about an hour before, the epitome of elegance in snow-white tie and tails, accented by a tie and cummerbund that by suspicious coincidence happened to exactly match the color of Leslie's dress. Now he stood on the sidelines, talking occasionally with one or another guest, but as often as not watching the dancing. And, to Leslie's nervous chagrin, Christian had her out on the floor, right in the middle of a crowd of waltzing couples, beaming at her.

"And you thought you would be a disaster," he said. "Leslie Rose, you're beautiful, and you're perfect. Why are you such a pessimist?"

At that moment Leslie's ankle turned in one of the overly-high heels she'd discovered she had to wear with her gown, causing her to misstep and nearly come down squarely on Christian's foot. "You were asking…?" she prompted dryly.

Christian's eyebrows shot up, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "Was that really an accident, or did you do it on purpose?"

Leslie snorted quietly. "Let's just say it's a good thing my mother didn't name me Grace," she quipped, and Christian threw his head back and burst out laughing, attracting the attention of many of the dancers around them, who smiled in response. "Could we please take a break after this one ends? These shoes are murder."

"All right," he relented and smiled at her. "We've been out here for four dances in a row, so I suppose you've earned a rest. I think we need some fresh air, and besides, there's something I want to ask you."

"Oh, okay," she said and glanced at the floor, trying to get her own feet back in step with his. "There, that's more like it…" At which point the music came to an end and the dancers stopped and began to applaud. "That figures. Just when I finally got the rhythm back." But she was relieved, and she knew Christian could see it; he winked at her as they joined in the clapping.

The small orchestra announced a break, and the patter of conversations rose as the guests wandered off the dance floor and resumed their seats or stood in groups to chat. Christian linked his arm with Leslie's and guided them towards a sliding glass door that led to a carefully landscaped terrace, murmuring the occasional "excuse me" or greeting a fellow royal in a couple of cases. He ushered Leslie out ahead of him, pulled the glass door closed and slipped an arm around her waist, strolling to the edge of the terrace where they could see the ocean in the distance. A half-moon hung in the western sky, skimming the treetops at the edge of the lawn.

"This is lovely," Christian mused, scanning the scene. "A perfect setting for the woman I've fallen so in love with." He looked directly at her then, the slightest smile on his features, and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

She met his gaze and said softly, "I'm…I'm in love with you too, Christian."

His eyes grew wide, his face lit up and he hugged her hard. "Oh, my Leslie Rose, how I dreamed of hearing you say that! If I had a fantasy, then you just granted it." He drew his head back just enough to tilt her face up to meet his, and then kissed her long and deeply. He had a way of weaving a spell over Leslie, who forgot there was anyone else in the entire world and let herself get lost in him for several delicious minutes.

When he pulled back, his eyes looked brighter than a full moon. She could feel the pounding of her own heart from his proximity and, to her own amazed wonder, realized that it wasn't just words. She, Leslie Hamilton, 31-year-old widow, was in love again, and the feeling was more welcome than she had ever expected it to be.

Christian drew in a slow breath and visibly tensed before her, his eyes gleaming with hope and love. "Then, my Leslie Rose, will you grant me my ultimate fantasy and do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

An icy spear seemed to plunge through her from head to toe, and she gaped at him, terror exploding inside her. She could never do that to him! "No…no, I can't!" she cried. Before the shock of her refusal could fully register with Christian, she broke away from him and fled across the lawn, panic making her fleet even in the three-inch heels she wore.

He stumbled after her. "Leslie…Leslie, wait!" he shouted. But she'd gotten too big a head start on him and her fright seemed to have given her wings. Stunned and bewildered, Christian stopped where he was and stared into the darkness where she had vanished, unable to believe what he'd just heard, even more unable to understand. Instinct told him he'd get no answers from her in her emotional state. He'd have to talk to Roarke.