The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One)

by Lyla Payne

  It wasn’t an answer, and Magdalena hadn’t come all this way to ask one question and go back to work. “I’d like to speak to the person in charge.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Can you tell me how I can reach him?”

  “Lady, even I don’t know how to reach him. Never met him, never seen him, but he pays me good money to sit here and answer questions from stupid people like you who think they can beat him.”

  The snide response heated Maggie’s blood and she stepped forward, pressing her palms onto the desk. “I could just refuse to leave until you tell him I’m waiting.”

  “Don’t much care if you do. Gets pretty boring, though.”

  Maggie blew her hair out of her face, glancing down at her watch. Annoyance tripped through her. She needed to get home; her replacement would be there soon and she needed to spend the afternoon training her. “Can I leave a message? Or do you not deliver those, either?”

  “Fine by me. He picks up his mail once a week, so I can leave it with the bills.”

  Magdalena took her sketchbook from her bag, along with a pen, and scrawled a quick message on a piece of paper before ripping it out. She made sure to reference the parcel number on the notice her father received, as well as a few choice words that advised the man in charge exactly where he could stick his offer.

  The whole time, her mind toyed with the mystery this office presented. Enough of her countrymen had sold their land already that Matrigna had to be legitimate—they’d paid good money to the people who had agreed, and the legal documents that came to the people who hadn’t were from the same law firm the royal family had on retainer.

  This office was a front for…what? Who?

  It was a question for another day, she supposed, since this one was already heading toward lunch. She left the note on the desk and turned to go, pausing with one hand on the glass door when the woman at the desk cleared her throat.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pick up that note and put it back in your bag.” The woman swallowed, her large blue eyes trembling with fear. The piece of paper Magdalena had left twitched between her manicured nails as she held it out. “You don’t want to mess with this guy. Not unless you want to know what it feels like to be a bug on the sole of a shoe.”

  A stab of fear sliced through Maggie’s belly but she ignored it. It wasn’t stronger than her fury over Matrigna and the way they were corrupting her country. It couldn’t hold a candle to the protectiveness she felt toward her father, and the fact that after years of hard work, he deserved to live out his days on the land he loved.

  None of those words came out of her mouth. She just turned and left.

  The day had dried out, and by the time she returned home, so had Magdalena. She’d walked, despite the lack of time, because she needed to clear her head and her heart. If no one from Matrigna responded to her message within the week, she would have to figure out what to do next. For today, she could feel as if she’d done something, at least. A first step.

  A tiny red car sat on the dirt lane in front of the cottage where she lived with her father. It sped up her steps, because the last thing they needed was for the temporary hire to get too close a look at just how fast Gabriel Rossi was deteriorating.

  She dropped her keys on the front table and exhaled with relief. The temp—a middle-aged woman named Kat—was sitting primly in the foyer perusing something on her phone.

  “I’m so sorry I’m running late,” Magdalena told her, a frown touching her lips at the sight of a creamy, expensive-looking envelope on the front table with the rest of the mail.

  The swirly writing was done in gold ink, the seal on the back the unmistakable mark of the Piacere family. She frowned harder, and left the envelope where it was. She wanted as little to do with the royal family as possible, especially since they were refusing to do anything about the predation of Matrigna on their loyal subjects. Whatever they wanted to tell her could wait.

  If it were a request for services, someone would have come by directly.

  It could be a second royal child announcement. If the tabloids were to be believed, Salvadore had fathered half a dozen children in the past three months alone. The thought twisted Maggie’s stomach, though she couldn’t say for sure why. It was as if something inside her refused to believe the things she’d read, the stories she knew must be true. That little piece—not her brain, to be sure—still clung determinedly to the memory of the boy, and the friend, he had been.

  Despite how he had treated her the last time they’d seen each other.

  “It’s fine,” Kat said, standing and smoothing her sensible skirt. “Your father offered me tea, but I told him I’d wait for you. He’s working in the back.”

  The tight knot in Maggie’s neck loosened. Her father had managed. Perhaps she was worrying too much, and the doctor’s worst estimates wouldn’t play out so quickly.

  “I’d be happy to get you a cup. Herbal or black?”

  “Black, please.”

  Magdalena complied, urging her shaking hands to calm down as she made a pot of tea and brought the tray out to the room where they kept their books and computers. The shed on the back of the property was her father’s workshop and where all of the creative endeavors took place, as well as where he saw clients that came to the house.

  “Here you are. I figured we’d go over the basics today—invoicing, accounts, client lists, appointments, things like that. We can ease into the rest after you’re comfortable.”

  “Very good.”

  They spent the next hour draining the teapot and doing just that, and Magdalena calmed further at the realization that Kat was, as her résumé and interview indicated, very capable. She’d pulled out a stack of expenses that needed to be entered into their tax software when a forceful knock came from the front door.

  Magdalena straightened up. “I’ll be right back.”

  The bangs came again before she could get through the small house, and she made an irritated face as she pulled open the door. A courier wearing a uniform that bore the royal seal stood poised to knock a third time, his mouth slightly open. The sight of the Piacere seal for the second time that day did nothing to ease her annoyance, but Maggie couldn’t take it out on the youthful string bean on the front porch. His wild red curls and smattering of freckles were too endearing.

  “Yes?”

  “Prince Salvadore requires the assistance of Mr. Gabriel Rossi at his earliest convenience.”

  “What is this about?” Magdalena’s hand grasped the open door for support. The royal family hadn’t required her father’s services for weeks. They would pick today, when everything else was teetering on the edge of a cliff.

  And Salvadore? What could he want—a royal condom?

  “I don’t know, miss. His Royal Highness did specify that it would be an involved process, and that Mr. Rossi should expect to hire a full staff and prepare to be at the palace often over the next three weeks.”

  “Very well. We can come right away.” She would get rid of Kat and head over to see what this was all about, but there was no way her father could make daily or even weekly trips to the palace in his state.

  No matter how well he’d played Kat, he’d been lying through his teeth. Maggie had found him napping in the hayloft, not at work at all.

  It would have to be her. She would have to face Salvy.

  And the King, who thinks he’s hiring my father, she reminded herself.

  “I’ll let the prince know to expect you this afternoon.”

  Magdalena shut the door and took a moment to lean against it, taking deep breaths in and out. It had been years since she’d been to the palace. Longer since she’d seen Salvadore in person. She could only hope that enough time had gone by, and enough women had paraded through his bed in the meantime, that he had forgotten her silly, amorous, youthful professions of love.

  Even though he’d never been meant
to know about them at all.

  Chapter Five

  Salvadore

  “The King will see you now,” the steward said, giving Salvy a reproachful look.

  The prince supposed that word had gotten around about the upcoming event, and that was the reason for his second summons. The invitations to the ball had been delivered all over Cielo this morning.

  Feeling buoyed by the knowledge that, even if the idea turned out to be a mistake, at least it couldn’t be undone now, Salvy clapped the servant on the shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll see myself in.”

  The office looked the same as it had the other day, though the sunlight streaming through the windows didn’t make Salvy’s head want to explode this time. He must have been getting old, because it was taking longer and longer to recover from nights like the one he’d had in Vegas. Not that it would stop him, though perhaps slowing down a little couldn’t hurt.

  No one had to know.

  King Alfonso’s face was redder than it was the morning Salvy had returned home from the States. He wasn’t armed with coffee or an array of offensive tabloid newspapers, only an expression of outrage so intense Salvy couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it. Perhaps never.

  Good. Maybe his father would realize how ridiculous his ultimatum had been in the first place and take the whole thing back. Salvy would gladly host the ball and then send everyone away when the “right” bride couldn’t be found among the crop of well-bred, boring, cookie-cutter women who showed up.

  “Salvadore. I…am holding back a command for your head at this very moment. You should know that before you open your smart-ass mouth.” The King paused, blowing air out through his nose like a bull preparing to charge some unsuspecting Spanish tourist. “Explain yourself.”

  Salvadore considered his response. The entire reason he’d agreed to his father’s ultimatum was because the thought of losing his title and the privileges that went along with it had left him more nauseous than the cheap piss Americans called beer. He needed to step carefully. The fire in the King’s eyes said he would lose it all, anyway, if he didn’t.

  “You made a request of me that I couldn’t possibly fill without some help. So, I took some initiative.”

  “This is asinine, Salvadore. A ball? To find a bride? This isn’t a fairytale.”

  “No, I expect I am not the sort of man that hundreds of women dream of marrying.”

  His father softened, if only a tad. “You could be. But that is beside the point. This entire thing is an embarrassment for this family, which I suspect is exactly what you intended.”

  “I don’t see how it’s embarrassing for you. For me, sure. I’m the one who can’t find a wife on my own.”

  “We have serious matters of state to attend. The people of this country depend on us. They look to us for stability, and for reassurance during these tough economic times, Salvadore. For us to be seen throwing a lavish party with such intentions…as though we believe you’re some goddamn Prince Charming…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s unseemly, at best.”

  Things were hard all over the world, and as small as Cielo was, they weren’t exempt from the far-reaching recession or the fallout related to a trembling global economy. Salvy couldn’t help but think of his conversation with his brother, and about the rumblings about the real estate company playing dirty to buy people out of their land. He thought that whether or not his cousin Luca was behind it, perhaps they should be concerned.

  “That said, the invitations have been sent and I’m loathe to rescind them. People are already getting excited, and maybe a party isn’t the worst thing we could do for our citizens, even if it is going to cost a bloody fortune.”

  “You can take it out of my inheritance.”

  His father grunted. “Don’t think I won’t.”

  It didn’t matter. He, Nico, and Luca would get equal shares of the royal coffers when King Alfonso died. The money and the title were plenty to keep Salvadore happy, and Nico would get the only crown that mattered. For Luca…he wanted it all, even though none of it belonged to him.

  “I heard Luca’s stirring up trouble again,” Salvadore commented, curious about his father’s position on the whole thing even if he didn’t know exactly why he cared. “Nico thinks he’s leaking the tabloid stories that are keeping the manufacturers of your blood pressure meds in business.”

  “Luca was born to stir up trouble.” The King leaned back in his chair and pushed a button on his phone.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “Could you bring us some coffee, please?”

  “Of course, sire.”

  “I hoped that continuing to treat him as part of the family, along with granting his request for a healthy monthly allowance, would help him see that we’re on his side,” Alfonso continued as if he hadn’t interrupted himself. “It hasn’t, I’m afraid, and I’m not sure how much longer we can go without addressing his ministrations head on.”

  Luca’s father had been the older son, and the crowned prince of Cielo at one time. King Alfonso had been coronated after his older brother abdicated the throne. He’d died shortly after without telling anyone why he’d chosen to do such a thing, and Luca never got the memo that his father’s actions meant that he would never be the king he’d imagined as a young boy.

  Salvy figured his cousin’s issues could keep a therapist in hookers and blow for a lifetime. Which was what it would also take for Salvy to listen to Luca’s bullshit problems.

  “I think you’ve let him smear the family for long enough, though I’m not sure anything he’s done really matters. Nico’s the poster boy for King-in-Training. No one will oppose his coronation one day.”

  The expression on King Alfonso’s face was hard to read. There was sadness, but something else on the edges—resignation, or pride. Maybe both. None of it made much sense to Salvy, but he’d grown rusty at guessing his father’s thoughts.

  Either way, he’d come in here and taken his beating, but he was leaving with what he wanted—his father cowing to the ball.

  “I should go.” Salvy rapped on the desk, standing up and stretching his long legs. The damned chair the King reserved for guests was built for circus freaks, and cramped his six-foot-four frame.

  “There’s one more thing, son.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Since you’ve made this foolish move, I want to impress upon you that you will follow through on your promises made to both me, and to the kingdom.” He paused, making sure Salvadore met his eyes before continuing. “You will choose a bride at this ridiculous ball, and you will marry her. You will turn your back on your irresponsible ways, or you will lose everything. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal. Am I free to go, now?”

  “Yes. Run every single expense by Joseph.”

  Salvadore left without responding to his father’s final, insulting demand, closing the door to the office behind him. Luca, along with the royal coffers, were his father and brother’s problems. For his part, Salvy was starting to regret this ball.

  He would hold the party, and play nice, but he decided right there in the hall that he wouldn’t marry anyone because his father forced him. There had to be another way to keep his crown and his lifestyle. There was always a third door.

  And he had one month to figure out where to find it.

  “There is a young lady waiting for you in the receiving room, Your Highness.” A steward, one less judgmental than the one who had admitted him to his father’s office this morning, fetched Salvy as he climbed out of the lap pool.

  The weather had turned cold and nasty, not uncommon for their little mountain city this time of year, so the indoor pool had come in handy for an afternoon of blowing off steam. Swimming also did wonders for keeping his abs in impressive shape.

  Though Salvy figured he had other assets that would allow him to continue to fill his bed, the abs were good for challenging Harry in the Most Eligible department. Everyone knew the Brits were pale flabsters, and
polo didn’t have…really any benefits, as far as Salvy could tell.

  “Who is she?” he asked, rubbing a towel over his head to stop the droplets coming off his black hair onto his shoulders.

  “I couldn’t say, sir. She said she had an appointment.”

  Salvy frowned. He didn’t have time to deal with an admirer today, but his father’s policy demanded audience be given to all citizens of Cielo within reasonable time of the request. He might as well go and get the proposal or blowjob over with, even though honestly, he needed a nap. He would have no peace until he did.

  “Thank you, Jarvis.”

  “It’s Franco, sire.”

  “Very good. I’ll find my own way there.”

  Salvy dripped on down the hallway and into the main foyer, which he followed to the front of his father’s castle through twists and turns built to mystify intruders. Cielo hadn’t had any of those since they’d won their sovereignty from Italy back in the fourteen hundreds, but the castle the Piaceres called home endured.

  He nudged open the door to the first of two receiving rooms, entering quietly in an attempt to get a look at his caller before having to address her.

  She stood by the window, face turned out toward the sweeping view of Arcobaleno down below. Salvy took in her long, golden brown hair, his gaze sliding downward from where it swept across her shoulder blades. Her hips swelled outward from her waist, ass round under a black dress that ended mid-thigh. Her legs were tanned and to die for, feet tucked into black heels that could have been a few inches taller, for his liking, but had him feeling much better about the prospective blowjob, all the same.

  “Well, I was planning an afternoon nap, but if you’re here to propose other bedroom activities, I have to say, that ass makes me want to entertain them…” He trailed off as she whirled to face him, thunderclouds in her honey-brown eyes. He would know her anywhere, and not only because the last time he’d seen her that same anger had spilled out of her every pore.

  It took him a moment to speak, to wrap his mind around the transformation from gangly, braces-wearing teenage girl to this stung beauty. “Moo Moo?”