The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) (32 page)

“Father, thank you for standing up for Magdalena and Gabriel. I know it will mean a lot to her that you consider the two of them family.” Salvy took a deep breath and looked his father in the eye. “I’m happy that I won’t have to abdicate my place here, but I’m not going to marry. If that means you want me to join the church, then so be it.”

The King studied him for a long time, his expression inscrutable. “You love her, don’t you? That’s what inspired these great changes in you—Magdalena Rossi?”

“Yes.” It was a simple answer, but it was the only one. He loved her, and he would do anything for her, even remain alone for all of his days. “She believed there was more to me than the life I’d been living and slowly, I started to believe it as well. And desire more.”

“I could see it, even before tonight. Hell, I could see it when you were children, how your souls seemed to line up. I found it strangely endearing that you refused to see it as a boy.”

The confession took Salvadore by surprise. “I had no idea.”

The King waved a hand. “Teenage boys have a great deal of trouble seeing past the ends of their noses. You are my son, but you were not so different. Not then.”

Salvy said nothing to that. There were no more words, really—he had confessed the reason he would not follow through on his promise to choose a bride, and had offered to leave for the church, despite Luca being subdued. He waited for his father to make a choice, contentment in his own choices flowing easily through his veins.

“Salvadore, as I said before, I want you to be happy. Before Luca came charging in downstairs, you were about to say something to me. Ask something of me. I think you were about to propose that I allow you to marry Magdalena, despite her low birth.” The King raised an eyebrow, waiting for assent even though he must know now that he had guessed correctly. “I might have said no, had you asked me then. Now, after I saw you willing to give up everything, including your birthright, just to make her happy, I am convinced of the trueness of your feelings. Of your convictions, and of the fact that she makes you the best prince you can possibly be. And how could I say no to a love like that, when so few in this world are blessed to find it?”

Salvadore could hardly believe his ears. He frowned, needing to hear it again, just to be sure. “So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying that you may marry whomever you deem worthy.” The King smiled, something of his younger, spunky self in his grin. “As long as it’s Maggie. She’s a good girl, son.”

“Thank you, Father.” Though he hadn’t done so in years, Salvy felt the urge to hug his father.
 

So he moved the few steps necessary and put his arms around the King’s neck, squeezing. His father patted his son’s arm and they stayed for a moment in the rare moment before Salvy pulled away.

“It seems as though you’re getting your fairytale after all,” the King commented.

“Only if I can dig up a happy ending.”

“Go get her. She can’t have gotten far, and I trust that you remember what she looks like, so we won’t have to waste time on the trying on the shoes nonsense.”
 

The sound of his father’s boisterous laugh followed Salvy down the hall, and left the prince shaking his head with amusement. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the smile from his face as he plotted how to find Magdalena and propose.
 

She could run, but she’d never been all that good at hiding. Not from him.
 

Chapter Twenty-Six

Magdalena

It took her longer than it should have to get back to Juliet’s house in the country. She kept pulling over, wondering if she should go to the press right now, or the police, and confess all of her sins to keep Salvy from doing something stupid. Something undoable.

No. He had done the right thing with Matrigna. Salvy had decided to be the prince he’d been born to be, and he would realize after some careful thought that all of the things he would be able to do with the power of the crown behind him were far more important than her reputation.
 

If he didn’t, she would take care of it herself, first thing in the morning.
 

She had to stop and put gas in Juliet’s car, and by the time she turned down the long, dirt lane to the house in the country, her eyelids felt as if they needed to be propped up by toothpicks. That was part of the reason she had to look twice, blink her gaze clear, and then look again to be sure there was actually a helicopter sitting in the field nearest the house.
 

The propellers were silent and still, and lights glowed on the lower floor of the house even though it was late—long after midnight at this point. There was no doubt in Magdalena’s mind that the helicopter belonged to the Piacere family, and still her heart hammered in her chest as she stepped through the front door to find Salvadore seated on the couch, sipping a glass of bourbon with her father.

Well, to be fair, her father’s glass was on the table between them, but it was half-empty. Juliet puttered about, her hands fluttering and nervous, while Amalia looked on from the edge of a recliner, her expression bemused.
 

Salvadore shot to his feet at the sight of her, and she knew that she must look a mess. She’d driven with the windows cracked to help her breathe and pieces of her carefully done hair had escaped. Maggie realized now that she hadn’t even looked in the gas station bathroom mirror, but the crying she’d done as she left the palace had likely turned her into a wannabe raccoon.

There was nothing but joy on Salvadore’s face, though, as he took her hand and guided her toward the couch. Maggie was too stunned to protest. Once Juliet’s couch sagged under her, a million questions and protests crashed over her all at once.

“What are you doing here? What about the ball? You promised your father, Salvy, you can’t…” Magdalena trailed off in the face of his growing smile, blue eyes gentle as they waited for her to finish. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because the man came here to talk to you and you’re not letting him get a damn word in past your nervous babbling,” Juliet suggested, bluntly. “Shut up and listen. Sometimes it’s okay to not be in control of every situation.”

“Juliet, be nice,” Maggie’s father reproved his oldest friend. “This is not our business.”

“Well, it’s my house,” the older woman grumbled, sitting on the arm of Gabriel’s chair and resting a hand on his shoulder.

“The King spoke to Luca, and he won’t be breathing a word about any of the actions he alleged against you,” Salvy said, pulling her focus back where it belonged. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”

Relief made her limbs feel like limp noodles. Gratitude toward King Alfonso flowed thick through her blood—as a child, he’d always been kind to her, and he’d been loyal to her father as well, but to have him stand up for her now, after everything, was going above and beyond.
 

“Tell him thank you.” Maggie frowned. “But you could have sent word. You’re supposed to be with your guests.”

“My guests are confused, but there is nothing I can do about that at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” All of this was too much after the emotional upheaval of the past day. She needed a drink, or perhaps a nap, to properly process all of it.
 

“I mean that I need to talk to you before I can talk to them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’re going to leave the two of you alone,” Amalia said, getting up quickly and dragging her aunt to her feet. They both helped Maggie’s father up, and he pressed a hand to her head on his way past the couch.
 

Once they were in the kitchen—out of sight, but certainly not out of earshot—Prince Salvadore reached out and took her hands. Maggie looked into his beautiful face and her heart broke all over again—with love, with pride, with loss.
 

“I spoke to my father tonight, after he dealt quite neatly with my horrible cousin.”

“Is he angry with you about Matrigna? About going against his wishes, I mean?”

“No, love. He said that he can see in that action the proof that I’m ready to take my place at his left hand.” Salvadore’s smile turned rueful. “His left hand, not his right. Five years ago, that would have sent me running. Bristled. But now, it’s easier for me to see that a king who has two working hands is better off than a king who has only one. You helped me see that, Magdalena. Helped me believe in the possibilities and in the difference I can make if I want to. And I
do
want to.”

She couldn’t think. Her heart pounded so hard against her ribs she feared that he would be able to see it. Maggie prayed he wouldn’t declare his love again, or try to convince her that giving up everything for her was the right thing to do.
 

She didn’t know if she would have the strength to walk away a third time.

“I love you, Magdalena. The King sees what is between us, how much better you make me, and he has granted me permission to marry a woman of my choosing.” He paused, a nervous smile on his generous lips. “As long as it’s you, that is.”
 

The Prince of Cielo slid off the couch and onto one knee, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a ring so big Maggie thought it must be fake. The gem at the center was a sapphire of the deepest blue, and the band was wrapped in sparkling diamonds.

Maggie couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t look away from his eyes as he swallowed, and held the ring between them.

“I’ve spoken to your father as well, and he gives us his blessing. I’ve loved you my whole life, Magdalena. As a best friend, a cohort, a confidante, then in the back of my mind as I wandered, this idea of what love and perfections felt like.” He curled his free hand around her left, his fingers warm and steady. “You’re the only woman I can imagine spending the rest of my life with. You’re the only woman who dares to challenge me, who excites me, who keeps my head focused on what is important. If you say that you’ll marry me, I promise to make you happy, in every way.”

She didn’t know what to say. It was happening so fast—she’d spent the better part of the past week figuring out how to disentangle her sense of self from her feelings and friendship with Salvadore. She’d thought she’d managed it ten years ago, but the past few weeks had proven the opposite.
 

Maggie had loved him, always, and it seemed impossible that this moment was real. That she could say yes, reach out and pull his lips to hers as he slid a ring on her finger. That the King would approve such a match, which would be viewed unfavorably by the people of his kingdom.

But it was happening. She wasn’t dreaming. Perhaps she’d died.
 

“Answer the man, for heaven’s sake!” Juliet yelled from the kitchen. “What are you, into torture all of a sudden?”

Magdalena stared at Salvy, memorizing his face. The expectation and love in his eyes, the worry wrinkled around the edges. The lust and adoration smashed together in her body.
 

Then, she nodded. “I have never, in my entire life, dreamed of marrying anyone but you. So, yes. If this is truly what you want, and truly will not upset your family, then I accept.”

He came toward her, pulling her face to his and kissing her so well that she wanted to rip off both of their clothes and consummate their agreement right here on Juliet’s couch. They were both breathless when he eased back, picking up her hand and slipping the ring onto her fourth finger.
 

Maggie suspected it would take a long time to stop staring at it, to believe this had happened. That he loved her, that he wanted to tell the world, and that she would stand at his side through the years and never have to say goodbye to him again.

“I love you, Magdalena Rossi. Thank you for never giving up on me.”

“Oh, Salvy.” She leaned her forehead against his, drinking in the smell of him. The nearness. “Thank you for trusting me with your heart. I’ll take good care of it.”

“Do you think that you’d like to come with me in the helicopter?” he whispered, a playful sparkle back in his eye. “I would really, really like to have a modicum of privacy with you tonight, and this house is awfully small.”

Her body lit on fire at the suggestion of how they would celebrate their engagement together, but she felt trepidation about returning to the palace as well. What would be expected of her, and how soon? Was the King really okay with this, and would he accept her as she was or prod her to change?

“Stop worrying. We’re going to be together, and the people will fall in love with you in a matter of days. They will see your beautiful soul, because it is impossible to hide, my love.”

“You’re a born salesman, Your Highness.”

Salvy laughed and rose to his feet, pulling her up at his side. She looked down at the ring sparkling on her finger and swayed, unsure a person could live with so much joy oozing out of them.
 

He led her into the kitchen, where Maggie kissed her father’s paper-thin cheek. “This is your destiny,
bella mia
, and you deserve all of the happiness he has promised to give you. I believe him.”