by Aster, Avery
“Sweets—I am the founding editor for the in-the-know magazine showcasing fashion, beauty and all things luxurious. Now, don’t you send the Girasoli fabrics to some Shanghai chemical facility for a special treatment before they are made into Easton garments?”
She’d forgotten, “Yes, Shino Fab increases their durability. You went with me to tour their factory when we started.”
“And why, Lex love, do you treat the fabric?” She released a sarcastic fake yawn over the phone. So annoying. So Vive.
“Girasoli’s fabric breaks down in the wash after three years when worn as compression materials. Everyone’s does with our patterns.” Sooo…
“Uh huh, don’t you see where I’m going with this?” Vive asked. She muffled the phone over her hand. Regardless, Lex overheard her yell at Mr. Kim Lee not to paint her nails in this season’s trendy metallic blue gray. Vive made a gagging sound claiming the shade resembled a morgue toe tag.
“No, I don’t see where you’re going with this.” Lex was quick but Vive was sonic.
“Does the prince treat his fabrics in Asia?” Without covering the phone, she screamed, “Mr. Kim Lee, I hate red, you know I can’t wear pink, give me bronze—I want glitter.”
While Vive shouted on, it occurred to Lex, Easton’s equity, fabric aside, may be high. An entire year spent securing a “seal of approval” from Good Housekeeping Research Institute confirmed her value. “You’re brilliant. Girasoli’s new line will flop!”
Massimo and Jemma would be lost.
“Lex love, Mr. Kim Lee says hello.” She sipped again and said, “Now—if princey poo hasn’t a Shanghai clue, keep your frigid mouth shut. Call his competitor and recreate the materials. Knock ’em off while he knocks you off. By the way—this whole fashion dynasty rivalry conversation is turning me on.” She huffed in an erotic snarl which often seemed comical. Tonight, not so much.
Lex listened and slammed her legs over the bed’s pillows, ready to kick Easton’s comeback up a notch. “Girasoli’s competitor is Donatella. They were my second choice when we started. Their fabrics aren’t as good as Girasoli’s.”
“Who the fudge ball cares? Call ’em and secure a meeting ASAP.”
“Vive, I’m sorry I underestimated you. You know I love you. Please don’t tell Taddy about this. Let me see if I can turn it around, okay?”
“Mum’s the word, Lex love. Now if you find out Massimo fancies muscular blonde tops in Manhattan, let’s set ’im up with Blake.”
She sat up on the bed hoping Vive could keep her collagen injected mouth shut. “Good night.” Excited, frustrated and overwhelmed, Lex hung up.
Roberto’s comment about subpar being better than nothing ran through her head. She did as Vive suggested and put a call into Milan’s second largest textile designer, Donatella, and left a message requesting a meeting. A backup plan brewed. Stirring the pot, she’d up the fashion game with Massimo’s largest competitor.
And as for the prince, he’d have his new designs with Jemma. But Easton’s trade secret applied to formfitting garments. Girasoli may be unaware. Lex couldn’t imagine Massimo’s ego conceding to garment testing.
She took a bergamot steam bath. Face up with hope in the suite’s Jacuzzi, she was feeling confident he’d never get his collection off the ground. Even if Massimo did, he’d be faced with a major product recall in the very near future. I love ya, Vive Farnworth.
* * * * *
Hours later, Massimo entered the main house. As he retreated to his wing, he passed Roberto in the mirrored hall. “What are you doing?”
“Signorina Easton went for a run. I’m resetting the alarms.”
“So—how is she?” The prince pretended not to be as concerned as his insides were stressed. The whole time he’d been walking the beach, he couldn’t quit thinking about Lex.
Roberto’s face closed, keeping a secret.
“Coosa, what is it?” Massimo asked.
“When I found her, she wept. Signorina cried. She told sad Eddie Easton stories, Your Majesty. She shook, I held her.”
In the two decades he’d worked with Roberto, Massimo never knew Roberto to hug or hold anyone. This American tugged at everyone’s heartstrings.
He crossed his arms. “I still cannot fathom her showing up here.”
Roberto made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Isn’t there something you could do?”
His sympathy grew. “Grazie for your concern.” He started to move on but turned back. “Roberto, in the morning, could you phone the airport to get the jet ready?”
“Sì, Your Majesty, where shall I have them fuel up for?”
“I am going to take Signorina Easton to our Milano factory at sunrise. Good night,” he replied and continued to his sleeping quarters.
Massimo sat on his empty bed in the dark, taking in the midnight air as it came in from the open windows, trying to arrive at a solution. What if we worked together? Should he work with her? Would she work with him?
Chapter Four
Adrenaline Junkie’s Temple of Doom
Massimo awoke at dawn, his mind still mired in the prior night’s misfortune. What a mess. But he’d come up with a master plan, a means for everything to work out.
The walk to the villa seemed peaceful enough. But when he arrived at Lex’s suite, she didn’t answer on the first or second knock. It wasn’t until the third that the door cracked open.
Lex talked on the phone. “Great. I’ll see you in a few days.” She motioned with her hand to Massimo she’d be right off. “I’m looking forward to getting started. Yes, me too. I’ll tell Birdie you send your best.”
Bella is hot in the morning. He stood as the caller on the other line mumbled in her ear.
“Uh huh, take care now.” She hung up the phone and asked, “Massimo—what are you doing here?” She slipped her mobile phone into her side pocket holding onto the doorframe.
The American slept in a see-through red and white New York Giants Football tank top and running shorts. Whether she realized it or not, her breasts were on display for him to admire. His fingers ached to reach over and stroke her nipples. He imagined them sensitive to his attention. A minute ago, she’d crawled from bed. Massimo wanted to cuddle between the sheets—with her.
“We have a busy day planned.”
“Hah! Waiting for the next ferry? I told you I won’t work out with you, and I won’t be seen at your Garden of Eden pool,” she declared.
If she kept up this attitude, he’d take her over his knee and give her a spanking. He’d throw her down on the bed, stretch her fit body over his legs, pull her boxers off with one hand and discipline her bare skin with the other. “No time for Eden today. I am taking you to Milano this morning.”
“Milan? How will we get there? You educated me on the boats Tuesdays and Thursdays schedule yesterday.” She pulled out her phone and sent a text, already bored with his presence.
“Sì, true. We are taking my jet.”
“Say what?” She threw the phone on her bed giving him her undivided attention.
“I have an airport ten minutes down the road. I want to show you our new fashion collection, to give you some peace. Girasoli is not copying you and there’s no need for a lawsuit. After the factory tour, I will drop you off at the airport where you may take a commercial flight back to the States.” Unless you accept my proposal. Then you are staying put.
She patted his shoulder while he leaned in the doorway. “Okay, Your Majesty. I’ll see your factory. But there’s no need to take me to the Milan airport afterward. I have a meeting with Donatella tomorrow. I’m going to stay in town for a few days.” She paused, waiting to see his reaction. “They called this morning to confirm a meeting. I’ll stop by their office after we’re done with your tour and review what fabrics they can provide Easton Essentials.”
Competitive anger blazed through Massimo’s muscles to an intensity he didn’t enjoy. Hearing Donatella’s name made him want to howl at the moon. “Go right ahead.
”
Donatella’s fabrics were shit. Donatella could have Easton if they wanted it. Business aside, however, he wanted Lex for his own pleasure.
“Since we’ll be in Milan tonight, I can attend an industry gala on my schedule I thought I’d miss.”
“Is this evento The Fashion Ball?” He went every year, wouldn’t miss it for the world.
“Um…” Lex sighed and crossed her arms. Her accentuated cleavage drew his attention to her breasts.
I love your tits, bella.
She put off answering his question.
He wanted to know if she’d attend tonight or not.
Lex’s smile faded when he looked up at her face noticing he was staring at her breasts.
“Well?” he insisted. Massimo wasn’t accustomed to waiting.
“Yes, I’m going to The Fashion Ball.” Despite her reserve, enthusiasm spoke in her voice. “I’ll ask Vincent Donatella to go as my date.”
Think twice, bella. “I am confident Vinnie’s companionship for you this evening will be as stellar as his fabrics may be for Easton.”
Her eyes narrowed. She understood what he implied.
Donatella remained no match for Girasoli. Vincent was half the man he claimed to be.
“What time is your plane leaving?”
“You have thirty minutes. Meet me at the main palace gate.” He needed to go. Fearing his tongue might sharpen, Massimo gave her a smile, closed her door and marched toward the main house.
* * * * *
MAC Cosmetics, don’t fail me now. Having not had much sleep, Lex tried a little harder with her appearance than usual. Her mother had called after her bath. When Lex questioned her about the Girasoli checks bouncing, Birdie confessed to spending their credit line on a Caribbean psychic named Charmaine Whitedove. The clairvoyant with exclusive powers informed her after numerous payments she was unable to summon Eddie for a talk. Why? Eddie apparently wasn’t dead. No, Miss Whitedove claimed, Eddie was alive and well. “I told you, Lex, that the articles in Star magazine were true.”
“What are you talking about, Mother?”
“The editorial that mentioned Eddie is living in St. Croix.”
“What?”
“The tabloid said Eddie is shacking up with a new woman. “ Birdie defended spending their business money on her insanity.
“Mom, Dad is dead. And soon we will be too if you keep blowing every penny we make.” Sick to her stomach from stress, Lex hung up the phone telling Birdie she didn’t want to speak to her ‘til she got back to New York. Lex put a call in to the bank manager on the Easton account, having her mother removed as a co-signature.
Disappointed and sad but not surprised with her mother’s actions, Lex understood Birdie would do anything to have Eddie back in her life, even if it meant channeling him through Charmaine. She made a note to herself to find her mother a cheaper medium.
This morning she didn’t want to be subjected to Massimo’s fashion disapproval two days in a row. No stretchy pants today, she put on the sundress she’d packed. No granny panties either, she slipped on a thong and no bra—way muggy. Gel blush tinged her cheeks and a sheer green shadow highlighted her eyes. Game on, Masi.
This was her last chance to persuade the prince to sell Easton the fabrics. If he wouldn’t, she’d be forced to deal with Donatella. The Easton Essentials label on the Donatella fabrics gave her the same sensation as chewing tinfoil. Painful. Unthinkable. Yuk! Donatella’s textiles didn’t measure up to Girasoli. She appreciated Vive’s ambition but realistic viewpoints weren’t Miss Farnworth’s strongpoint.
Arriving at the palace’s front gate, she paused as the prince stood next to a racecar.
Did the hot man fashion show start already?
Massimo had changed into white linen slacks revealing an endowed bulge from his crotch. He sported a short-sleeved polo shirt that made his jacked pecs, biceps and triceps pop.
Nice guns! She imagined his strong arms holding her close and fucking the New York outta her.
The car shined as sexy as its owner. The back taillights read “Pagani.” Shaped as a bullet, its silvery ice glaze finish and thin black wheels chromed large pinwheel-like starbursts.
A Pagani ride would be a new experience for Lex. She imagined it was going to be high speed.
“Don’t you have a limo or a driver or something or other?” Lex didn’t want to travel in the car alone with him. Although the very way he stood there—in control and confident—told her no one drove this man around.
“Sì, but he is on vacation.”
“Is everyone on a European holiday around here?”
“You are stuck with me.” The prince opened the door. “Dopo aver.”
“Happy I’m not wearing pants?”
“Magnifico.” He studied her up and down and up again. His face exuded evident satisfaction.
“I hope it’s appropriate for Milan,” she mocked.
Her A-line dress with colors in sunglow radiated cheer. Vive raved it was a perfect color for Lex. The surplice neckline, spaghetti straps and smocked empire waist accentuated the positive. She’d designed it herself, though she didn’t remember it being this short when she’d sewn it.
“Beautiful,” he remarked with quiet emphasis. But his eyes spoke over his voice and both brown pupils undressed her. Massimo gave the impression he’d be sweeter with her today compared to their dinner last night.
His admiration aroused her. As she slid into the bucket seat and fastened the seat belt, her nipples pebbled. Reaching down to smooth out her dress, she observed and confirmed it didn’t cover her pussy. Shit.
The prince climbed into the driver’s seat while staring at her legs. There were maybe three inches between them, at best. He threw the turbo engine into first gear as they accelerated down the winding seaside hill.
Lex placed her purse flat on her lap, attempting to cover herself.
“Why are you against showing your legs?” He shifted again as they picked up speed. “I complimented you earlier. You are magnifico.”
“Thank you.” She’d been receiving several compliments in recent months. Hard to imagine, the jeers from her chubby childhood created many scars. She thanked him in hopes he’d watch the road and not her.
“Prego.” His forearms flexed as he shifted again.
She noticed his eyes would go from the road back to her. Lex wondered how many dumbbell exercises he’d done this morning as his forearms were pumped. She imagined Massimo enclosing her, hoisting her legs up while she lay on her back, looking deep into his warm eyes while he thrust inside her—still fucking the Manhattan outta her.
“Why do you hesitate to answer?” He pressed his right leg down on the gas.
The fuel injection vibrated her seat—and her pussy.
My god, he was insistent. “I’m self conscious, I guess.” She gazed out the window, observing the village zooming closer. “I don’t care to talk about myself, never have. Tell me something about your kingdom.”
“Sì, I’ll start with the island. I thought we would drive through town on our way to the airport. It’s a landing strip and a garage with a few planes, not a commercial airport.”
“Drive or race?” she asked. “I’ve never seen anyone accelerate downhill. Slow down.”
The racer rode an inch or two off the ground with seats on the floor. They hit a cobblestone bump and the car shook.
Lex’s legs spread as she went to cross them. Her vagina and ass vibrated, with a smack against the seat—hard. “Oh. Ohhh,” she emitted as she reached for the console to brace herself. She hoped to ease her arousal until the car stopped humming. Lex lifted her ass off the seat a smidge, except she wound up with his hand versus the console. From her little left toe to her right ear, her body reacted with a turn on. My sweet pussy.
Kaaapooooom. Massimo accelerated, taking the car faster.
Her nipples became sensitive to the air conditioning’s icy blast from the front vents. She attempted to cross her legs a
second time—the sensation growing from her clit’s desire to be touched grew strong. I’m getting wet.
Who knew road turbulence could stir such a response?
“Eh, eh, eh.” Massimo laughed for a minute. Once his humor ceased he explained, “This car is a true stallion. It has a seven hundred horsepower.”
“Giddy up!” she joked, and released her grip. Lex noted when she held his arm, Massimo’s third leg stirred in his slacks, promising to get loose. Unzip your pants, Masi. Show me whatcha got.
Sinking deeper in her seat, feeling the heat, thinking about his dick, she hoped he’d slow down, and soon. She pressed her Tory Burch ballet flats against the car’s floor and tried not to let her newfound eroticism show. Tory, give me some advice here please.
“And it can do zero to sixty in three seconds,” he finished. Massimo adjusted himself as the car sped over one hundred.
She attempted to ignore his thrills and reminded him, “You were going to tell me about the island.” Lex swallowed hard, looking down at his groin mixed with the blur out the window—her head spun.
“Sì, Isola di Girasoli has been in my family for three hundred years. Once a Sicily colony, my great grandfather founded the land to grow sunflowers. As the taxes increased and Russia became the leader in sunflower oil production, our people searched for new ways to enjoy their wealth without paying the price.”
The terracotta roofed homes nestled between the green hills created a picture perfect postcard. Hampton summers with her parents prior to her life going to shit flashed in her mind. Her eyes moistened thinking about better times.
Lex lowered her tortoiseshell sunglasses over her eyes, grateful for the privacy they afforded her. “Is your father alive? I take it he’s not at the palace.” She didn’t remember reading any press on his father—ever. The tabloids kept the Tittoni coverage on the prince. Editorials remained somewhat shallow with sex and beach stories on his night life.
“No, he died last year. He was in his seventies.” He kept his eyes on the road.
