by Lyla Payne
“Yes, well. I think our Magdalena has proven that she can withstand even your considerable charms. And that does, in fact, give me great faith in her.”
“Anyone ever tell you that your sense of humor leaves something to be desired?”
“I’m a tired father who also is tasked with running a kingdom. Forgive me if I’m not firing on all cylinders.”
“Speaking of Elisa, maybe have her come after school so she can tell Maggie what she’d like for the festivities? I’d love to see her.”
Nico smiled, and for the first time that day, it reached his blue eyes. “I’ll do that. She’s been asking about you for weeks.”
His brother left Salvy to finish getting dressed. Maggie had sent word that she would arrive no later than eight this morning to discuss sketches and concepts for the ball, which was the reason he’d been in the shower at the ass crack of dawn. Now that he knew how much was riding on her doing a bang-up job with the event, he was glad he hadn’t been lazy.
The text tone on his phone went off once, then again, but he ignored it until he was ready to face Maggie—as ready as he could be—and had taken the short walk over to the structure that housed their workroom. He requested coffee and croissants from the waiting servant, then thought twice and asked for tea as well, before pulling his phone out of his pocket.
Both messages were from Valla, and each contained enough suggestion to make a weaker man cave and go running.
Salvy closed the screen and put the phone away without answering, wishing to God his stomach would stop churning like a schoolboy’s as he stood in front of the girl he’d just asked to prom.
Then the servant returned with not only his breakfast, but with the news that Magdalena Rossi had arrived.
“So you’re basically saying that you want to play this whole fairytale theme to the hilt, old-fashioned breeches and ascots for the men, ball gowns with petticoats and plenty of tulle for the ladies?” Maggie scribbled in her notebook while she verified Salvy’s wishes, not raising her head to make eye contact.
The lack of ability to read her face frustrated him, but Salvy merely waited. Magdalena Rossi was not the type of woman he could push around—he knew that from experience. Instead, he leaned over and poured her a cup of tea with a spot of cream and one lump of sugar.
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
She looked up, her brown eyes wary as she glanced over at the cup. “Sure.”
“One lump, a bit of cream still the way you take it?”
“I do, though I try to forgo the sugar these days.” She bit her lower lip, as though trying to stop a smile. “I can’t believe you remember how I like my tea.”
“I haven’t addled my brain just yet,” he replied, passing her the cup. Their fingers brushed as they made the exchange and Salvy almost growled with the softness of it. “Besides, we spent a lot of time together. There’s not much I’ve forgotten.”
“Thank you for the tea,” she said softly, eyes dropping back to her notebook.
Shit. He was an idiot. It sounded like he was still bragging over reading her diary all those years ago, when he most definitely was not. He still kicked himself for the invasion of privacy that had led to his panicked reaction, and that the combination had driven her from his life.
“You’re welcome. And it sounds like you’re clear on the concepts.” He paused, feeling his way along. Part of him wanted to leave it at that, to let her lead their interaction, but it killed him that she didn’t feel as if she could trust him. Not that he blamed her. “Will your father be okay with it? If you need more money, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“He’ll be happy to serve at your pleasure, Your Highness, as ever.”
He groaned in his head. Your Highness. Never a good sign, unless a woman was tied up and playing the loyal subject. “Is there any way you could start with me this morning, since I’ve made myself available, and then move on to Elisa and Nico this afternoon? She’ll be here after school.”
“I have your measurements on file,” she started, red splotches blossoming on her cheeks.
He’d struggled to breathe properly since she walked into the room ten minutes ago, and seeing her flustered this way stirred his dick between his legs.
That would have to change before she whipped out the tape measure.
No. Stop thinking about whipping. And your penis.
“It’s been a few years. I’d appreciate an update. If you don’t mind.” It took all of his strength not to reach out and touch her, not to tip up her chin so he could look into her eyes. See what she was thinking.
When Maggie did meet his gaze, a mask of professionalism greeted him. “Of course. We can get started now, if you’d like, and then I can work on some sketches for the royal family. The staff will be able to start later this week.”
“Where do you want me?” Salvy asked, his voice lower and silky as he watched her blush harder.
My grandmother. Cricket. Ginger Prince.
It worked, and his body backed off its response to her reaction.
“There’s a dais in the other room that’s best for measuring,” she breathed, standing up quickly and retreating into the workshop.
Salvy followed, adjusting himself while her eyes were averted. He was mostly under control by the time he stepped onto the raised, round platform. Maggie bent over a workstation, her capable hands making more notes in her sketchbook. His eyes traveled down her ass, round under a flowing, knee-length dress. The fabric was thin and he could see the outline of her panties.
Dead mice. Haggis. Luca.
Magdalena straightened up and turned, sucking in a sharp breath when their eyes met. She undoubtedly saw the lust on his face, an emotion Salvy had no practice or inclination to hide. He wanted women, he let them know, they submitted—willingly. It was the way his life worked, but the defiance that lit a flame in Maggie’s brown eyes said that wasn’t the way things would go between the two of them.
He couldn’t blame her. Not after the way he’d tossed their friendship—the only real one of his life, outside family—aside as if their closeness had never mattered.
She went about her business in a brisk fashion, measuring his arms, neck, wrists, and legs. Her hands trembled as they slid up his inseam, coming dangerously close to his dick in the process. One knuckle brushed the semi-hard bulge and he jerked.
“Sorry,” she breathed.
“It’s okay. It hangs a little lower than most people expect.”
Stupid. Why did I say that?
Maggie frowned, her hands steadier now. “Maybe not now that the whole world has gotten their own personal shot of it.”
“Ah. You’ve seen the videos, then.” The shame that flooded him was a surprise. He’d thought about his father, about his brother, seeing the footage and it hadn’t bothered him. The rest of the world was a random glob of nameless, blended faces he cared nothing about, but Maggie?
It felt wrong, to think of her watching him prance about naked in a fountain. Foolish.
“Not for myself, no, but the gossip is hard to escape.”
This woman, who had once been a book laid open to him, was now an enigma that couldn’t be solved by his usual tactics. Maybe it would be best for both of them if he didn’t even bother trying—she could be the royal seamstress, he her occasional client, and they could, sometimes, reminisce about the good old days. Nothing more, nothing less.
The other option, which would be for Salvy to convince her to go to bed with him between now and when he chose another woman as his wife, seemed wrong, no matter how his hormones desired it. Maggie deserved better, though God knew he wasn’t the man to give that to her, either. He had always known that, if nothing else.
“And what is the gossip?”
“I’m not going to stand here and talk about how big people think your dick is, Sally.”
“I thought you weren’t going to call me Sally,” he teased, relaxing at the return to a familiar banter. Even if it was about his junk.
“Well, you’re acting like a teenage boy so it seems to fit.” She bit her lip and withdrew her hands, returning to the desk to make more notes. “I’m sorry. Sire.”
“Enough. I suppose you think I’ve been acting like a teenage boy since the last time we saw one another,” he sighed, stepping down and going to sit on the edge of the station where she was working. Maggie didn’t answer, but the cool gaze she raised to his face said she didn’t disagree. “Come, now. We’re old friends. You can speak freely with me. I’ll not have you thrown out on your ass.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“What do you think of me, Magdalena Rossi? It seems you’re holding back opinions, and they’re making the room quite stuffy that way. Best to air them out and get on with it.”
“Why on earth do you care if I think you’re wasting your potential, or making a mockery of a position that means something to the people of this country, or turning your back on the chance to make the kind of difference most people only dream about?” She sucked in a deep breath, her eyes flashing. “I’m just a seamstress. You’re a prince. You can—and have, from what I gather—find far more accomplished and beautiful women to say what you’d rather hear.”
Salvy froze in the face of her contempt, not expecting the depth of it. Not really expecting that anyone cared what he did or how he spent his time—he was unnecessary unless something, God forbid, happened to his brother. What sort of difference could a second-in-line prince make to his people?
“You never were one to hold back,” he said, his voice a little strangled.
“You asked for it.”
“Yes, and I usually get it when I do,” he murmured, scooting forward on the edge of the desk. There was something about her right now, righteous in her anger, heart pounding so fast he could see it beating at the base of her throat.
He knew what he had known moments ago—that nothing could come of his desire for her, even if she would let it. That it would be the nicer thing to step away, to stay cool and professional, but after being berated, the uglier side of him wanted to recapture some of the upper hand.
“What are you doing,” she breathed as he moved closer, shifting one leg so that she was penned between his knees.
Salvy didn’t answer, reaching down and, as he’d wanted to earlier, cupping her jaw. Her skin was so soft and smooth. He felt her breathing increase at his touch, and saw the desire in her eyes the second before she hid it away.
“Do you still feel the same way you did when you were sixteen, Magdalena? About me, I mean?”
She had written that no one had ever made her feel the way he did, that she couldn’t imagine another boy exciting her the way he could just by being in the same room. That she longed to feel his mouth against hers, for him to look at her the way he looked at the girls he fooled around with, and she agonized over the thought that she would always be Moo Moo, the tailor’s daughter and nothing more.
“No,” she whispered, and his heart sank.
He moved his thumb over her lower lip, swollen from her biting it, and resisted the urge to push it into her mouth. “You were always pretty, you know. That diary…I thought about what you said for months afterward.”
Her pulse raced harder and lust darkened her eyes, impossible to hide now. She swallowed but didn’t answer and he slid the pad of his thumb a little further, testing the wetness on the inside of her lip.
She jerked her head back, anger flashing in place of her confusion, her desire. The glare she pinned him with made him feel terrible for what he’d done—what had he been thinking?
“Yes, you made it very clear how much you thought about me when the first thing you did after invading my privacy was take Princess Big Boobs into the closet for a makeout session.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not a plaything.”
That startled him, the realization of how this must look from her side of things. They hadn’t spoken in years. He had a certain kind of reputation, and now he was bringing up a diary from over ten years before, to….to what? Prove to himself that he could still have her, even considering her low opinion of him?
“You know, cousin, I appreciate your go get ’em attitude, but fucking the help really is frowned upon in the current climate of women’s rights and sexual harassment.”
His cousin Luca stood in the doorway, blue eyes raking Maggie in a way that made Salvy want to shield her from the suggestiveness in his keen gaze. He had no expression on his face, nothing to mirror the reprove in his tone.
Maggie backed up in the rolling chair, putting space between her and Salvy as she stood up, her face flaming, now. “Prince Luca, I’m sorry. We weren’t expecting you, I didn’t think.”
She slid a panicked glance toward Salvadore, one that made him, impossibly, feel even worse. His cousin was exactly the sort of person to recommend the crown find a new tailor once Gabriel was no longer able to fulfill his duties, and now Salvy had helped cast Magdalena in an unprofessional light.
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Don’t be crude, Luca. Maggie and I were simply catching up on old times.”
Salvy stood, folding his arms over his chest and adopting a defiant posture he wanted to make sure got through to his scheming cousin. The man could do all he wanted to discredit Salvy in the press or connive to somehow win back the crown he thought belonged to him by rights, but he wouldn’t hurt Maggie.
“Well, I must have missed out on those sort of old times at the palace.” Luca leered at Maggie, his eyes dropping to her chest. “It’s only fair that you give the same consideration to all of the crowned princes of Cielo, don’t you think?”
Salvy took three big steps forward and stood in Luca’s face, blocking his view of Magdalena. “Don’t speak to her like that. She’s our seamstress, not a whore, and you’ll treat her with the same respect you afford every other employee of this family, or I’ll make you regret it.”
“You’ve become tiresome, cousin.” Luca made a face and backed up a step or two, as though breathing the same air as Salvy was somehow distasteful. “Ms. Rossi is safe with me. I only wanted to tell her that I’ve had my measurements taken by my own tailor and won’t need her services for the event.”
“Fine. Is that all?”
“Lovely to see you again, Magdalena. Say hello to your father for me, won’t you? I mean, since he’s not here and all.” The gleam in Luca’s eye said he knew exactly why Gabriel had sent his daughter, and that he’d made the decision to use his own tailor accordingly. “And Salvadore, do permit me to welcome you home, with the explicit wish that you leave again as soon as possible. With your new bride, of course.”
His cousin left, and it took a full count to ten before Salvy unclenched his fist and turned around. Maggie was sitting at the workstation sketching on large pieces of paper, her back to him. He wanted to go over and touch her shoulder, to make sure she was all right, but he knew that she was. She had never needed protection, not from him or by him, and in his gut, he knew she probably didn’t appreciate the recent display.
“Magdalena?” he growled. She paused, her shoulders rigid, but then spun around to face him. The wariness was back in her eyes and he forced his gaze to remain there. “I’m sorry. You are not a plaything. You are a dear friend—a friend that I find myself ridiculously attracted to, but a friend, all the same—and the last thing I want is to make you feel as though you’re not valuable. Quite the opposite.”
Emotions warred on her pretty face, moving too quickly to pin down. “Thank you, Salvadore.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a room with someone who told me the truth.” He smiled at her, a strange feeling in his chest when she smiled back, hesitantly. “So thank you.
Chapter Eight
Magdalena
Magdalena couldn’t stop thinking about the way it felt when Prince Salvadore looked at her as if she was the only woman in the entire world. It was like t
he room disappeared outside of his sharp, blue gaze. The heat of his hand on her lip, the salty taste of his thumb, lingered while she did her best to focus on the conversation Luca Piacere insisted on having when she ran into him in the kitchen before lunch.
She’d been digging around for something sweet but hadn’t been brave enough to make the first cut in what looked like a scrumptious banana cream pie.
“How is your father, Mags?” His voice was as cultured and smooth as his cousin’s, but without warmth. The implication was clear enough—he’d brought up her father in that suggestive manner twice now, which made it clear enough that he knew the truth of their situation.
She shouldn’t be surprised. Niccolo Piacere was the dutiful royal, Salvy the playboy. Luca…he was a loose cannon, as unpredictable as he was threatening, and no one doubted that he was willing to go to any length to get his hands on King Alfonso’s crown.
Maggie shot the severely handsome prince a look that left no question how she felt about the use of the long-ago nickname—she’d hated it as a girl, and she hated it now. To her, it had always sounded like ‘rags.’ “He’s fine, Your Highness.”
He tipped his head to one side, the sunlight catching on his day-old scuff. His hair was lighter than Nico and Salvy’s jet-black by several shades, and Luca was shorter—barely six feet—but all of the Piaceres had sharp jawlines and a presence that could be intimidating.
“That’s not what I’ve heard. I’ve heard you’ve been taking on more and more of his work.”
“That’s normal, right? For the child to take more of their father’s work as he ages?”
“Perhaps. I just can’t help but wonder why Gabriel hasn’t come to my uncle Alfonso himself, though. Shouldn’t it be the crown’s choice, who they use as their tailor?”
Cold fear gripped the back of Maggie’s neck, but indignant anger tumbled right on its heels. She folded her arms and looked Luca straight in his Piacere blue eyes. “King Alfonso always has a right to choose his tailor. For this event, Prince Salvadore requested my father, and has agreed to let me oversee the costumes.”
