There once was a comely princess in the kingdom of High Stakes Romance Publishing in the borough of Manhattan by the name of Sylvia Day. This beauty, who could write sizzling scenes like you wouldn’t believe, was already mid-career at 40, and had had meaningful relationships before with such notables as Sir Penguin. But she bravely set out to find an even more promising consort.
Although she was not as full-figured as the legendary Nora Roberts, who had more than 450 million copies of her 200-plus books in print, Princess Sylvia’s charms were nothing to sneer at. With more than 20 books to her name, translated into 41 languages, she had wowed the residents of Manhattan with her literary feats. In her last authorly outings in 2012 and 2013, her Crossfire series had sold more than 13 million tomes in English alone. The premier journal of the kingdom, the New York Times, had honored her by putting her at No. 1 on its bestsellers list. Lists worldwide soon followed.
But how could a Princess of such acclaim find a suitable companion? The custom in the kingdom was to go to matchmakers known as agents. So with her trusty aide at her side, Princess Sylvia’s search began. At first, she cast a cold eye at the suitors who came courting. But suddenly, a swain appeared on the scene whose coffers were full of golden coins. His name was St. Martin, and he was known throughout Manhattan as a worthy publisher.
After many a cocktail and sumptuous repast, St. Martin became smitten with the beguiling author. He saw in her eyes a striking resemblance to the current sweetheart of the kingdom, a bawdy wench named E.L. James, whose Fifty Shades of Grey had sold a zillion copies and hypnotized the citizenry of Manhattan.
St. Martin was no dummy; he decided to snare Princess Sylvia before some other hunk romanced her away. With the lovely Princess at his side, he would become the next king. So after much deliberation, St. Martin, whose jousting talents were known far and wide, courted her. He opened up the regal coffers and promised her a good chunk of royal change to her: to wit, a staggering eight-figure advance for her next two Blacklist books.
Princess Sylvia swooned, and who wouldn’t have? The good (and not so good) citizens of Manhattan buzzed; was she really worthy of such a sum? St. Martin’s trumpeters certainly thought so, and sang her glories all over the land. Would the marriage be a success? Only time would tell. But Princess Sylvia and St. Martin each fell into the same reverie, dreaming of a prosperous, regal life in Manhattan’s gilded palace. Enchanted, they were confident that the new relationship would end happily ever after.