by Avery Aster
Massimo chuckled. “Pressure,” he removed both hands from the wheel and confirmed in air quotes, “is your middle name.”
Annoyed, she grabbed the door handle and realized she didn’t have a clue how to open the hairy chest-pounding contraption. This car, like his jet and his home, was a toy and didn’t seem lady friendly. “Please open the car. I don’t pressure people.” I just get what I want.
He reached across her lap to push the door open then stopped, placing his hand on her inner thigh. “I’ll be back tonight to pick you up. We have the Milano Art Show. The evento is the city’s largest celebrazione. It is an epilogue to last night’s Fashion Ball. Call my cell if you have any problems.” He handed her a paper with his number on it from his chest pocket. “I wrote the password to get into the building on the back.”
“Thank you.” She grabbed the note and slipped it into her purse. Pulling out her Easton card, she handed it to him. “Here’s my cell number. If you get held up in meetings, call me. Tell Luigi I said hello.”
“Di niente.” His hands slid between her legs, edging to nip at her skin. “I do not care for jeans. I cannot touch your—” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. He then said, “I want my hands between your legs, where they belong.”
Lex enjoyed his kiss, words and touches and cursed herself for allowing Rocco to interrupt them that morning. She imagined being deep under the bedcovers—clit throbbing, skin wet, and listening to Massimo snore in her ear all over again. “Sorry,” she mumbled under his lips.
“You are the most alluring woman I have ever met, on the inside and out, sì?”
She’d take his comment back to New York with her as the best souvenir. “Thank you. That’s very sweet to hear.” She held his hand. He’d been right. This seemed more than what a fuck buddy would ever amount to, but she still didn’t want to put labels on it.
“Here, bella.” Massimo pushed down on the latch, opening the door. It rose from bottom to top, not swinging open as was typical of most cars.
With much aversion, she let go. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Ciao.” Massimo gave her a sad face. He didn’t want to let her go, either.
Heady, she walked over to the Girasoli Garment Company entrance and waved her goodbyes.
Massimo waited until she’d reached the front door. He beeped and sped from the parking lot once she’d opened it.
As she stepped inside, her iPhone vibrated with a text. She looked at the screen. It was a European number she didn’t have in her directory. The screen read “Miss U” and was a message from Massimo. Her hand trembled with excitement, holding the phone. How sweet you are, my prince. Lex typed back, “Miss U 2 xo.”
Focus on fixing these wretched designs. Put your lusting and loving for Masi aside. She walked down the hall and into the Girasoli showroom. It resembled the TV show Project Runway’s workroom, with sewing machines placed into quads in the spacious room. The walls were corked with sketches, and fabric samples were tacked and scattered about. She spotted Jemma’s area, a carved-out corner with images from her modeling days with Ford collaged as fond memories. Jemma was no Heidi Klum. Way more exotic with high cheekbones similar to Linda Evangelista and a faultless body, her glossy hair radiated a rich violet midnight and matched her dark eyes.
“Ciao, my darling.” Jemma situated herself in the front showroom. She’d gathered the entire collection and lined the garments up on body forms against the spotlights near the corked wall. Each garment was pinned to the front with a sketch and suggested pattern.
“Jemma, hello there. I drew up the revisions this morning at the mansion. I thought we’d lay them out, cut, add fabric and try them on.”
“Sì, then what?”
“Then we shoot the garments, upload the images and create a digital lookbook.”
“Perfetto. After we have lookbooks, then what?” Jemma asked. Panic didn’t suit her striking features.
“Afterward, I’ll phone and email a few buyers.” She spoke with confidence, hoping to ease Jemma’s anxiety.
“You’d do this for Girasoli, no?”
“Depending on who and how interested they are in placing a purchase order.”
“Exciting, so maravilloso,” Jemma rejoiced as she clapped her jeweled fingers together. “Massimo will be pleased. I’ll start cutting.” Jemma removed five platinum bangle bracelets adorning both wrists, her diamond-encrusted Panerai Luminor Marina watch, and two oversized cocktail rings embellishing her middle fingers.
Lex wondered how Jemma managed at the airport. She bet security detained her for hours with her accessories. Metal going off, the men distracted not by her jewelry but also by her good looks. “Did you have fun at the ball last night?” Lex asked, setting her laptop and two bags on the table. She pulled out her sketchbook, examining each design.
“Five years in a row I’ve attended the ball, my darling. It was similar to others, though amusing to witness you dismiss Vincent. Karl Lagerfeld thought so, too.” She stepped closer, bored with Milan’s night scene. “Luciana gave good face. She cared for you. Approval from the Mother Queen will come in handy when you take your relationship with Massimo to the next level.” Jemma studied her face for a reaction.
She ignored Jemma’s provocation and removed a garment off the form. “I thought we’d deconstruct this one first. I’m going to show you where to add the stretch fabric. Then we can trim the neckline in a soft satin.”
Buzzbuzz!
Lex reached for her iPhone and pulled it from her bag. A text from Massimo read, “Jemma playing nice?”
She typed back, “Jemma is amazing. Lucky to have her. xo.” Lex slipped her iPhone in her bag and turned to get back to work.
Buzzbuzz!
She turned back around and grabbed her phone. A message again from Massimo read “xoxo”. Lex felt fifteen again.
Jemma eyed her actions with interest.
Sitting next to Jemma, she cut the garment from back to front. Lex couldn’t let Jemma’s comment rest. It ate away at her.
“What did you mean, when I take my relationship with Massimo to the next level?” She snipped the seam from the back, the delicate fabric now exposed. Snip, snip, snip.
“Darling, if you and Massimo decide to be an item,” Jemma responded with what Lex assumed as preapproval.
“Massimo and I as an item will never happen, and you know it.” She laughed, but it even sounded fake to her. Lex spread the fabric out on the cutting table.
Girasoli fabric quality showcased to perfection against the smooth counter surface. Each micro-fiber woven, yard by yard, without any flaws. No other textile in the world beat Girasoli.
“Why wouldn’t you two be together?” Jemma snipped, snipped, snipped.
“We met five minutes ago. We live four thousand miles away from one another, and neither of us wants a relationship.” She reached for the stretch fabric and turned on the sewing machine.
“Such an American you are.” Jemma shot her a glare to cut the shit. “You know within the first five minutes from meeting a man if you desire him.” Scissors held up in the air, she made a loud snip! “You know after ten minutes if you want to fuck him.” Flipping her hair back, showing her former runway experience, she cat-walked. “And you know after fifteen minutes if you want to marry him.”
“I don’t want anything from Massimo but my fabrics.” She swung the garment in the air to make the message clear, but it wasn’t as impactful as Jemma’s scissor snap, which gave her a chill.
Jemma snorted, mumbling to herself in Italian. “It is obvious you want the prince. And Massimo, my darling, wants you.” Her lips pursed together as she squinted to add conviction to her statement.
“How so?” Lex stopped her work and gave Jemma her undivided attention.
“When you strutted into the garden with your Manhattanite intensity in your eyes demanding he drop his fruit salad, let alone his entire vacation, and pay you attention.” Jemma pointed at Lex’s face and smirked, t
hen finished, “Luigi, the girls and I knew Massimo had met his match.”
Lex examined Jemma’s sewing skills, the woman’s capabilities impressing her. “I suppose. But Massimo and I don’t have the same…” She didn’t have a word for it.
“Lifestyle?” Jemma helped her fill in the blank.
“Spot on, good word for it. We don’t share the same lifestyle.” I’ll have to remember to use it.
“Deep down inside, you found a sweet guy, my darling. One who survived a bad childhood, one whose padre did a number on him, no? King Umberto fucked with his head about women.”
Flipping the fabric over, Lex stitched the cotton layer. “What do you mean, did a number on him?” She glanced up from the sewing machine.
“Massimo hit puberty sooner than most boys his age. Picture a twelve-year-old as tall as Massimo is now. Ohh, he was so very sexy.”
“I bet.” Lex’s pussy almost dripped thinking about Massimo touching her earlier this morning. His words swirled over her hangover. Do you not think your clit would be swollen this morning from my tongue giving it the attention you deserve?
Jemma kept on talking. “His mother, Princess Elisabetta Giada, died a while back. His padre ran the palazzo with whores and mistresses. One and all naked, having sex, and—” Her eyes widened and she stopped herself from continuing.
“Uh-huh. Kinda like what I walked in on you, with Luigi and Rocco?”
“No. Massimo, as he grew up, never paid them any mind. And he still doesn’t. Lex, please. Anyway, Massimo dated a much older woman as a kid.”
She kept sewing. “Massimo told me about Marcella last night. She’d been hired by his padre to seduce him.”
“I’m surprised. He’s never been one to discuss the past.” Jemma’s face twisted in response.
“How did Massimo and his padre make amends afterward?” Lex’s father did some unforgiveable things in his lifetime, but they were never directed toward her with the intention of causing harm, as this was to Massimo. It’s one thing for a father to hire a hooker for his adult son. It’s another to hire an adult female to seduce a minor, leading him to love her.
“They didn’t.” Jemma’s eyes filled up with tears. “Scusa. It breaks my heart when I think how Massimo grew up. Many wonderful gifts, but without any love.” Jemma sobbed.
She reached across the table, holding Jemma’s hand. “Are you okay?”
Jemma shook her head in response.
Lex continued to stitch while Jemma collected her emotions.
“Sì, sì.” Jemma lifted her pointer fingers under her long eyelashes to prevent a mascara run. She fanned her eyes with her hands then went back to sewing. “Massimo came to Milano to study. Years later, he earned a doctorate in business administration to avoid coming home to the Isola di Girasoli. He’d return to the palazzo when the king traveled. Massimo’s padre kept a mistress in the States while married to Massimo’s mother. She occupied his free time.” Jemma stood, taking the first completed garment and slipping it over the body form. She nodded in approval.
Impressed, Lex complimented, “Your design is amazing, Jemma.” She pulled out her camera and snapped a picture. “The tweak to the garment is minor, but it made a great improvement.”
“My darling, the change is significant, no? Amore, all thanks to my new American friend. I love it.” Jemma stood next to the body form and hugged it to take a photo.
“Cheers!” Lex snapped a picture.
Returning to her seat and working faster, Jemma said, “So, King Umberto.”
“Yes?”
Jemma sewed less and gossiped more. “He withdrew funds from Isola di Girasoli’s royal trust, moving to the States for his retirement. When Elisabetta gave birth to Massimo, his mistress in New York gave birth to Paloma, his daughter.” She mumbled a few curse words under her breath, which Lex didn’t understand. She ranted, “Can you imagine having one woman pregnant right after the other?” More profanity in Italian came from Jemma’s mouth, along with a rip from the garment she’d been constructing, before she finished. “Anyway, when Paloma became a teenager, Umberto and Massimo fought over the Marcella situation. Around the same time Umberto moved to New York full-time.”
Unimaginable to Lex, though she’d heard many stories about Eddie rumored to have a kid in all fifty states. A few knocked-up, heavy metal groupie cases went to court for child support and were proved false. But Lex had told Birdie if any half-siblings existed, she wanted to know about them. Birdie always denied such allegations.
“Why didn’t he marry the mistress? Rather than going off and marrying Princess Elisabetta?”
“King Umberto’s padre required him to marry Elisabetta. She came from the House of Oro. He’d risk losing his riches if he didn’t.” She continued sewing. Skilled at multitasking, Jemma continued to chitchat. “Umberto was no King Edward VIII.”
Lex snorted, understanding her Duke of Windsor comparison. “Yes, and I bet his mistress was no Wallis Simpson, either. So, Massimo has a half-sister?”
“Sì, Massimo won’t acknowledge Paloma.”
“Are you serious?” She felt a frown coming on.
Jemma gave a confirming nod. “Massimo did the DNA test when he went to New York to meet her when the king died. His sister is not dynasty.”
“Why?” Lex stood with her garment and placed it on the next body form. This isn’t as bad-looking as I thought it would be.
Jemma held up the camera. “Darling, pose with your garment.”
“Miss Ford Model, we only send clothing images, not face shots, to the buyers.”
“Sì, but this is for my Girasoli scrapbook. Per favore, Lex.”
“No! I don’t enjoy having my photo taken. Take your picture and get back to Massimo’s sister. I’m fascinated.” Lex stepped to the side, away from the shot. I even hate the clicking sound the camera makes. Too many bad memories.
“Blah, blah, blah.” Jemma snapped the picture without Lex. She tossed the camera on her station and answered, “Paloma grew up without the church’s blessing. Umberto tried many times with the Vatican to have his mistress and Paloma both acknowledged. Even after his Princess Elisabetta died and Umberto went public with his new family.”
“And?”
“The Vatican didn’t go for it. The Pope made it clear King Umberto fell from grace and was often quoted in Il Messaggero newspaper saying as much.”
“I wonder what Paloma is doing now.”
“Paloma received a huge inheritance from the king when he passed. Umberto transferred his money into a Swiss bank account when he moved from Isola di Girasoli and later put into a trust for his new daughter—five hundred million dollars and change.”
Lex whistled softly at the sum. “Did the trust carry over to Massimo?” Lex didn’t know why she made this her business, but she did. She feared she was turning into Viveca. Indeed, she was fascinated by Jemma’s conversation, as it helped her understand Massimo’s phobia for getting close.
“No, no, no. Massimo received this garment company left to him by his grandfather. He also obtained the royal estate from the isola’s land and the legacy to being a royal heir. But as far as I know, he never wanted to be king.”
“Why didn’t Massimo receive the monetary funds from Umberto’s estate?” A flashback to her own father’s death and being left with nothing but bills kicked her stomach. One she didn’t expect. She reached for a drafting pencil from the canister and squeezed it between her thumb and pinky finger.
Damn you, Daddy. A week after Eddie’s funeral, the lawyers showed up at Birdie’s doorstep, saying Jasper Management owned Eddie’s music rights, leaving them with no royalties. Birdie was checked into rehab within days from hearing the news. Jasper Management had handled Birdie’s career in the eighties, too. She didn’t see a penny from her songs, either.
Clap! Clap! Jemma smacked her jeweled hands. “Lex! You okay? You’re zoning out on me, my darling.”
“Huh?” The pencil snapped and broke in two in Lex�
�s hands. “My head hurts, hangover from last night. Sorry. Please, continue.”
“As I was saying, Massimo fought to have his padre stand trial for tax fraud and financial embezzlement. You name it, he went to court over it. His padre withdrew money from the Isola di Girasoli’s casino and kept it for himself.”
“Massimo concluded his father stole money from the Republic di Girasoli.”
“Sì, he hired lawyers and spoke out in public to the press. He regrets the publicity now, but our prince had a strong alliance with the late Pope. When the king left for New York, he told Massimo his son was dead to him.”
Lex sat staring at the deconstructed garment. She’d already known Massimo’s heart had been smashed over his father’s actions, but did it destroy his ability to be with one woman? The right woman? Forever? Would any man be able to be whole after a childhood such as Massimo’s?
“Let me ask you, do you think Massimo will ever be able to heal?”
“Sì, sì, sì. I knew you’d fall for him, darling.” Jemma grabbed Lex’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’d love to think so, no? As we’ve grown up together over the years, I’ve watched his heart soften. He gets close to a woman here and there, but it doesn’t last. The spotlight is a lot to handle.” Jemma went over to the sewing machine, ready to get back to work. “We have to change the topic. You’re going to get me in trouble if I’m quoted.”
“Mum’s the word, my friend. Mum’s the word,” Lex confirmed, sitting in disbelief. Poor prince.
“Let’s talk about tonight, darling.”
“I hope the crowd will be more interesting than Diane, Karl and Vincent.” She gave Jemma her attention and said, “I loved meeting Michael Kors, though. He’s the sweetest.”
“My darling, with tonight’s crowd, you’ll find the ladies more girlish and the men on the prowl. You know, arrapato.”
“Horny?” she repeated, uncertain she’d heard Jemma right.
“So fucking Italiano horny, no? It’s similar to a sex party but with diamonds and celebrities.” Jemma cupped her two hands under her cleavage, making her breasts even more pronounced. She winked at Lex.
