The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) (24 page)

“That’s a start. But really, the corset is just slutty.” She tore at the ribbons, so carefully hidden. The rip of fabric tore at Maggie’s resolve but she stood still, screaming on the inside.
 

“Hmm. One more thing. The lace really has to go—too table-clothy.” She snagged the lace at the hem, and around the waist, stripping all of it free and leaving it in a pile on the floor.
 

“This outburst really shows how little you know about fashion, Camilla. Really. I hope you can find a decent seamstress before the ball.” The even sarcasm surprised both of them.

Camilla snarled. “At least I’ll be
at
the ball. You’ll be crying at home with your daddy. Oh, right. Based on what Matrigna is offering in exchange for property, you probably won’t even
have
a home by then. So good luck with that.”

She whirled and left, and as soon as the door slammed behind her, Maggie let go of her self-control. Tears burned tracks in her cheeks as she touched the ruined dress here and there, confirming what she already knew—fixing it would be hopeless, even if she had the time.

Even if Camilla wasn’t one hundred percent right, there was no reason for Magdalena to put herself through the exquisite torture of going to the ball, beautiful gesture from Prince Salvadore or not. Far better to be home nursing her wounds, and starting to figure out how to rebuild going forward.

The staff would be back from lunch in ten minutes, and there was no way she could have it together by then, so Magdalena gathered up all eight pieces of the card Camilla had ripped up and fled to her room. She hadn’t used it since she’d gone home with Salvy for that bath, but the linens were fresh every day, such as they were. There were no windows and it was small, but the room was cozy enough, she supposed.

The edge of the hard bed barely sank under her weight and she laid out the shredded pieces on top of the bedspread, rearranging them with shaking hands until they came together in the right order.

Magdalena,

If I belong at the ball, you belong at the ball. You are, after all, made of much stronger stuff than I, and inarguably look much better in a dress. Please come. I need you.

-S

Maggie gathered the pieces into her palm and lay down, curling around them and taking a minute—or perhaps ten—to come to grips with the fact that she more than cared for this playboy prince of hers. She needed him, too. And she loved him, still.

Goddammit.
 

Chapter Nineteen

Salvadore

It was a cold, crisp afternoon—too cold for an outdoor press conference, but Chesapeake Falco didn’t seem bothered by the chill. The woman was confounding, in more ways than one, but after spending a few hours together here and there, Salvadore decided he quite liked her. She had no patience for bullshit, particularly not his, which meant he would have had no trouble following his brother’s warning to stay out of her pants even if he had been looking for that sort of thing.

Which, he realized now, he wasn’t. He hadn’t even noticed another woman in days.
 

They were waiting for the press conference to begin now, sitting on cold metal chairs on an outdoor stage that sat on the outskirts of a refugee camp. Salvadore had thought this job would struggle to hold his interest now that he knew his father was less than impressed by his taking it on, but during their meetings, then the tour of the camp today, he found himself moved by the plight of the bedraggled masses. They’d been displaced due to circumstances well outside their ability to control and now had no home. The people of Cielo were divided on allowing them entrance into the country, worried that they might steal jobs and land and perhaps drag strife across the borders with them, but Salvadore saw now that there could be no argument on the matter.

Nico said that the crown was supporting the effort, and that was why Chesapeake was here, to speak on their behalf.
 

“I really think you’re the wrong person to be here with me,” she grumped, not for the first time. “Look at those reporters out there. They’re salivating over the chance to ask you about your latest dalliance or secret baby or whatever. Not to hear about refugees.”

The wind toyed with strands of her blond hair, long and carelessly tied up in a bun atop her head. Her eyes were a strange, light green color that made him feel judged. Rightfully so, he supposed, given that she’d dedicated her life to helping others while he’d only helped himself.
 

“I won’t allow it. I told you, anyone who asks an off-topic question will not be permitted to ask another.” He gave her his best smile, almost laughing when it only made her frown harder. He definitely liked her. “I’m all you’ve got, sadly.”

“Just my luck,” she sighed. “I finally get backing from the crown and they send me their rehabilitation project.”

“We do give you plenty of money, from what I understand.”

“I don’t know about plenty, but I’m grateful for what you give. That said, there are other kinds of support that mean at least as much. So thank you for being here,” she said, every word more grudging than the last.
 

“You’re welcome.”
 

A public relations official walked over, wringing his hands. Salvy searched his brain but realized he’d already forgotten the man’s name.
 

“Sire, if you’re ready, we’re about to get started. You’re going to introduce Chesapeake, say something about your family’s support for her efforts, and then she’ll talk for about ten minutes about some statistics and personal anecdotes. We’ll take questions, but we’d like you to state up front that today is about the crown’s relief efforts and you won’t be taking any personal inquiries.”

“Done.”

“Okay. Let’s get going, then.”
 

Salvy stood up, stretching his long legs and taking his hands out of his overcoat pockets. He stuffed his fingers into black leather gloves and strode up to the podium, clearing his throat into the microphone. The crowd settled as he scanned them, his guts churning when he saw representatives from several gossip outlets, especially Calling Cielo, a local program that spend half their time “reporting” on the movements of this family with their Royal Watch. Morons.

“Good afternoon,” he started. “I’m glad that you all could be here despite the weather. I appreciate it, and so does my father, King Alfonso. We’re here today to talk about the refugee crisis that is affecting our country as well as many others, and to officially announce that the royal family supports efforts to shelter the people in need for the duration of the hostilities in their home country. I’m about to introduce the woman who can best speak to why that is our stance, but would first like to say that we expect the question and answer session to be dedicated to the topic at hand. I will not be answering any questions about my personal life, or the personal lives of my father, brother, or cousin. Now, please join me in welcoming Chesapeake Falco to the stage.”

He clapped, encouraging the rather disappointed-looking crowd to do the same, and then took a few steps back to make room for Chesapeake at the podium. She strode forward with her shoulders back, a confidence about her that commanded attention. The crowd of reporters stood up straighter, interest lighting in their eyes. The silent interaction made Salvy aware that he’d been right about her from the moment he met her—she was a force to be reckoned with, and a voice that wouldn’t be ignored.
 

Nico had said that she was a gifted and passionate speaker, and over the next fifteen minutes, she left no doubt of that fact in everyone’s mind. Whether or not it would do anything to change public opinion remained to be seen, but there was no doubt everyone who listened to her talk would print something favorable on the matter.
 

The question and answer session began, and Salvy held his breath. Security guards fanned out around the crowd, ready to step in and flag anyone who didn’t follow the rules. It only took three questions; when the PR guy pointed to Julia Fiore, the reporter from Calling Cielo, she flashed him a wicked smile.
 

“Prince Salvadore. Rumor has it that you returned home because of a special young lady, and that you’ve already chosen a bride. That would make this ball a farce. Do you have anything to say about that?”

Even though he’d expected something about his personal life, the actual question took him by surprise. Had they really heard something about his falling for a woman in Cielo, or was she baiting him? If they did know something, could they mean Val? He didn’t see how anyone could guess at the way his childhood friendship with Magdalena had changed, but those pictures someone delivered to her told a different story.
 

The mysterious person behind Matrigna had them, but Maggie had said they were going to sell by the deadline, so why would he be talking to the papers?

Salvy frowned, and motioned to the guard closest to Julia. “No, and anyone else who veers off-topic will also be prevented from asking any more questions.”

The guard manhandled a huffy Julia from the crowd and they got through three more questions before someone else acted out.

“Prince Salvadore, was this ball your idea or the King’s? Don’t you think it’s a waste of money when we’ve got things like the refugee crisis as well as a real estate buyout happening to a large majority of your subjects?”

“That will be all for today,” the PR guy said, closing down the session and steering both him and Chesapeake from the public eye.
 

Salvy’s car waited at the rear of the stage and he ushered his guest inside before climbing in behind her, glad to be out of the biting wind. Also relieved to be away from the press and their prying, inappropriate questions. The publicity had never bothered him all that much, but lately their questions seemed disrespectful of his station. Then again, when he had treated his position in the royal family as he had, what expectation could he have of being treated differently?

It was a question he didn’t care to answer, because it led to another—had his father been right to frown upon his lifestyle this whole time? Did his behavior matter even though he would never be king?

He was starting to see how it could. There was work to be done in Cielo, a ton of it, and their family was small. With Luca working to undermine their name and their progress at every turn, that left only Niccolo and their father to shoulder the rest of the burden.

“Well, that went about as well as can be expected,” Chesapeake said from the limousine seat that faced his, eyeing the stash of booze in the cooler.
 

“Would you like a drink?”

“You know, they said you were charming. I half expected my panties to spontaneously combust once I stepped within a five-foot radius.”

Salvy shook his head, his lips turned up in a wry smile. “And?”

She shrugged. “You’re charming, but I don’t find you all that hard to resist.”

“How refreshing.” He opened the cooler door and grabbed a bottle of champagne. “Shall we celebrate?”

“That’s, like, a two hundred-dollar bottle of booze.”

“And?”

“It’s your cash. I’d prefer a donation, but seeing as it’s already been bought…”

Salvadore popped the cork and poured them each a glass. It was sweeter than he preferred but good enough, he supposed. He watched Chesapeake as she guzzled hers, then held out her glass for more.

“You were very impressive out there,” he told her after obliging.

“I’m very good at my job. Hopefully your presence and the continued support of the crown will give the cause the boost it needed. Thank you for not stealing the limelight.”

“You’re very welcome. I’ve had quite enough for one lifetime.”

“And there’s still the ball this weekend,” she reminded him, curiosity lighting her green eyes. “A bride to choose, growing up to do.”

She paused, studying him with her keen gaze.
 

Salvy raised his eyebrows. “Was there a question in there?”

“No. Your affairs are your affairs.”

“It’s refreshing to find someone who thinks so.”

“You don’t give the impression that it bothers you, you know. People won’t believe that you’ve changed until you show them.”

“And how do you suppose I should do that?” Salvy hated how pouty he sounded, but the truth was, he was at a loss. His father insisted he go through with a sham of a marriage, and for the first time, he was perfectly content with the woman in his bed.

A woman he couldn’t have, not in the way he suddenly wanted.
 

“It will take time. People love a good, juicy story, and you’ve given them plenty. They’ll be disappointed when they stop, at first. Call you boring, things like that.” She downed her second glass of champagne and set the empty on the floorboards. “But they’re your people. They want to love you, so all you have to do is give them another reason to pay attention.”

The advice was solid, he mused as they pulled up to the front of the palace. He still didn’t know how to make it happen, but he wondered if there could be a way to turn the ball around in his favor. The King didn’t believe there was a circumstance in which Salvy could prove himself in another way, but what if he was wrong?