“Mama! Stop it.” Beatriz was appalled but also laughing. “You didn’t!”
“I did.” Lina sipped her wine. “You’d never know, either. The surgeon was very skilled. Not that anyone will ever see me naked again anyway.”
“Nonsense. You’ll be ready to date sooner or later,” said Sandro. “You’re far too young to lock yourself in a cloister.”
“I’m just fine in my cloister, thank you very much. Let’s get back to the topic at hand. My brilliant and beautiful daughter Beatriz and her upcoming show. We need champagne!”
“I’m a little nervous,” Beatriz admitted. “The press releases are going out tomorrow, and the whole world will know.”
Her mom leaned over from her chair to hug her. “All the more reason to celebrate.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lorenzo’s office sent out the press releases the following morning to journalists and fashion buyers all over the world. He’d arranged for his assistant to handle the RSVPs and pass along the list to the event planners managing the event. Coverage popped up first in the fashion press, with headlines like “Princess Beatriz of Altaleone Announces a Line of Ready-to-Wear.” Word spread to the celebrity gossip sites, where the headlines morphed into “Designing Princess” and “Royal Designs on the Runway.” They’d included a chic publicity photo of her dressed in one of her own black jackets, and the image appeared over and over again.
“So far so good,” said Lorenzo by phone that night. He was in Rome on business. “All the publicity is positive.”
“I know. Nothing about you and me.” She’d been nervous about stories trying to make a scandal out of their relationship, but no one had even mentioned it. It made her a little sad.
“I’m not important enough or wrong enough for them to build a story out of,” Lorenzo said ruefully. “Now if they knew I was wanted for questioning by the palace, they’d have a story.”
“I see your point. Luckily no one’s talking about that anymore. And the family were so happy about my show—once they got over their shock, that is. I think we should reschedule that dinner. I really want you to all get to know one another.” She didn’t want awkwardness at the show. She wanted to proudly show Lorenzo off as her boyfriend and have him seem like part of the family. The media would be there in force and watching all of them.
“I’d like that too.”
“I’ll talk to my mom tomorrow about when we can all meet.” Her heart swelled. Lorenzo was so patient with her ridiculous family situation. How many men would put up with such nonsense?
Any man would jump at the chance to marry a princess.
One of Liesel’s annoying mutterings popped into her head. Liesel managed to haunt one with her phobias and warnings, even when she was miles away in Germany.
Still, Lorenzo hadn’t actually said he loved her.
She hadn’t said it either. But she felt it in her heart and her mind more and more every day. She trusted him to manage the press release and invitations—sure he had her best interests at heart. But why didn’t she dare to reveal her true feelings? Was she still worried that he was only dating her because of her royal connections or—worse—because he still harbored a secret hope of getting his hands on the lake property?
“Would you still be interested in me if I wasn’t a princess?” She asked it boldly but with a teasing tone in her voice.
“Of course I would. Life would be easier if you weren’t a princess. We wouldn’t have to be tailed everywhere by security and worry about press stories every time we’re out together.”
She bit her lip. Maybe instead of being a draw for Lorenzo, as she’d assumed, her royal status was a big negative. Everyone knew that being a princess was a job for life. She could never go anywhere incognito or decide to live under the radar. Everything she did—everyone she associated with—would always be fodder for the press and subject to idle speculation.
“But I don’t mind those things. You’re more than worth it. I wish I was there with you right now.”
“Me too.” She lay back on her bed, visualizing his features. She needed to be patient. They were falling in love with each other. It wasn’t one sided. In time he’d voice the feelings she longed to hear—and in the meantime she’d have her show to keep her busy.
The two weeks before the show raced by. Beatriz’s garments were ready except for final on-model adjustments. After the initial flurry there were no further articles about her or her designs—or her and Lorenzo. And the long-anticipated and dreaded dinner with the family took place at the palace and was smooth and cordial. Everything was going swimmingly.
So why did she still have a knot in the pit of her stomach?
She told herself it was just nerves about doing something so new. She’d never put herself out in public for anything beyond routine royal events before and certainly never deliberately drawn the spotlight to herself.
And her romance with Lorenzo, wonderful as it was, made her more emotional. She found herself swinging readily from joy to worried tears, especially when he wasn’t there to hold her hand and tell her everything would be okay.
On the day of the show she ran around like a crazy person, checking the models’ makeup and hair and making last-minute tweaks to the clothes. The catered food for the after-party got stuck in fashion week traffic and arrived late and people were RSVP-ing yes right up until the last second, complicating the guest list and the seating arrangements.
Her family sat in the front row, next to editors from Vogue, L’Officiel, W and Elle. Her mom and garrulous brothers chatted easily with journalists and celebrities, and Emma helped Serena livestream vlog the buildup to the show to her audience of devoted followers.
Lorenzo hovered backstage with her. The music came on when it was supposed to. The models marched confidently, swung and swayed and swaggered as they showed off her clothes. Her eyes zeroed in on tiny imperfections—a half-buttoned button, the sticker on the bottom of a boot—but as each look came out and was greeted by applause and murmurs of approval from the crowd, her anxiety turned to exhilaration.
After the last model had walked, Lorenzo pushed her out to join them for the finale. They’d agreed that she would say a few words, and although the prospect terrified her, she knew it was better to speak for herself rather than have the press put words in her mouth.
She had a portable mic in her hand, and the first two times she tried to speak, her voice disappeared into the roar of applause. Finally, the crowd hushed enough for her to try again. Heart thudding, she prayed she wouldn’t burst into tears. “Thank you for coming.” She could see famous faces out there. “I’m sure you were all surprised to hear that I had designed a fashion line, and I want to assure you that it is my own work, not simply something that I put my name to.”
She spoke proudly, since their appreciation of her work had been obvious. “I do want to thank a very good friend of mine”—she turned toward the backstage area—“who encouraged and supported me every step of the way and whose confidence in me often outstripped my own, Lorenzo Aldobrando.” Lorenzo stepped forward, looking only at her. Then he took her hand and lifted it high in the air—as designers often did with their models at a fashion show finale—and they exited together.
Backstage, out of the view of the cameras, he kissed her full and hard on the mouth. Her heart was full to bursting.
“You did it,” he murmured, holding both her hands. “It was magnificent.”
“I did it.” She could hardly believe it. “Thanks to you. I quite literally couldn’t have done it without you.”
He shook his head and huffed a denial. “I offered barely more than lip service. I’m just glad all that talent of yours isn’t buried deep inside the palace anymore. You deserve the spotlight.” He placed a soft kiss on her lips. “You’d better go out there and mingle with your fans.”
“Do I have to? Can’t we just go back to the lake house and celebrate in private?” she whispered.
“Soon.” A smile p
layed about his sensual mouth. “But first, duty calls.”
Journalists were already finding their way backstage so she gave some informal interviews and enjoyed a lot of congratulations. Her mom was teary-eyed with pride, and Sandro and Darias were both rude enough to say how surprised they were.
“You didn’t think your sister had it in her?” She arched an imperious brow, laughing inwardly.
“I feel terrible for laughing along with Dad when you suggested studying fashion years ago,” said Darias. “I’m so glad you ignored us idiots and did it anyway.”
“The credit for that goes to Lorenzo,” she said proudly. This would cement their newly forming positive view of him. “It was all his idea. After I told him how much I loved fashion, of course.”
Darias slapped Lorenzo on the back in a brotherly fashion. She got sucked into a conversation with a buyer from a New York department store, but she could see Lorenzo chatting with Sandro and Darias as if they were great friends and that made her almost as happy as the success of the show.
Afterward they all went out to dinner and had a lovely time talking about her experience designing and making the clothes, choosing the fabrics and dealing with the quirky but brilliant Signora Pazzi. Then she and Lorenzo drove back to the lake house and made love until they were both wrung out and exhausted.
Lorenzo had to leave early the next morning to catch a flight to New York for a meeting about some real estate he was buying there, and she was quite happy to be left alone to bask in the afterglow of her first show.
Around nine-thirty she grabbed a quick coffee, then headed for the palace to ride her horse, with Nina in hot pursuit as usual. She’d asked the palace clipping service to pull any articles about her show, and she couldn’t resist ducking into her mom’s office to peek at the stack of articles from that morning’s papers and any prominent website features.
On top was an effusive article from the tiny local paper, which praised her talents and beauty and the royal Leone family and was mostly just embarrassing.
The next one was totally different. It was an article clipped from a Milan paper known for insightful coverage of the fashion industry. The headline, “Wealthy Princess Buys Herself a Place in the Fashion Week Calendar,” made her heart seize. Well, she kind of had done that, hadn’t she? Biting her lip, she started to read the article. By the time she got to the words “dry, derivative and reminiscent of first-year fashion school efforts,” her hands were shaking too much for her to read on.
It’s just one person’s opinion.
She grabbed the next article, from a Paris paper: “Princess Beatriz of Altaleone proves money can’t buy talent.” What?
Tears threatening, she snatched at the next one: “Princess parades a line that looks like it came off the rack at Monoprix.”
Frantic, she shuffled through them. Nearly all slammed her clothes as dull and uninventive. Some called her the “plain princess” or asked, “Did you ever hear of Princess Beatriz of Altaleone before? Us neither…” before enumerating reasons why she should stick to garden parties.
Tears blurred her vision, and an audible sob rose in her throat. How? They’d all seemed so pleased! Was it fake? Or a joke on her that everyone else got and she missed?
She pulled out her phone and pressed Lorenzo’s number with a trembling finger. But she got his voice mail. He must be on board his trans-Atlantic flight.
There were articles about her and Lorenzo too. She locked the office door and barricaded herself in while she read them. “Notorious real estate investor Lorenzo Aldobrando is involved in a new speculation—on the heart and hand of a princess.” One article included pictures of him with several beautiful women, “none of them as wealthy as his new blue-blooded conquest.”
She went through them all, scanning and reading, hoping and praying for at least one positive perspective to buoy her wrecked confidence. Apart from that first article, by a paper she knew from experience to be a purveyor of local fluff, they were all somewhere between dismissive and savage.
Had her mom seen these? Her mom’s personal secretary had brought them here, and she might well have browsed through them. Otherwise, Beatriz would be tempted to burn them in the fireplace.
A knock on the door made her jump. “Beatriz?” Her mom’s voice. The handle turned, but the door was locked so it didn’t open.
“I’m in here.” She swiped at her tear-stained cheeks with her sleeve. “Hold on.” She opened the door, heart somewhere down around her belt.
“What’s the matter?” Her mom’s zeroed in on the papers in her hand.
“Nothing new. Just a Leone family member getting attacked in the press for being privileged and royal.” She tried to sound cool and casual about it. Which she should be. This kind of treatment was the norm. Not many people loved you for being born into wealth and power beyond most people’s imaginings.
“They’re saying mean things about your show?” Her mom looked poleaxed.
“Yep. Boring, dreary, quiet. All the things I usually hear about myself.” She was impressed with herself for sounding so hardened.
“But it wasn’t boring at all! It was stunning. How could they say that iridescent black feather jacket was dull? They’re mad.” Her mom was already moving toward her, arms open for a hug. Beatriz sank into her embrace.
“And they wrote poisonous things about Lorenzo.” A sob escaped her throat. “Saying that I’m just his latest investment, as if he cares about nothing but the fact that I’m princess.”
“Oh, goodness.” Her mom stroked her hair. “Where is Lorenzo?”
“On his way to New York for a meeting.”
“Already? He does travel a lot, doesn’t he?”
“He has real estate holdings all over the world.” Beatriz found herself making excuses for him. Why did he have to leave before the crack of dawn on the morning after her big show? Couldn’t he have taken one lousy day off to celebrate with her?
Maybe she wasn’t as important to him as she thought.
“I’m sure he’ll rush back when he finds out about this.”
Would he? He hadn’t canceled any meetings for her before. Not that she knew of. He was always jetting off somewhere. In a way it was refreshing that he had a life and wasn’t trying too hard to suck up to her. His personal success had reassured her wasn’t interested in her as a lavish meal ticket.
“I don’t know.” Her voice was flat. “I was so happy with the show, and I thought it went so well, and now this. Maybe I’ve been wrong all along about Lorenzo too.”
“Oh, darling, don’t think like that. I’m sure everything will be fine. You know how the press are.”
“I do.” She drew in a deep breath and tried to gather strength from her mom. “I guess I just thought it would be different this time.”
“Is that Beatriz’s car outside?” She heard Sandro’s voice from the hallway. “I just heard a story on the radio that Lorenzo Aldobrando applied for development rights on her lake.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Beatriz blinked. How could he apply to do anything with land that wasn’t even his? Was he so sure he’d be able to talk her into anything? Or was he planning to propose to her so that under Altaleone law he—as the male in the union—would have ultimate rights over her property?
Sandro appeared in the doorway. “Oh, there you are, sis. Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard it.” She could barely raise a sound.
“I’m sure it’s just some misunderstanding,” said her mom bravely. “Who wants a cup of tea?”
“I need to ride Gatto.” Right now she just wanted to get away from everyone. And riding would get her nerves and emotions back under control and give her time to think this through.
“Don’t take it personally, Bea.” Sandro put his arm around her. “The press are a bunch of douchebags. You know that, right?”
“Yep.” She attempted a smile. It failed. Sandro must have seen some of the scathing press about her show. She didn
’t dare ask about what kind of feedback Serena had received for the images from the collection she’d shown on her popular video channel. “I’m fine. Really.”
She walked mechanically to the stables, taking care not to catch anyone’s eye on the way. Nina, who had been waiting outside the room the whole time, followed behind her like a shadow, as usual. It had gotten to the point that she sometimes forgot Nina was even there.
Beatriz groomed her horse—who was always spotless anyway, thanks to Matteo—and tacked him up herself. Before she mounted she texted Lorenzo and asked him to call her when he landed.
She wondered if he would. Maybe he had more important deals to take care of first.
Her heart constricted at the thought that everything they’d shared might just be fake. She couldn’t quite believe it. No. She didn’t believe it. Still, right now she didn’t know what to think.
After her ride, Beatriz drove back to her house. She craved the solitude of the lake setting. The palace always had way too many people milling about. And if the mystery texter wanted to sneak in and slit her throat, then heck, maybe that would just be an easy way out.
Her phone rang as she was pulling into the driveway. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was Lorenzo calling. “Hi,” she answered coolly.
“Hello, Bea. What’s up?”
She frowned. Why was he talking to her like one of her brothers. “What do you mean what’s up? Have you seen the press?”
“I’ve been on a flight and busy reading through a three-hundred-page contract. More kudos for your show?”
“Quite the reverse. It’s been panned around the globe, and the show only happened yesterday. Sometimes I wish I lived in the days when news could only travel by horse-drawn carriage.”
There was a pause. “Panned? What do you mean?” He sounded deadly serious.
The Princess's Scandalous Affair (Royal House of Leone Book 4) Page 16
