The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) (30 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Salvadore

The ball was carrying on as expected. Everything was perfect, from the swirling waltzes to the hanging lanterns casting a glow over the ballroom. The guests and staff looked stunning in their formal wear, like a throwback to a different age. Elisa’s Indian-inspired pantsuit had been the talk of the room, and for once, his niece seemed to bask in the attention instead of running from it.
 

The woman in his arms, the daughter of a baron set to inherit the family’s title, smiled up at him as they danced. She was beautiful, with shining blond curls and giant blue eyes. She was light on her feet but terribly dull; Salvadore struggled to remember her name as the music wound down.

Still, she might be the best choice he’d met. At least she had some confidence about her. The others had tittered like fools and struggled to look him in the eye. One girl had nearly fainted. Ridiculous.

“Thank you for the dance,” he told her, his voice stiff and formal as his eyes swept the room. He was looking for Magdalena, had been looking for her all night even though he knew that she wouldn’t come. She’d said she didn’t want to be here, and they both sort of agreed that nothing good could come of it.

Still, after he’d done what she asked and stood up for the people against Matrigna, he had thought she might come. That he would be able to apologize for his cowardice, at least.

The blonde woman—god, what was her
name
—faded into the crowd. Salvadore turned toward James, who had been at his side keeping track of things all night. “Which one was that?”

“Camilla Ragno, sire. Daughter of Duke and Duchess Ragno.”

“Thank you.” He felt exhausted, and the dance would go on for hours yet. “I guess it’s time for the next one.”

“Actually, the King has requested an audience.”

Salvy’s stomach sank like he’d swallowed a brick. He’d managed to avoid his father for days, but with his involvement in the Matrigna situation all over the news, he’d expected the summons before now, actually. “Lead the way to the gallows, my friend.”

James made a face. “I never knew you to be so melodramatic.”

“You must not read the papers.”

The guard made no response to that, and led Salvadore from the dance floor, pausing to tell one of the official pages to make an announcement that the prince would return in short order. The proclamation was greeted by a chorus of boos as Salvy made his way to the box his father was using to survey the proceedings.
 

King Alfonso looked lonely. The thought struck Salvadore out of nowhere and he felt sorrow for his father, and now, after losing Magdalena, a sort of kinship. “Where’s Nico?”

The King glanced over, his expression tired. “He’s gone to dance with Elisa, since she’s been begging for the better part of an hour.”

“That should be an excellent photo op.”

“Sit down, son.”

Salvy wanted to remain standing. Sitting would wrinkle his impeccable suit, the one that brought out the blue of his eyes and that Magdalena had made for him, but the sternness in the King’s voice forced him into a cushy chair.
 

He prepared himself for the lecture, and was going over the justification he’d rehearsed in his head for the past couple of days so intently that he almost missed his father’s actual words.

“I’m proud of you, Salvadore.”

“I’m sorry, what?” The sentiment almost sounded like a foreign language. It wasn’t as if the King had
never
said those words, but it had been a good long while.

“I’m proud of you for going ahead with what you thought was right for the people of this country, even though both your brother and I weren’t sure. You saw injustice and you took decisive action. The people are thrilled, they’re grateful, and most importantly, a predatory company has been sidelined.”

“I, uh…thank you, sire.” He wanted to tell him that it was Magdalena who had inspired the change, or at least pushed him farther along, but the confusion over the conversation stalled his thoughts.

“You behaved like a Prince of Cielo these past several days. One I’m proud to call my son, and one the people are happy to embrace.” The King cleared his throat, his blue eyes gentle as they gazed out over the ballroom, then wandered back to land on his son. “You have proven to me that you are ready to take your rightful place at my left hand, Salvadore. So, as to your previous request, I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to choose a bride tonight if you don’t want to.”

“Sire?” It was all too much to process.

“You’re my son, and I want you to be happy. That is the real reason that I called you home, and why I asked for you to come to a decision about your life. You may have convinced yourself otherwise, but I have loved you all of your life. And the way you were living wasn’t making you happy.”

“No.” Salvadore found it easy to admit after these past couple of weeks; after he had actually
been
happy. For too short a time, but now that he knew what it felt like, he had no desire to argue.

“You have seemed happier since you’ve been home, since you’ve been working with Chesapeake, and your brother thought that things were on the right track. But watching you tonight…” He trailed off, scratching his bearded chin. “You do not seem happy. Marriage is not something to be entered into any other way, regardless of the manner of choosing a bride.”

“So, I can keep my crown if I don’t choose someone tonight?”

“That is what I am saying, yes. People will understand. They see the changes in you.”

“Father…” Salvadore swallowed, unsure whether to push his luck. Unsure whether it would make any sort of difference now that he’d blown things with Magdalena, anyway. He had to try. “Father, if what you say about my wanting to be happy is true, I wonder if I might…if I could ask you something.”

“You can ask me anything, but I make no promises on giving the response you’re hoping for.”

They both smiled, because it was the answer Salvy’s mother used to give to the same question. They basked for a moment in their shared love, their shared loss, and then Salvy took a deep breath.

“It’s about Magdalena Rossi,” he started.

Before he could say any more, his cousin Luca strode through the curtains at the back of the box, his face a dark, twisted mass of thunderclouds.
 

“Luca,” King Alfonso frowned. “I don’t believe I asked to see you.”

“No, but this is the royal box and I am still a royal, am I not?”

“For now,” the King said quietly. The menacing undercurrent in his tone rammed against Luca’s anger and created a tension in the space that had Salvy getting to his feet. The King did the same, but their posturing didn’t cow Salvy’s conniving cousin.

“I wanted to talk to Salvadore about what he’s done.”

“Which time?” Salvy asked lazily, falling back into his old bravado with ease. It was the best way to deal with Luca, who drew power from intimidation.
 

“You know what I’m talking about—how
dare
you interfere with a local business without any proof of wrongdoing?”

“Matrigna? Why do you care?”
 

It only took a couple of breaths for Salvy to guess exactly why—the access to the palace security cameras, the vast knowledge of family business, the desire to buy up all of the private landholdings in the country.
 

“Because you were behind it,” he stated, not a question at all.
 

The King startled, one eyebrow shooting up as he turned an accusing glare on his nephew. “What? Is this true, Luca?”

Luca Piacere ignored the King, a dangerous move but one he had gotten away with on more occasions than he should have, and stepped toward Salvadore. “You think that you’ve done the right thing and everyone is going to see you as some kind of fucking hero now, is that it? You think the King is going to let you marry who you want, regardless of what’s proper, and still keep your place in line for this crown? Think again, cousin.”

Salvy strove for calm, to keep every reaction off his face, while his heart begged him to punch the shit out of his cousin right then for daring to know a thing about his relationship with Maggie. A sideways glance toward his father revealed a curious expression on the King’s face.
 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Salvy told Luca, even though he had been on the verge of asking his father just that.
 

“I’m talking about how Magdalena Rossi is the only reason you did all of this to begin with—to let that old, dying father of hers keep his reputation and his shop, and so that she’ll be able to stay and take care of him, despite the fact that she spent the past two weeks fucking you.” He pressed his lips together, madness and hate glittering in his eyes. “Despite the fact that she’s the arsonist who burned down the Matrigna offices. A petty criminal. That’s who you would have this crown throw their lot in with, is it?”

“Salvadore, is this true?” King Alfonso asked, his eyes wrinkled around the edges.

Salvy didn’t know how to respond. He could barely contain his rage over Luca’s accusations long enough to consider the fact that Maggie had hid something so huge from him…if his cousin was even telling the truth.
 

He took a moment and thought about how Magdalena would want him to respond—how a prince that people were proud of would handle this moment.

He drew himself up to his full height. “Luca, I don’t think you’re in any position to cast stones. You were running a sham real estate company that was blackmailing citizens and robbing them with low prices. You lied to your King about your interests, and we can only guess what you intended to do once you’d amassed the largest land holding in Cielo.”

“You can’t prove any of that,” Luca said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “I
can
prove what Maggie did. Which is why you’re going to give away your place in line. You’re going to abdicate, tonight, or I’m going to make everything I have on her public.”

Silence fell over the box, and it stung. His father did not come to his rescue, despite the things he’d said only moments ago. Maybe he figured that he didn’t need to—that Salvy wouldn’t agree, regardless of what would happen to Maggie.
 

It would make sense, for the King to think that, but he didn’t know the depth of Salvadore’s feelings. He didn’t understand the root of what had caused the changes in his son, or how far he was willing to go to protect the woman who had believed in him so much that he had begun to believe in himself.

Then, like an angel sent straight from heaven, Maggie was there.
 

All three men turned to stare at the woman at the top of the stairs, wearing a flowing, moss-green gown that skimmed the red velvet runner. Her breasts, barely contained by the bodice, heaved with nerves as her honey brown eyes scanned the room with a purpose he knew well—because he had done the same thing during every dance, hoping to see her.
 

Without another word, Salvy left the royal box and headed for Magdalena.
 

She had come. She wanted to see him, and no matter what he had to do at the end of the night, he would be the man she deserved.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Magdalena

She found it hard to breathe as she looked out over the room of people she’d always thought were better than her, and not only because of the insane corset lacing her into Juliet’s dress.

The frock was beyond anything she could have imagined would be stored in the attic of one of her father’s oldest friends, but when Juliet had confessed that Gabriel had been the one to make it for her decades ago, on a night when she attended a ball of her own, it had made sense. Her father had not risen to the position of the royal tailor by chance—he had been a brilliant designer in his own right. The reminder of his skill had only made the recent changes in him more acute, and the fact that she wore one of his greatest creations felt bittersweet.
 

Amalia had done her hair and makeup, promising that she had taken a bunch of theatre classes in the States that made her up to the task. Maggie had worried she’d end up looking like someone on their way to debut in a production of
Cabaret
, but her mistrust had amounted to nothing. Amalia had made her look as if she belonged in this room full of beautiful women vying for the hand of a prince, even if she truly did not.