The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One)

by Lyla Payne

  “You will make a concentrated effort to settle down—and at your age, that includes finding yourself a nice girl and starting a family, to convince the people of your stability—and take on a daily role in the running of this country, or you will join the church.”

  “What?” Salvy spoke the word too loud, but he was too confused to care. “The church? You want me to be a priest?”

  “You’re lucky I’m not remanding you to the monks,” his father snapped, and nothing in his expression or posture led Salvy to think he might be bluffing.

  “This is ridiculous. It’s not the fifteen hundreds—you can’t just demand that I find a bride within the fortnight.”

  “An acceptable bride,” King Alfonso emphasized. “And since, based on your behavior, I can’t be certain you know what that means, let me clarify—a woman with a sterling reputation, from a good family, who will bear you heirs and raise them to be men and women who we can trust with this country going forward.”

  “Jesus.”

  “If you prefer, you can spend your days with him.”

  The office fell silent, tension thick between the men. Salvy struggled to wrap his mind around what his father was asking—no, telling—him had to be done in order to keep his place in the family. If he joined the church, he would be trading all affiliation with the Piacere name for the priesthood. As hard as he might work to make his father, and the world, believe he cared little about what that name meant, Salvy did enjoy the benefits. Often.

  “How long do I have to find this bride and settle down?”

  It was the only acceptable option, which the King must have known before he laid them out. His father wouldn’t be around forever, and marriage didn’t have to mean giving up all of the fun he was having on the side.

  The strength of his distaste for the idea of a sham marriage surprised him. He had no problem with the institution. He even had a healthy respect for it, and found that making a mockery of it didn’t sit well with him.

  What choice had his father given him, though? What chance did he have of finding a real wife on such short notice?

  None. He would simply have to be sure that whoever he chose would be informed of the nature of their arrangement—namely, that she was to accept the title and money and say nothing of any dalliances he desired—before they signed any legal document.

  “How about a month?” King Alfonso’s lips twitched with sardonic humor. “This isn’t the fifteen hundreds, after all.”

  Salvy got up and left without a word, his blood boiling with fury. He hated being backed into corners. Hated being forced to make a decision he wasn’t ready to make.

  Perhaps he had gone too far in Las Vegas. He’d clearly pushed the King past his ability to look the other way, and for that, Salvy was certainly sorry.

  Not because he’d upset his father, but because this whole ludicrous situation was going to put the British Ginger Prince back in the lead for most eligible royal.

  And Salvy hated nothing more than losing.

  “Jesus, Salvy,” the woman underneath him gasped as he rolled off of her, winded but feeling better than he had since he woke up in Vegas two days ago.

  He knew her name this time. Valla. They’d been fuck buddies since boarding school, and nothing had changed the status quo—not even her recent marriage to a very rich man twenty-five years her senior.

  “What, old Michele doesn’t give it to you like that?”

  Val snorted. “Michele can’t get it up, most nights, but you know you spoiled me for sex at sixteen, Salvy. No one was ever going to live up to you in the bedroom, so why not marry for money?”

  The comment brought the reality of his father’s ultimatum to mind, quashing his afterglow. He needed a good long nap, to tell the truth, but after leaving that horrid meeting all he’d wanted was some familiar comfort.

  “What’s wrong?” Valla asked lazily, turning onto her side. One sizable breast brushed his arm. “You look like someone told you that princes weren’t allowed to get laid anymore.”

  “Funny enough, that’s not so far off.”

  She arched one manicured brow. “What’s that, now?”

  “Don’t you worry.” He ran a hand over the swell of her hip and pulled her into him, resting his fingertips on her ass. “That’s not exactly it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My father is tired of my so-called antics and has given me two choices—settle down or join the church.”

  A throaty laugh erupted from Valla’s throat, irritating Salvy. He cut it off with his mouth, letting his tongue loose in a rough takeover of hers. Her hands roamed his back, then dropped to cup his ass, as she kissed him back with a fervor that stoked his blood.

  He turned her over and then lifted her onto all fours, getting to his knees behind her and sliding a fresh condom into place. As he buried himself inside her, hands on her hips to hold her steady for his hard thrusts, he didn’t think about his father. Didn’t think about what pieces of himself he would be forced to give up in service of a crown that would never be his. He just moved, instinct and practice driving their bodies together.

  Val moaned when he moved one hand and curled his fingers in her hair, pulling her head up by the long strands. “Oh, yeah. Harder, Salvy!”

  He obliged, fucking her like it was the last time until they both came in a torrent of groans and shrieks, the bed ending up halfway across the room from where it had started.

  “Well,” Valla said once they’d regained their breath. “I can see that you don’t want to talk about the trouble with your father.”

  It wasn’t even that he wanted the crown—he didn’t. He liked being royal but not having the responsibilities that Nico did, and it was nice to live without expectations.

  “He wants me to get married. Can you fucking believe that shit?”

  “It’s funny,” Valla agreed, sitting up to pull a T-shirt over her head. She wandered to the dresser and found a pair of cotton shorts, slipping them on next. Her husband would be home soon, and the room reeked of sex. “It’s like he doesn’t know you at all. He’s expecting you to be some kind of storybook prince, when that’s always been Nico’s gig.”

  The phrasing gave him an idea, one that went off like a lightbulb over his head, and Salvy sat up. He stood, giving her the space to take the sheets off the bed and toss them in the hamper, and his mind raced as he put on his clothes.

  He kissed Val hard on his way out the door, something like hope blooming in his blood for the first time since his father had given him the news.

  “What was that for?”

  They never practiced any sort of intimacy with their clothes on, and the surprise in her dark eyes made him regret it. He didn’t want to rock this boat. In Cielo, his options for women who wouldn’t talk to the tabloids—or his cousin Luca—were limited.

  “You gave me a great idea, that’s all. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome!” she shouted after him as he took big strides down the hall.

  Salvy glanced down at his watch. The stationer’s was probably open for another hour; if he hurried he could set the plan in motion before he had time to change his mind.

  The royal family had used the same businesses and craftsmen for generations—tailor, caterer, decorator, nannies—and the title of Royal Stationer belonged to a man called Stefano. He ran the prestigious Royal Stationery Shop on Main Street, but the place was empty when the bell over the door marked Salvy’s arrival.

  Stefano looked up from his computer and startled, then scurried around the counter and launched into a deep and antiquated bow. “Prince Salvadore, what an honor! I…I didn’t…did I forget you were coming by today, because—”

  Salvy held up a hand. “It’s okay, Stef. I didn’t have an appointment.”

  The man glanced out the door, to where Salvy’s security detail had taken up sentry on either side of the entrance, and swallowed. He appeared to be counting in his head to calm down. He’d always been an unnecessa
rily nervous man.

  He swallowed as his gaze swiveled back to the prince. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”

  “I need some invitations printed up, and I need them to go into the mail first thing tomorrow. I know it’s a rush.”

  “I can handle it.” Stefano swallowed, a gleam of panic in his watery eyes. “How many?”

  “How many people live in Cielo?”

  The man’s eyes bulged out. “I think about twenty thousand, my prince.”

  “Well, they don’t all need one. Just one for every household. Let’s print up fifteen thousand and call it a day, okay?”

  “Fifteen…fifteen thousand?” Stefano licked his lips.

  Salvy waited for him to say it couldn’t be done, but the man was a national treasure. He only nodded, over and over, as though his head was attached to springs.

  “Very good, sire. What shall they say?”

  “It’s very simple. The Piacere family is giving a ball, three weeks hence. We would like to invite every eligible woman and her family to attend, as Prince Salvadore—” He paused, checking that Stefano was still with him. “—is in need of a bride.”

  “A…a bride?”

  “Yes, as in, to marry. The invitations shall say just that, dictate formal attire, and invite guests to make plans to attend a three-day feast as well as the dance and wedding ceremony.”

  Silence hung in the small shop while the two men regarded each other. Stefano looked as if he had a million questions rattling around his fifty-year-old brain and no possible way to choose which to ask first. Salvy clapped him on the shoulder.

  “This will be our little secret, understand? No one knows until the invitations have arrived.”

  “Very good, sir. Will you want to be involved in the lettering or paper choices?”

  “No. I trust you. Just use the template my father favors—the one he sent out announcing Elisa’s birth should do nicely.”

  “Very well. It shall be done, as you ask.”

  “Lovely. I’ll make sure you get a twenty percent higher fee if you can meet the rush deadline.”

  Stefano looked as though he might pass out from anxiety, joy, or some combination of both. On his way out the door, Salvy snapped his fingers, thinking of one last thing.

  “Oh, Stef? Please add some kind of wording that makes it clear only ladies of a certain standard will be considered. You know what I mean.”

  He intended to follow the King’s instructions to the letter. If Alfonso wanted a storybook performance from his son, then that’s exactly what he would receive. One ridiculous turn did, after all, deserve another.

  The ball would embarrass his father—Salvy felt sure of that. He also knew that once the invitations were in the hands of thousands of their loyal subjects, there would be no way for the King to retract them.

  “Whoa, hey, Salvy! I didn’t know you were back.”

  He looked up to see his older brother, Nico, peering at him through a small slit in the bulletproof windows of his Town Car. “Oh, hey. Yeah, yesterday morning.”

  “Get in, I’ll give you a ride.”

  Salvy thought about saying he preferred to walk, but in truth, he didn’t. Nico might have been annoyingly perfect but he was also a good brother, and it had been too long since they’d caught up.

  He folded himself into the backseat and waited for Nico to motion the driver forward, then raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Are you going to lecture me about the papers, too?”

  “No, but I’d appreciate a head’s-up if I’m about to be an uncle.”

  Despite the teasing, Salvy could see the evidence stress and fatigue carved into his older brother’s skin. Nico had been devastated by the sudden and terrible loss of his wife, just three years after Elisa’s birth. He’d been living a life of solitude since, though the rumor mill was always busy with speculations of who he might find to replace Eugenie. After witnessing their intense love up close, Salvy had trouble believing anyone would be able to come close.

  “You’re not. You know I’m careful.”

  “Nothing is foolproof, you know. And your odds are higher than most.”

  “I’m aware.” Salvy grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and leaned back into the seat. “What are you doing out today?”

  “Elisa’s gotten into a tussle at school. Again.”

  “You look tired.”

  His brother gave him a worn smile. “Between my daughter and my brother, the press never leaves me alone.”

  Salvy felt a pang of guilt at the realization that his lifestyle caused his brother more stress. It wasn’t his intention. “I’m sorry. If you haven’t heard, I’ll be off your docket of things to address soon.”

  Well, maybe not soon. After the ball, though.

  A small seed of doubt landed in Salvy’s stomach and settled in deep. The idea for the tongue-in-cheek response to his father’s demands had seemed so good when it had sparked, and he’d fanned it until it caught fire, but now Salvy began to worry how happy he would be once caught in the flames.

  He thought again how little he cared for the idea of a wife in name only. He couldn’t imagine that after living his own real-life fairytale, that Nico would have much stomach for the plan, either.

  Nico waved off his apology. “It’s not you, truly, and I’m resigned to Elisa’s issues at this point. But Luca is determined to make all of our lives difficult.”

  Salvy’s antenna went up. His cousin liked to stir up trouble wherever he could find it, all the better if it cast a poor light on the King and his sons. “What’s the bastard up to now?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly, just rumblings. There have been a couple of op-ed pieces in the paper about a real estate developer who is using illegal tactics to buy people out of their land.”

  “You think it’s Luca?”

  “I think Luca is looking to cultivate power however he can get it. Land and public unrest are two ways to do that, plus make people upset with us for not taking action.”

  “What does Father say?”

  Nico shrugged. “We’ve done some investigations, but nothing about the company is turning up illegitimate, not on the surface. Nothing to suggest Luca owns it, and he’s actually been out of the country quite a bit lately. Father doesn’t think he’s behind it, and you know he won’t get involved in private matters unless there’s proof of illegal activity.”

  That sounded about right. Alfonso took the same approach with the kingdom as he had with his sons—don’t intervene unless blood is about to be spilled. Typically, the subjects of Cielo appreciated the hands-off style, but they were responsible for these people. If Luca—or anyone—was swindling them, then the Piacere family needed to root out the person behind it.

  The car pulled up in front of the guest house that Salvy called home. His brother and niece lived in a converted chapel, which would be Salvy’s once Nico took over the throne.

  Nico turned to face him, lips set in a line. “I know Father gave you an ultimatum. Even though I’m not a fan of his tactics, I think his heart is in the right place. I know you think you can shirk all of the responsibility of our station because you’re second in line, but the truth is that I need you, Sally.”

  Salvy made a face at his brother’s childhood nickname for him. He would beat anyone else’s ass who used it, but Nico got away with pretty much anything because of his ridiculously good nature.

  “I’m working on it,” he told his brother.

  Which, he figured as he let himself inside and headed straight for the shower, was not entirely untrue.

  Chapter Four

  Magdalena

  That damned letter had been on her mind since she’d burned it; there was no reason to wait for another letter, or for another jackass to show up to the house in an attempt to bully her ailing father into selling.

  The return address on the letter was in Old Town, next to the village. Magdalena hopped on the bus, sitting as far away as she could from the homeless man fondling himself
two rows from the back. Thankfully, even though Arcobaleno was the largest city in Cielo, it still only took twenty minutes to cross from one side to the other.

  Once outside, rain poured down, finding ways down her neck and into her wellies despite her raincoat and umbrella. By the time she arrived at the glass office building that housed more than twenty businesses, her skin was ice cold. Winter was tumbling on the heels of fall so quickly; she should have grabbed a hat and scarf, besides.

  Magdalena stepped inside and shook the water from her hood, then set her umbrella in the can with several others and sloshed over to consult the directory. Matrigna Holdings was on the top floor, and the sign on the front of the elevator said it was busted.

  “Of course it is,” Maggie sighed, heading instead for the ten flights of stairs.

  She supposed she could forgo her cardio, if she had time to put such a thing in her schedule to begin with.

  It took five minutes to climb to the top, and another three to catch her breath in the stairwell before pushing open the door to the hallway. While she waited, she dug the package of donuts from her purse and ate three, to re-fortify herself after the exertion.

  Better.

  She followed the numbered offices around the corner to the correct number, her mouth falling open at the state of the room she entered.

  Boxes were stacked everywhere. Some were open but most were not, and they all threatened to topple onto the only piece of furniture in the small, square space. A woman sat behind the desk filing her nails, apparently unconcerned about her imminent death by falling cardboard. The entire picture made Maggie pause. This couldn’t be the multi-million-dollar corporation threatening to buy up the majority of the kingdom’s land.

  Could it?

  “Can I help you?” the woman sneered, flipping her long, blond hair over one shoulder.

  “Is this Matrigna Holdings?”

  She snorted. “That’s what it says on the door, right?”