The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) (27 page)

But that didn’t excuse him from not even trying to make a difference now.

She took a deep breath and shoved open the bathroom door, striding into the bedroom. Salvadore had put on a pair of pants and stood in front of the window with his arms folded over his molded pecs. Maggie, masochist that she was, took one final look at his six-pack abs, his muscled shoulders, his strong jaw, and those blue, blue eyes that asked her to stay.

“I think it’s best if we just end this whole thing now, Salvadore. Nothing good will come from waiting, and I’m going to be busy with last-minute preparations, anyway.”

“Don’t do this. You can’t ask me to go against my father.”

Her heart ached, looking at the defeat falling over him like a cloak. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of their friendship, from the very beginning. To give them both a person who saw the best in them, and then to tell them their worlds would always touch but never intersect, seemed a cruel, cosmic joke.
 

“I’m asking you to be the leader you were born to be, Salvadore. I know it’s in you. You do have the best heart of all of them, but you’ve always been afraid to use it. Afraid to step out on your own in case there are people ready to tell you that you’re not who they want. That you don’t deserve it.” She gave him a sad smile. “But you do. And not only that, the people of this nation deserve
you.
But I can’t stay anymore and watch you waste your potential. Can’t sleep in your bed knowing that you care so little for people like my father…”

Maggie trailed off, unable to stop her tears now. She swallowed, but it did no good. She’d said enough, anyway.
 

He didn’t move to stop her as she headed down the hallway toward the front door, or catch up with her as she crossed the lawn back to the palace. By the time she arrived in her workshop in fresh clothes and a clean face twenty minutes later, her emotions were locked down tight.
 

There would be time enough for that once the ball was over. Once Salvy was well and truly gone from her life for good.

Chapter Twenty-One

Salvadore

He couldn’t believe she’d walked away.
 
He’d almost gone to the workshop, to her room, dozens of times, but every time he sent James to find her, she’d been with people. His Magdalena was nothing if not resourceful, and she was working around the clock.
 

The ball was set to take place in just four days, but as hard as he tried to resign himself to the truth of what he would have to do when the day arrived, the harder his mind fought.

No, not his mind.
 

He drank too much and tried to come up with a way to keep Maggie and to keep his crown, but there just wasn’t a way to make it happen. He couldn’t do what she asked—his father had told him, in no uncertain terms, to leave the Matrigna thing alone, and going against him now would be counterproductive.

Did he give a shit?
 

Yes. As much as he’d embraced the role of the playboy spare prince over the past five years, the truth was, he wasn’t prepared to walk away from the life he’d been born into. Salvy had no idea how to live like a commoner, and despite a first-rate education, he had few marketable skills.
 

There wasn’t much call for spoiled princes who could screw really well. He could also point out tells at a poker table like nobody’s business, but that wasn’t likely to help him, either.

Salvy glanced down at the paper in front of him, frowning at the now weeks old, blurry photograph of himself helicoptering his dick in the Bellagio fountains. Perhaps he could get a job with Chippendales.

That wasn’t the kind of man Magdalena deserved.

He sighed, telling himself for the hundredth time to stop thinking about her like he was going to be a part of her future. Despite the suddenness of her departure, he knew that she was right. He wasn’t the man she wanted him to be, and he never would be, so perhaps it was best to tug off the bandaid now instead of waiting until later.

He drank more, snarling at Etzio when he stopped by to give him tomorrow’s itinerary with Chesapeake and suggested, not so kindly, that he clean up and get something to eat.
 

It was late—nearly morning, he thought—when he found himself flinging open the door to the palace workshop. The room was empty, all of the lights off except the one on her workstation.
 

“Fucking James,” he mumbled. The man must have fallen asleep on the job. Or he had made the decision
for
Salvy that he should leave Maggie alone. “Dick move.”

He stumbled out of the workshop and down the hall to the servants’ quarters, trying to remember which room Maggie had chosen. She hadn’t spent any time there until two nights ago. It took a moment for his foggy brain to pull the answer from his skull, but when he knocked, no one answered.

“Magdalena,” he said, too loudly. “Let me in, or so help me, I’ll break down the door.”

He paused, listening. Not giving a shit how many people heard him.
 

The shuffle of feet gave him a feeling of triumph, but the person who opened the door wasn’t Maggie. It was a disheveled man of about forty, made no less good-looking by the salt-and-pepper hair at his temples.
 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Nunzio, sire.” His eyes were wide. “You’re looking for Maggie.”

Salvadore wanted to punch the man’s face in for being in her room. For saying her name with such tender familiarity. He clamped his teeth shut tight, trying like hell to keep it together.
 

“Yes.”

“She went to get some dinner. I was just leaving some final fitting adjustments for her.”

“That had better be all you were doing.”

The man’s eyes went even wider, and he finally sensed the imminent danger as it radiated off Salvy’s skin. Or he was about to pass out from secondhand alcohol consumption. “It’s not…I’d be more likely to sneak into your room for that sort of thing, if you know what I mean. I mean…Jesus, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

Salvy spun around and headed for the kitchen, leaving Nunzio sputtering apologies. He had been out of line, but it hadn’t been the first time Salvadore had been propositioned by a man. He’d indulged enough women in their fantasies that he was comfortable with other men, even if it personally did little for him.

He nearly fell on his way into the kitchen, grabbing the doorframe to hold himself up. Maggie’s head jerked up at the sound of the commotion, dropping the potato chip in her hand. Her face went pale, her dark gaze immediately wary as she popped to her feet.
 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I’ll go.”

“Oh, it’s
Your Highness
, now?” he sneered, then immediately regretted it. He wasn’t angry with Magdalena, but at the situation. If he was here to beg, or to be honest with her, he was fucking it up already.

Why
was
he here?

He’d wanted to see her. As it had been his entire life, Magdalena was the person he wanted to talk to when everything was shit. She was also the person he wanted when everything was going well, but nothing could have been further from the truth at the moment.
 

“I’m sorry,” he said, catching her gaze and refusing to let go.

“You’re drunk,” she commented. It wasn’t an accusation of the sort he’d heard from Etzio, or from his father or the press. Just an observation. “I wish I was drunk.”

“There’s still time.”

She frowned and sat back down with a sigh. “Some of us have to work again in a few hours.”

He took a moment to study her. The urge to punch something returned—she looked exhausted, but more than that, she looked sad.

He had done that, because he hadn’t been able to pass up the chance to have her, even for a few weeks. He’d fucked everything up, again, because the entire time, he’d known this was how it would end.

She was beautiful, even with the bags under her eyes, and her hair flung over one shoulder in a long braid. No makeup, and dressed in a pair of black leggings and a too-big flannel shirt, he thought he could spend the rest of his life looking at her and never get tired of it.

“I love you, Magdalena. Do you know that?” His voice was rough, as though his insides tried to hold back the useless confession.
 

Pain crisscrossed her features. “Don’t. Don’t say that, Salvy.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Don’t say it especially if it’s the truth.” Tears welled in her eyes. “That’s…why do you want to torture me?”

He moved toward her, wanting to make it better. Wanting to be closer to her, even if she wouldn’t let him touch her ever again. “I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t realize it until I read your journal.
That’s
why I panicked, and after that it was kind of…out of sight, out of mind. But when I walked into that meeting the other day and saw you instead of Gabriel, I was done.”

“Stop,” she whispered, her eyes huge and wet. One hand on her chest as though she’d like to make her heart disappear.

Or maybe that was only how he felt.

“I’m trying. I want… If I could choose you at the ball, I would do it and never look back. You’re what I want.”

Maggie stood up, anger washing off of her again, the way it had in his house a few mornings ago. She walked over to him, her steps controlled and her lips twisted with barely contained rage. “That’s all well and good, but we both know you can’t. So what is the point of telling me any of this? To hurt me?”

He reached out but she sidestepped him. “God, no. I wanted…I wanted to be honest.”

“Well, save it. I don’t want your honesty. I wanted you to be a good and fair ruler, one who cares about his people and doesn’t spend days getting drunk and pouting because he can’t have his way.”

The words, flung like little bullets, stung as they pecked at his skin. He knew her too well, though. She was angry with him, but it was only because she cared, too. “I know you love me, too.”

“What good does it do, Salvadore?” She was shouting now, and the tears were back. Her hands curled into fists, the snap of her eyes saying she’d like to use them to pummel him. “We knew when we started sleeping together that it couldn’t last, and the fact that we have feelings for each other doesn’t change that. You’re a prince. I’m a seamstress. This has always been the way our friendship ends.”

“I know. I just…I don’t know how to let you go.”

“You did it once. You’ll do it again.” Her smile turned sad. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Say you love me.”

They stared at each other for a long time, the sounds of the dishwasher and the blinking of a fluorescent light that needed to be changed pounding in his aching head.
 

“I’m leaving the palace tomorrow, after Elisa’s final fitting. I can’t stay here.” She blinked back tears. “And I need to be home, to help Papa move out of the house.”

“Magdalena,” he rasped before trailing off. No more words came, but really, there was nothing more to say. She was being the strong one. Doing the hard thing.

Which was the way it had always been. He was a coward, and a loafer, and a man afraid to believe in anything at all out of the fear that someone would force to him to stand up for it.

She left. He sat down at the island and stared down at the remains of her sandwich. Grief hammered him, and now he wanted to punch himself in the face. Coming here had been selfish. He had accomplished nothing other than making a fool of himself, and in making her hurt as much as he did.

And to think, an hour ago he hadn’t imagined he could possibly feel any worse.

“Sire?”
 

The word was like a jackhammer to his skull. Salvy frowned, hoping it would go away, but when it prodded him a second time, the prince opened one eye.

It was Etzio.
Figures
.
 

He took stock of his surroundings without moving, quickly realizing the reason it felt as if he’d slept stuffed into a metal trunk was because he was still sitting on the stool Maggie had abandoned hours earlier, his head on his forearms.