by Avery Aster
“Mind? No. Valentino might, though. This is eighties vintage, created for socialite Nati Abascal.”
“I thought it felt couture,” she joked.
“It’s yours to keep now, my darling. I bought it at a charity auction thinking it’d show my cleavage. It didn’t. I love what you did with the train.”
“You do?”
“Sì, never occurred to make a cape. Pretty regal, darling, no? You have a vision. Lots to learn from your American flair.” Luciana and Jemma both smiled with a sincere appreciation for Lex.
Guilt flooded her nerves over not telling the prince about the additional fabric treatment in Asia. She questioned if she should. If she gave in, she’d be handing him her entire empire.
A warm voice sounded in her ear. “Bella, you ready to do a walkabout?”
She stood, happy to be heading toward non-fragrant air. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure,” she said in parting, taking Massimo’s arm. The room had become packed with many more well-dressed couples, arriving in the short time she’d been sitting.
Lex held his hand. “I’m not great with names. Mind going slow with introductions?”
“Sì, we will start in the back, working our way to the front,” he directed. The room broke up into several design houses. To the right, Massimo introduced the French, English and Italians.
He seamlessly switched from Italian to French. “Bonjour, I present Mademoiselle Lex Easton,” he announced, walking up to the first group. “Lex, this is Monsieur Christian Lacroix.” He then introduced her to the Germans, Russians and Turks. The pecking order was French at the top, followed by the Brits and so forth.
Seeing so many designers in one room reminded her of when her father took her and Taddy to The Grammys as kids, amazed to see her favorite musicians in one room. Tonight is like The Grammys for fashion.
From America, she shook hands with Diane Von Furstenberg and confessed, “I’ve been your number one fan, Miss Von Furstenberg, since I was a young girl.”
Diane frowned.
Michael Kors kept the group in good cheer with jokes. “Have fun with your Massimo tonight, Miss Lex. He’s quite the keeper.” Michael tapped Massimo’s butt as they walked over to the next group.
“I’m not the only one who deems your ass irresistible,” she said in Massimo’s ear as they approached another group.
From the UK, Massimo introduced her to Stella McCartney. They discussed their plans for a mid-fall season get-together while in London.
To think of Easton Essentials being up there with the fashion elite one day blew her mind. She wanted to succeed as a fashion designer more than anything. Since starting Easton Essentials, it’d cost her a personal life. Was Easton worth it? She hoped so.
Lex shook hands with close to one hundred guests, and by the end, her jaw tensed from smile overdose. Her lips felt dry. She wanted to take her gown off. Being pretty, she realized, was afflictive. But the industry contacts she’d made—those might prove invaluable. “Massimo, do you mind if I sit for a bit? I’m overwhelmed.” My feet are killing me in these Cinderella shoes. She was convinced Jemma had given them to her as revenge for suggesting they do redesigns on the Girasoli line.
“Sure, principessa. I will mingle and join you at the table. Dinner is soon.”
She turned.
A tall, lanky man about her age grabbed her arm. “You’re the Manhattanite, Lex Easton?” His provocative smile came off as fake and calculated.
“Sure am.” She extended her hand.
He ignored her gesture and kissed both cheeks.
She hated Euro greetings. “They greet your way in Beverly Hills.”
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Vincent Donatella. We have a meeting tomorrow.” He placed his hands around her waist. “Care to dance?”
“Eh? I…um, no. No.”
Vincent moved her onto the glass dance floor.
Lex was many things, but a good dancer did not top her list. I can fist pump. I take Zumba. I have spirit fingers. I don’t waltz to classical music. With zero intent to touch him, she’d suck it up. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she swayed hips as his groin pressed into her. Errrrr.
Vincent appeared attractive with light-brown hair and hazel eyes. But he was no Massimo.
She moved back to avoid pelvis contact.
“You two an item?” Vince twirled her closer to the center.
“Pardon?” Lex pulled back from his unwelcome embrace. “Is who an item?” Her frustrations were growing.
“The prince. I noticed you came with him.” His grip tightened as they turned again.
“An item? No.” She wished otherwise. “Girasoli is my supplier. We do business together. You know, I must get back to my table.”
He pulled her in closer. “Soon, you’ll be with Donatella. We have a great presentation planned. We’ve flown in our Paris investors.”
“About tomorrow—” Lex didn’t intend on meeting with him, but he kept cutting her off. She had no clue how she’d free herself. If she’d been at a New York bar, she’d walk away. But this was business, and she wanted to be professional. Looking around for Massimo, she didn’t see him anywhere. Why does this shit always happen to me?
Giuseppe Verdi's Woman is Fickle
From a distance, far enough not to be seen but close enough to observe, Massimo watched Lex dance with Vincent. Their slow-waltzing to Giuseppe Verdi's La donna è mobile—aka Woman is Fickle—made his blood boil. Arms crossed, fists tensing, he tried to determine his increased unease. Was it because his arch nemesis courted his top client? Would Vincent steal Easton Essentials away from Girasoli? Did it matter? Hours before, he’d cast the Easton account out to the Atlantic Ocean. He’d realized the commodity Easton offered. So Lex and success became synonymous with one another.
Or was he upset because his feelings for Lex increased each time he saw her? Watching her on someone else’s arm put a hard lump in his stomach. Whichever it was, it wasn’t something he’d overcome.
His heartbeat accelerated.
The people around him blurred as he stepped closer. He debated on leaving them alone until he witnessed Lex trying to step back and Vinnie drawing his groin into her tummy. Gross. Lex stepped away, bracing her arms for distance, or maybe to try to walk away. But Vincent squeezed her in closer to him.
He needed to get her away from Vincent. As he parted the crowd, he heard Lex’s voice. Her tone was disdainful and cold, confirming his assumption she wanted an out.
“I’m canceling tomorrow,” Lex informed. “I’m happy with Girasoli. They’re going to remain my supplier. I also wasn’t aware of your plans to come into my category.”
Vincent pulled Lex in closer.
Damn, Vinnie, such a culo. What the hell is he doing?
“You’re making a mistake,” Vincent argued. “Girasoli’s too large for Easton. You’ll be lost. Donatella can provide better service at lower cost. We could dominate the entire category together.”
Massimo hated confrontation, thinking back to what his mother always taught him. But he’d remain calm. Vincent’s cordial skill remained, as always, a test. He stepped around the dancers to make himself known. “Ciao, Vinnie. May I cut in?” Get lost, Vinnie.
Lex turned in apparent surprise, pleased to see him. She stepped forward to free herself from her suitor’s capture.
“We’re dancing.” Vincent moved to retain her.
“Excuse me?” Lex pulled back.
Vincent’s face soured, he grumbled, “Massimo, what do you think you’re doing? I’m dancing with my future client.”
“Leave us be, Vincent.” He didn’t want to fight.
The prior summer in Venice, Vincent downed enough liquor to fill the canals. He’d made several snide remarks to Massimo over Girasoli spearheading his legal team to acquire Donatella. But Vincent’s mother, Frida Donatella, wouldn’t budge on the merger. Massimo walked away as he always did, with his pride. Vincent went to jail for disorderly conduct.
&nbs
p; “Or what? Will House of Tittoni’s royal guards remove me? You’re an egomaniac, Massimo. I’ll secure Lex’s business.”
“Let’s sit and enjoy our dinners,” Lex offered. She didn’t find this amusing.
Marc Jacobs and Domenico Dolce stood behind them and watched.
Here we go. Another crowd-drawing fashion night from Vinnie ‘deck ‘em’ Donatella. I hate this man. Massimo crossed his arms in disapproval.
The stench on Vincent’s breath, a bitter Campari, overwhelmed him.
Massimo questioned how Lex waltzed with such a drunk and yet held up her dignity. Indeed, Lex carried herself as a lady. She deserves a medal.
“Ciao, Vinnie.” Massimo issued him a fake smile, as best as his tense jaw afforded him. He then drew his hands wide and showed him the spectators coming near. Leave bella alone.
Vincent addressed Lex, his face flashing to an artificial grin matching Massimo’s, saying, “An honor to meet you, Signorina Easton. We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.” He kissed her hand.
At once, Lex withdrew her hands to her side. “My apologies for my initial call. I’m staying with Girasoli.”
“We’ll see.” He shook his head in disapproval, vanishing into the crowd.
Massimo reached for Lex and continued the Verdi dance, moving her away from the onlookers.
“Impressive composure, Massimo,” Lex complimented, putting her arms around his neck. “Grazie.” The embrace soothed his nerves and hers, as well.
“It is how one reacts to things, bella. Vinnie is drunk. You have to ignore people when they carry themselves in toxic environments. No one will win.” He pulled her in closer. “Though, I am surprised you humored him. It’s not your nature.” I love the way she smells.
“No, it’s not. But Vincent’s conversation didn’t become unbearable ’til he slammed Girasoli.”
“My company is your concern?” He brought his jaw to her cheek.
Her eyelashes fluttered on his skin.
He waited for her reply.
“I want to see us both succeed and will do whatever I can to help Girasoli as long as you continue to supply Easton with the fabrics.” She moved her face, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Her devotion touched him. And he knew she’d help in more ways than one.
Their dinner sat on the table getting cold, but Massimo didn’t care. An appetite for food didn’t consume him—Lex did. With only a few couples left on the dance floor, the music wound down. The room was quiet, and his desire for her increased.
“Bella, promise me one thing.” He leaned in as if he might kiss her on the cheek.
“What, my prince?” Lex moved her ear to listen to his request.
“You will respect our new friendship this week and be mine—and no one else’s.” He didn’t offer her eternity or even his bed. But he hoped this week he’d try at a friendship.
Lex pulled back.
Her eyes captivated him.
She tried to find words.
He moved her around the ballroom floor, realizing he’d never asked for an exclusive with anyone. Even if it was for only a few days and there was no sexual intent. He’d never wanted to have one woman all to himself. Many dances ago, his heart was broken, and he believed it would never be healed in his lifetime.
“You’re not making any sense. What do you mean?”
“I do not think it wise for you to speak with our competitors or any man—Vincent, to be more specific—while in Milano.” He tried to step forward with the dance, but she kept her feet in one place and raised her voice.
“Ridiculous! You’re my fabric supplier. Earlier today, I was so into this. With you and Donatella both coming at me and knocking me off, I’m about to explode. And there’s no ‘our’. Easton is not owned by Girasoli.”
“Not yet—”
Releasing her arms from around his shoulders, she raged, “You’re giving Easton the fabrics regardless. I’m helping you with your useless designs.”
“Really?” Cold air shot up his nostrils upon her words.
Lex pushed his chest to step back. “I can and will do business with whomever I chose.”
Anna Wintour stood still and stared at Massimo.
Move it along, Anna! “Lower your voice, Lex. Do not make people stare.” Massimo pulled her back into him.
The surrounding dancers cocked their heads in question. A few women put their hands over their mouths and leaned in to their partner’s ears.
“Girasoli is no better than Donatella. You’re both knockin’ Easton off all while waving your dicks in my face.”
Ahhh! A loud gasp erupted from the gawkers around them.
Karl Lagerfeld and his Chanel group around him huffed. Mr. Lagerfeld lowered his opaque sunglasses to his nose’s tip in disapproval.
Caroline, Princess of Hanover, muttered disapproval for New Yorkers while standing next to him.
Massimo reached for Lex’s arm and steered her away to an empty corridor behind the cocktail lounge. Tittoni’s royal guards followed, leaving them in the room as they closed the paneled doors, giving them privacy.
Alone in the candlelit room, sterling silverware chimed against the bone china. People talked just outside the room in various tongues—Italian, Japanese, French and English—creating a white noise in the background.
“I don’t get you. You’re all over me one minute.” She slipped off her right heel and wiggled her toes. He speculated how she managed in those shoes. “You stick your hands up my dress, proclaiming you want to fuck me, you freeze up and then you freak out.”
“Sì.” He didn’t want to get his heart smashed again.
Removing her left stiletto, she rested her manicured feet on the polished concrete floor. He admired her toes. He didn’t remember having a foot fetish until that moment.
“I asked you to do me one itzy favor. Be my fuck buddy for the week.” She divested herself from an earring and began to rub her lobe. She gripped the jewels in her palm.
“Having casual sex with you is no small favore.” Massimo put his right hand up to his chest and tapped on his heart.
Lex squinted at his heartbeat gesture. “And you refused my advances. But then tonight, you’re storming because I chatted with Vincent. Whoopie-doo.” She relieved the other lobe from the hanging ice and placed both ornaments in her purse.
“Want me to rip your Valentino off you?” he teased.
Riled up and uncomfortable in her formal attire, she said, “Yes, there is an airbrushed body under here waiting for your attention. I assumed we’d have fun. I’m never free from Easton, my mom or Manhattan. Today was a vacation for me, one I don’t have often. I want to enjoy myself in Milan.” She struck a seductive pose to lighten his mood. Lex tried to make him laugh, even though she was upset.
“You are beautiful tonight.” He realized she’d worked herself twenty-four/seven since her father’s death. And there he was giving her a hard time about work-related issues, when all she wanted to do was celebrate. He wasn’t being fair.
“I’m uncomfortable. I never dress formal. Let’s not change the subject, though. I can talk to whomever I chose. You have no say in my business. I buy fabrics from you—period.”
“Is that so?” I want to have a say in your personal business but I cannot, bella.
“Your cock’s declaration became clear this afternoon. I didn’t care for the crap spewing from your mouth, but I get it. And up until a few hours ago, I didn’t think I’d even get my shipment at all.”
Bella, bella, bella. “Damn you, woman,” he murmured under his breath. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” He grabbed her shoulders, wanting to kiss her. But didn’t. I will not.
She leaned her face closer to his, challenging him. Her eyes filled with hurt and rejection, and he felt horrible for turning her away, but she was better than this. Lex stroked his arm, bringing her jaw to his, and said, “I don’t understand. Please tell—”
“I want you.” He’d wanted her all along but didn’t ad
mit it to himself, let alone her.
“You do?” Her lips parted in surprise.
I’m not blind. “You are worth much more than anything casual. I want to be with you.” His lips drew closer to hers.
“Really?”
“Sì. You are angelic when you want to be, ravishing in red. Bright when you open your mouth. The more I get to know you, the more alluring you become—on the inside and out.”
“Prince—”
Massimo covered her lips with his fingertips, and his eyes locked with hers to say, Let me finish, bella. “As if being even more perfect was possible.” He exhaled, trying to alleviate the sharp pain building in his chest. It didn’t help. Putting his back to her, he placed his hands against the wall, frustrated. It was a challenge to stare at her and talk at the same time, which became evident as his eyes refocused.
Speaking to his backside, she lowered her voice. “Why are you holding back?”
“I must. I cannot risk any commitments.”
“We’re on this again? I told you I can do this and not fall for you.” She put her arms around him “You’re not all that and a bag of chips, ya know.” A faint chuckle followed.
He wanted to hold her. Massimo didn’t understand what chips she spoke about. Poker chips? Those didn’t come in bags. Turning to face her, he defended, “It’s not about you. This is about me.”
“Tell me what it is,” she demanded.
“I cannot. It’s been years.”
She hugged him closer. “Why don’t you try?”
His shoulders felt tense, as if someone dumped a load of bricks on them. He sat on the white leather sofa under the large, open stained glass window.
Through the window, the moon cast an icy-blue aura. It felt creepy to talk about it again, in here with her.
He owed it to Lex, and to himself, to discuss his past, one last time. Massimo’s courage took his gaze up to Lex’s patient face to meet her eyes, and he started his confession. “The summer I turned sixteen, I fell in love with a girl on the isola—Marcella. At nineteen, we grew close and my feelings for her increased.”
