The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) (11 page)

“Fine. Is that all?”

“Lovely to see you again, Magdalena. Say hello to your father for me, won’t you? I mean, since he’s not here and all.” The gleam in Luca’s eye said he knew exactly why Gabriel had sent his daughter, and that he’d made the decision to use his own tailor accordingly. “And Salvadore, do permit me to welcome you home, with the explicit wish that you leave again as soon as possible. With your new bride, of course.”

His cousin left, and it took a full count to ten before Salvy unclenched his fist and turned around. Maggie was sitting at the workstation sketching on large pieces of paper, her back to him. He wanted to go over and touch her shoulder, to make sure she was all right, but he knew that she was. She had never needed protection, not from him or by him, and in his gut, he knew she probably didn’t appreciate the recent display.

“Magdalena?” he growled. She paused, her shoulders rigid, but then spun around to face him. The wariness was back in her eyes and he forced his gaze to remain there. “I’m sorry. You are not a plaything. You are a dear friend—a friend that I find myself ridiculously attracted to, but a friend, all the same—and the last thing I want is to make you feel as though you’re not valuable. Quite the opposite.”

Emotions warred on her pretty face, moving too quickly to pin down. “Thank you, Salvadore.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a room with someone who told me the truth.” He smiled at her, a strange feeling in his chest when she smiled back, hesitantly. “So thank
you
.

Chapter Eight

Magdalena

Magdalena couldn’t stop thinking about the way it felt when Prince Salvadore looked at her as if she was the only woman in the entire world. It was like the room disappeared outside of his sharp, blue gaze. The heat of his hand on her lip, the salty taste of his thumb, lingered while she did her best to focus on the conversation Luca Piacere insisted on having when she ran into him in the kitchen before lunch.

She’d been digging around for something sweet but hadn’t been brave enough to make the first cut in what looked like a scrumptious banana cream pie.

“How is your father, Mags?” His voice was as cultured and smooth as his cousin’s, but without warmth. The implication was clear enough—he’d brought up her father in that suggestive manner twice now, which made it clear enough that he knew the truth of their situation.

She shouldn’t be surprised. Niccolo Piacere was the dutiful royal, Salvy the playboy. Luca…he was a loose cannon, as unpredictable as he was threatening, and no one doubted that he was willing to go to any length to get his hands on King Alfonso’s crown.

Maggie shot the severely handsome prince a look that left no question how she felt about the use of the long-ago nickname—she’d hated it as a girl, and she hated it now. To her, it had always sounded like ‘rags.’ “He’s fine, Your Highness.”

He tipped his head to one side, the sunlight catching on his day-old scuff. His hair was lighter than Nico and Salvy’s jet-black by several shades, and Luca was shorter—barely six feet—but all of the Piaceres had sharp jawlines and a presence that could be intimidating.

“That’s not what I’ve heard. I’ve heard you’ve been taking on more and more of his work.”

“That’s normal, right? For the child to take more of their father’s work as he ages?”

“Perhaps. I just can’t help but wonder why Gabriel hasn’t come to my uncle Alfonso himself, though. Shouldn’t it be the crown’s choice, who they use as their tailor?”

Cold fear gripped the back of Maggie’s neck, but indignant anger tumbled right on its heels. She folded her arms and looked Luca straight in his Piacere blue eyes. “King Alfonso always has a right to choose his tailor. For this event, Prince Salvadore requested my father, and has agreed to let me oversee the costumes.”

“Yes, and is it any wonder why?” Luca murmured, his gaze dropping again to her chest.
 

Magdalena fought the urge to cover herself, but made a mental note to run home later and pack a few things that made her more comfortable facing Luca.

And maybe Salvy, too. He looked at her like he could see her naked, but maybe even a Hazmat suit couldn’t change that.
 

She glared at Luca. She didn’t need Salvy here to fight her battles, even if it had warmed her all the way to her toes to hear him stand up for her in front of his gross cousin.
 

“I resent your suggestion. My father has served this crown with loyalty and discretion for longer than I’ve been alive, and I’ve done the same. I’m more than qualified to design a few formal outfits.” She shoved a page of notes into his hand, one that would help his own tailor complete an outfit that would match the theme of the rest of the royal family. “If you want to take this up with the King, I can’t stop you. But I do take issue with you questioning my character.”

Luca just smiled, the expression on his face one that said he found her anger adorable. In the sort of way that made him want to slap her. “Forgive me. When I walk into a room and find the royal seamstress sucking on my cousin’s fingers, my mind just goes toward the cynical.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Well, I know you’ll take care to ensure things don’t get out of hand. Even the King would be hard pressed to explain how he could possibly employ one of Salvadore’s many conquests.” He reached out to pat her cheek, a little harder than necessary. “How would that look, after all?”

Luca left and Maggie blew out the breath she’d been holding. She counted to ten in an attempt to cast off her irritation, but as she summoned the courage to cut herself a slice of that pie, then grabbed a box of crackers for good measure, dread itched at her palms. Luca was a lot of things, but at least about this, he wasn’t wrong.
 

She couldn’t ruin her father’s reputation because she lost complete control of her hormones whenever the second prince was in the room. Not only that, but he had done nothing to prove to her that he was different than she believed. That he regretted how he’d treated her all those years ago.

He had said that he valued her, and Maggie felt in her heart that he didn’t truly see her the way he saw the other women who pranced at the edges of his life, but how could she be sure?

A frown tugged at her lips as she made her way through the halls and back to her workshop. She needed to get started on the sketches for the royal family, and her encounters with Salvy were making it hard to focus. She didn’t like the man Salvadore had become, or the little regard he paid to the responsibility of his crown. How he behaved. How he treated women across the world like toys he collected and discarded, or at best, set in a trophy case where they would gather dust as spectacles to be viewed.

For some reason, when he was close enough to touch, she couldn’t remember any of that.

She would have to find a way to remember that she would cost her father’s business their biggest account if she couldn’t control herself, and probably her own future in Cielo, as well.

Time flew as she focused on her favorite part of the process—the drawing. Maggie loved creating clothes, and even though it was silly, having free rein to design dresses and suits for an actual royal ball with serious throwback appeal overrode her thoughts about how she felt about having Salvadore Piacere back in her life.

The dreams of her own clothing line, of elite boutiques around the world, might have been set aside because of her father’s illness, but her passion remained.

“Magdalena!” Niccolo, the crown prince of Cielo, boomed as he stepped into her workshop.
 

A smile found Maggie’s lips as she pulled her concentration from the drawings and spun around. She hadn’t seen Nico since she’d last spent time at the palace, and studying him for a quick moment now, thought he looked tired.

“Hello, Your Highness. It’s good to see you. Thank you for coming on short notice.”

“Well, Salvadore left us all little choice in the matter, but the nice part is getting to say hello to you. You remember Elisa?”

The small girl standing beside him tugged her hand from his grasp and folded her arms over her chest as she studied Magdalena. Her eyes were blue, but a lighter shade, and her honey-gold hair had come straight from her mother. Maggie had met the princess a few times and, like everyone else in Cielo, had fallen in love with the woman. It was a shame, what had happened.

Elisa, for her part, had a reputation as a troublemaker. The petulant twist of her lips said she’d earned it, and Maggie tried to prepare herself for the fitting. She had little experience with small children.

 
“She was a toddler the last time I saw her but yes, of course.” She smiled at the girl, who didn’t return it. “I’m Magdalena. I’ve known your father since we were children.”

“So?”

Nico frowned. “Be polite, please.”

“Really, it’s no bother.” Maggie gave him her best reassuring smile. The little girl might be a holy terror, but she was a princess and, at the moment, the sole second generation inheritor of the crown.

“It is to me.” He nudged his daughter.
 

“I’m sorry, Miss Magdalena.”

“It’s quite all right. We all get a little cranky after being stuck in school all day, right?”

“Oh, she wasn’t in school,” Nico said, his frown deepening. Elisa’s cheeks turned pink and she avoided looking at either her father or Maggie. “She was recently suspended—again—for fighting.”

“Oh?” Maggie raised her eyebrows and turned away to hide her smile. Poor Nico. The girl was a handful. “Did she deserve it?”

“He,” Elisa said, a little too much pride in her small voice. “And why would I hit someone who didn’t deserve it?”

“An excellent point.” Nico didn’t seem amused, so Magdalena grabbed the sketches she’d done for the girl’s ball dress and attire as flower girl at Salvadore’s wedding.
 

Her stomach twisted at the thought, and Maggie decided then and there—no matter what—she would not go to that stupid wedding and watch Salvy tie himself to some money-hungry tramp. Even if it turned out to be Camilla’s hand he put the ring on.
 

Especially
then.

She tried to put it out of her mind as she faced Nico and his daughter. “What did he do?”

“He was saying mean stuff about my uncle.”

“All of which was true, I’m sure,” Nico said, his eyes apologizing.
 

“It’s not okay,” Elisa argued in a tone too sophisticated for a six-year-old. “Do
you
think it’s okay for people to say mean things about a prince?”

She was asking Maggie, who cleared her throat. “Well…no, I guess not. I think that, in general, people should mind their own business.”

Nico groaned. “Please, don’t encourage her.”

Magdalena winked at the girl, who came closer to smiling than she had since she’d entered the room. “Do you want to see what I was thinking of making you for the ball?”

Her little face twisted. “Is it a dress?”

“Yes. Why, don’t you want to wear a dress?”

“Not really,” she sighed. “But I’m used to it.”

“Well, maybe we can do something else.” Magdalena didn’t know what—she couldn’t exactly imagine a princess at a ball who didn’t wear a beautiful gown, but maybe it was time that changed. If that’s what the princess wanted.

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “I could wear pants?”

Maggie looked toward Nico, her eyebrows raised in a silent question.
 

He shrugged and nodded. “My brother may be forcing us all to play dress-up for this charade of a marriage proposal, but he can’t force us to be uncomfortable as well, can he?”

Elisa squealed, truly happy now. Magdalena couldn’t help but wonder how much of her attitude came from people always either telling her what to do or assuming they knew what she wanted.
 

Maggie crouched down and showed her the sketch she’d done of an ethereal blue dress, in the vein of classic Cinderella. “Okay, so what if we keep the idea but change the design? You’ll still look beautiful, but you can wear pants.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, now stand up here so I can measure you. You must have grown three feet since the last time we made clothes for you.”

She giggled, and Nico shot Magdalena a grateful look, followed by a mouthed
thank you.
 

Maggie smiled and got down to business, making quick work of Elisa’s measurements before turning to raise an eyebrow at Nico. “Now, do you think you’ll be okay with what I’ve come up with for you, or would you prefer a dress?”

Elisa laughed again and Nico shook his head. “I trust you, Magdalena. How about we double-check my measurements and then I get the kid back to her bedroom, since she’s grounded.”

“You’ve got it. Although, I’m pretty sure standard prison grub these days contains ice cream.”

“It’s November, Miss Magdalena,” the girl informed her, one hand on her hip. Sass oozed from her expression, from the sparkle in her eye, and Maggie thought that if Nico ever managed to fall in love again, that person would have a bigger task in getting Elisa to fall for her than the prince himself.