I've been told that readers think of Coming to America with Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall when they read the first few chapters of the book (before the kidnappings, rainforests and fencing duels start). However, Coming to America was not the inspiration for this story; Cinderella was. Drew Barrymore's "Ever After," which protrayed the Cinderella story in a different light - allowing Cinderella to rescue herself before the prince had the chance - gave me the inspiration to write my own unique Cinderella story. My heroine, Abbie, fights for and rescues her prince and herself many times in this novel. She's brave and spirited, and shows us how Cinderella would have acted today if she ran across a handsome prince.

When BET Books decided to publish this story, I was very curious (maybe apprehensive is a better word) about reader reaction. I wrote this story with no other reader in mind, but myself, and I purposely put my hero and heroine in unusual situations (three words: the Ab-bee tribe). There are some definite "huh?" moments in the book, but I think that it's also a fun, whimsical read that I should have ended "And they lived happily ever after" because it's a modern-day fairy tale.

Abbie Barnes closed the door to her apartment unit mailbox then glanced at her watch. The apartment building lobby was empty, and he was late. She stuck the bundle of advertisements and bills into her purse then twisted the key in the mailbox again. Only a few more minutes, she told herself, then she would go to her apartment and finish her work. She slammed closed the mailbox and rolled her eyes at her immature behavior. She couldn't wait any longer. She was a busy woman. She had a pile of paperwork and not enough hours in the night to finish it all. The last thing she could do was stand around the empty lobby on a Friday evening and wait for a man.

A very beautiful man, Abbie corrected herself, as the man finally entered the lobby. She hid her smile as she watched him from the corner of her eyes. He was Davis, the repairman for the apartment building. She didn't know his last name or if Davis was his last name. He first started working at the apartment building two months ago, and Abbie had seen him in her dreams every night since. He had smooth caramel brown skin, large brown eyes, full lips, and black wavy hair. He was tall, with distinctly muscular arms and a well-defined chest that she had ogled, much to her embarrassment, on more than one occasion when he had taken off his shirt on hot days.

Despite being twenty-eight years old and an account manager at a local Los Angeles fashion magazine, Abbie gawked at him like a teenage girl would the high school basketball star. Of course, whenever he looked in her direction, she would quickly pretend to look over his shoulder or in the distance.

Abbie had no idea why she acted like a teenager over this man. She wasn't desperate for male company. She turned down most offers for dates because she was always at work or doing work at home. Although, she didn't consider herself supermodel material, she never had a problem finding a date, when she wanted one. If Davis had been any other man, she would have started a conversation and, maybe, asked him out, if he gave her the right signs.

But, the problem was that Davis wasn't like other men. There was something different about him. She knew it wasn't just his looks or his lean build, but there was something in his eyes that drew her to him. Which was why for the last three weeks, Abbie would speed across town from work, run into the lobby, and pretend to check her mail until Davis would walk through the employees' entrance to leave work for the day.

Since Abbie saw Davis, her day was complete, and she turned towards the bank of elevators that led to the apartments. She stopped in her tracks when she realized that Davis was smiling at her. She decided he was smiling to himself, because in the months since he had been there, he had only politely nod in acknowledgment when he would pass her.

"I am sorry that I'm late," he said, still grinning. Abbie barely registered the unrecognizable accent that tinted his deep, smooth voice, as she realized that he knew. He knew that she waited for him every evening. Her heart suddenly raced in her chest, and she could feel her hands begin to shake.

"Excuse me," she croaked, feeling the humiliation flush her face.

"A job in an apartment on the third floor took longer than I expected," he decided to explain. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Abbie forced herself to meet his eyes. She realized, to her horror, that he wasn't laughing at her or making fun of her. His wide smile and twinkling eyes told her that he was flattered, or at least, amused.

She nervously smoothed errant strands of hair to the bun at the nape of her neck and tried to bluff her way out of the most embarrassing moment of her life, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Davis. What are you late for?"

"I am only Davis." His deep voice seemed to caress her skin, as his gaze penetrated to her soul. She had a feeling that he could read her mind and that her lie was useless.

"What are you late for, Davis? Or have you confused me with someone else? Although, considering that I'm the only Black woman in this building, under fifty, I don't think that would be possible, or I hope that's not possible. Unless this is a hint that I should be buying anti-wrinkle cream or . . ." Her voice trailed off as she realized that she babbled. She always babbled when she was nervous. It was her one of her worst habit. She thought she had controlled in college, but then she hadn't been caught practically stalking a man since college. She covered her sudden and firmly announced, "Either way, I don't know what you're talking about."

"It must be my mistake," Davis replied, with a hint of a small smile that told Abbie he knew he wasn't mistaken.

With a fake smile pasted on her face, she stumbled across the lobby towards the elevators. She had to escape his intense gaze before she blurted out the truth and humiliated herself more. She hated lying. She cursed herself for not confessing. Maybe Davis would have found it cute in a psychotic way.

"No problem, Mr. Davis . . . Davis. I have to go."

"You look nice," he said, seemingly in no hurry to end the conversation. Abbie once more came to an abrupt stop and quickly closed her mouth that had dropped open. He smiled but Abbie was too shocked to smile in return. He was flirting with her. Davis was flirting with her, and she had no idea how to respond. His smile grew wider, as if he could read her confused thoughts. She tried to form a complete sentence, but all words fled her head at his smile. She wanted to tell him that she had interacted with a man before, just never a man that could render her speechless with one smile.

"What?" was the only word in her vocabulary when she finally spoke.

"You look nice," he repeated.

"Thank you," she responded then stared at his paint-splattered jeans and dirt-smeared green t-shirt. She had never seen a man look more beautiful. Before she could stop herself, she said, "So do you."

Davis laughed and sparkles shot through her body. He pointedly looked at his clothes then he said, shrugging, "Thank you."

He continued to stand in the same position and watch her. Abbie would have liked to ended the conversation on a good note, where she didn't seem like a gaping fool, but she couldn't move. She had no control over her body, and it wanted to stay and look at Davis.

Davis continued to stare at her, as if waiting for her to continue. Her eyes drifted to his moist, full lips, and she calculated the distance between them. She forced herself to stop staring at his lips. She took another step towards the elevator, willing her body to cooperate.

"Well, I have---"

"Would you like to have dinner tonight?" he suddenly asked, seemingly unaware of the war raging inside of her.

"With you?"

Davis grinned and answered, "Of course, with me."

"You don't even know my name," she blurted out. She cringed at her own half-question, half-statement.

Davis smiled and simply asked, "What is your name?"

"My name?" Abbie paused as she wracked her brain for her own name. She sighed in relief and said firmly, "Abbie Barnes. My name is Abbie Barnes."

"Abbie Barnes, would you like to have dinner with me?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

Abbie nervously tucked strands of hair behind her left ear and tried to think of a good reason, besides the fact that she only could imagine the disaster that would be her attempting to eat food around him. She could picture herself walking out the restaurant with more food on her clothes and face then in her stomach.

She suddenly remembered she did have a legitimate reason and she smiled relieved as she said, "I'm having dinner with my friend tonight."

"He's a lucky man," Davis said. Even though he didn't touch her or come any closer to her, Abbie could almost feel his voice caress her skin.

"My friend's a woman," Abbie quickly corrected him. "We have a standing dinner date once a month because our lives are so busy and if we don't have concrete plans, we'd never see each other. She's a model and she's . . ." Abbie clamped her mouth closed and vowed not to make more of a fool of herself in front of this man. She would either have to gain control of herself and remember that she was an adult or move to a different apartment building. "I really have to go. Good-bye."

She refused to look back as she practically ran into the elevator, but she could feel his stare, until the elevator doors closed.

Davis Phillipe Andre Beriyia, crowned prince of Juhatu, barely noticed the trash littering the streets of the working-class neighborhood of Los Angeles or the homeless man ambling down the opposite street. Davis didn't notice the light drops of rain falling on his already damp shirt or the cool temperature. All he could see or think about was Abbie Barnes' smile. He had wondered for two months how she would smell if he ever got close enough and tonight he discovered his answer. Like the aromatic flower gardens outside the palace walls at home.

He noticed her two months ago when he first applied for the job at her apartment building, and he had thought of little else since that moment. She was even more beautiful up close than he dreamt about at night. With shoulder-length black hair, amber-colored eyes, honey-colored skin, and full lips, Davis thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He realized after the first week of obsessing over her, that it wasn't just her looks that drew his attention. It was the fire that burned in her eyes, the way she walked down the street as if she didn't seem afraid of anything or anyone.

The last few weeks, he noticed that every time he got off work, Abbie was checking her mail. At first, he thought their schedules coincided and he used it as an opportunity to take one last look at her to last for the night. He never thought she noticed him, since she would never acknowledge his existence at any time. Around the second week, Davis knew it wasn't a coincidence. He was a prince, he knew the effect he could have over women, but he never imagined Davis, the repairman, could influence a woman like Abbie to wait for him.

He didn't know what prompted him to speak to her tonight. He knew it would embarrass her, and maybe humiliate him if he was wrong, but judging from her flushed cheeks and awkward reactions, Davis knew she waited for him. Surprisingly, the idea made him more happy than he wanted to admit. For once, a woman liked him for who he was, and not because he was a wealthy prince. Davis hoped she recovered from her embarrassment soon, because he planned to ask her out again and again until she agreed. He smiled to himself as he imagined pursuing a woman, instead of being the one pursued.

Davis reached his apartment building and ran up the stairs to his apartment on the seventh floor. The apartment building was old, dirty, and it probably violated every housing code in Los Angeles, but Davis loved it. Spending his whole life with a twenty-person cleaning crew assigned to his quarters alone, he never realized how much he liked to see dirt and dust. How much he enjoyed throwing a shirt on the floor and finding that shirt still there three days later. How much he even enjoyed emptying his own trash.

Davis unlocked the door to his small one-bedroom apartment and once more thought of his encounter with Abbie. He loved the idea of getting to know her like a normal man would get to know a normal woman.

Davis stopped smiling when he saw Lowell Murae stiffly sitting in the middle of the couch Davis bought at a flea market three weeks ago. The idea of Lowell Murae, the Chief Royal Administrator, sitting on a five dollar couch would have made Davis laugh, if Davis would admit to being able to laugh. The fact of Davis going to a flea market was one he would have to take to his grave.

Lowell's chocolate brown face deepened into disapproval at Davis's barely concealed laughter. Like a towering tree, Hiram Inga stood in the corner of the Living Room, his massive dark arms crossed over his chest. Hiram had been Davis's bodyguard for the last fifteen years. Judging from Hiram's grave expression, Davis knew he couldn't talk his way out of trouble this time.

"Lowell, Hiram," Davis greeted soberly. Lowell simply stared at him. Hiram silently nodded in greeting.

  Davis closed the door behind him and walked into the Kitchen. The silence deepened in the room as Lowell watched him. Davis opened the refrigerator door and waited for Lowell to speak. He refused to break the silence first. He had known they would find him, but he hadn't been prepared for the disappointment that overwhelmed them on what their presence meant. He would have to return home.

"It took us two months to find you, Your Highness," Lowell spoke in their native French.

"I had hoped it would take a little longer," Davis replied casually.

Lowell sighed, the long suffering sound of a loyal servant who spent too much time chasing after his 28-year old charge. "You are the crowned prince of the sovereign province of Juhatu. You have responsibilities and duties, Your Highness. You can't--"

"Lowell--"

Lowell jumped to his feet, his uppercrust breeding making his outrage almost comical. "Your Highness, do you realize the explanations your father has been forced to make to other dignitaries and the press because of your absence? Your mother had to call in favors to friends from her days in America to find you. This has been a complete embarrassment to the royal family and to the nation of Juhatu. Hiram has been dishonored in front of his superiors and fellow members of the Palace Guard for allowing you to escape his surveillance. I know you are not a child anymore and I don't have the right to scold you, but someone should, and you should feel ashamed of yourself . . . Your Highness."

Davis rubbed the back of his neck and felt the familiar weight of responsibility practically crush his shoulders. He had known that he could not avoid his life in Juhatu forever, but he had hoped to avoid it for a while. As the only child of the King and Queen of Juhatu, Davis had no choice.

"I am sorry, Hiram," Davis said, facing his old friend. "I never meant to cause you any dishonor." Hiram smiled in understanding until Lowell looked at him then Hiram's expression turned into a censuring scowl. "I apologize to you as well, Lowell."

"We were all very worried, Your Highness," Hiram spoke as Lowell's silence weighed in the apartment.

"There was no need."

"Albert Munji was killed three weeks ago," Hiram continued. Davis hid the surprise and regret at the news. Albert was the leader of the small anti-monarchy political group in Juhatu. Not many people paid attention to their position because the economy was good and the Beriyias were loved and respected on the island. However much Albert Munji disagreed with their form of government, he had always been a reasonable and intelligent foe, until eight months ago when his wife died in a car accident. Albert Munji and his only son, Kevin, became convinced the Beriyias were behind Maria Munji's death and vowed to make them pay.

"How?"

"There were rumors he planned to buy chemical weapons from a group in Albania. We tracked him to the caverns on the south shore of Juhatu. There was a gun fight and Albert was killed," Hiram answered.

"I am sorry to hear that. Where is Kevin?" Davis asked Hiram.

"Kevin Munji has not been found. There have been threats made against the lives of the royal family. Now is not the time to test your freedom away from the guards and the safety of the Palace," Hiram responded.

"Allow your father to deal with Munji," Lowell finally spoke. Davis knew Lowell didn't want to accept his apology, but Lowell never could remain angry at Davis for long. Even when Davis was a child, Lowell would lecture him on his royal duties and the need for decorum, then hand him a toy airplane as soon as the King would leave the room.

"I am forgiven, Lowell?" Davis asked, hiding his smile.

"You are young and allowed lapses in judgment. As we speak, the jet is being refueled. We can be back in Juhatu by early tomorrow morning where you can be properly disinfected from this filthy city and the substandard conditions of this apartment."

Davis didn't respond to Lowell's assessment of his adopted city and asked instead, "Would either of you like something to eat?"

Lowell merely glared at Davis while Hiram walked into the Kitchen area. The two men settled on last night's Chinese takeout from the refrigerator. With a combination of disgust and interest on his face, Lowell watched them dig into the box of noodles. Davis wordlessly handed Lowell another fork and pushed a box across the table. Lowell wrinkled his nose in disgust and carefully placed the fork back on the counter.

"If you don't mind my asking, Your Highness, why did you come to America?" Hiram asked.

Davis pointedly looked at Lowell as he said, "I checked my calendar and saw there was nothing urgent or pressing that needed my attention for a while and I decided to take a break. I wanted to try and blend in with everyone else for a while. To see what it would be like."

"You're not like everyone else," Lowell said firmly.

"Lady Sophia was hurt you didn't say good-bye to her," Hiram softly chided him. Davis tried not to groan at the mention of his soon-to-be fiancée. His parents and her parents had arranged for the two children to be married from birth, along with a mutual exchange of assets and wealth. Davis had only met the woman a few months ago and couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life listening to her talk about her latest shopping trip.

"I'm sure she overcame her disappointment with a shopping trip," Davis muttered, causing Hiram to choke back his laughter under Lowell's disapproving eye.

"I know the weight of the monarch is not for an ordinary man--" Lowell began.

"I've heard this speech, Lowell. From you, from my father, from anyone who could get close enough to me to say it, for the past twenty-five years." Davis sighed as Lowell bristled from his harsh tone. "I apologize, Lowell, I should not have yelled at you."

"I know you have a lot to deal with, Your Highness, but running away to the United States is not the answer." Lowell studied Davis with a concerned expression. Davis avoided his eyes and scraped the bottom of the now empty box. "You need a decent meal and a good night's sleep. Fortunately, I had the foresight to bring clothes suitable for a man of your rank and position. We have time for dinner before the jet will be ready for take-off. You will get dressed and then we will go to dinner at a decent restaurant."

END OF EXCERPT. LIKE IT? ORDER IT.