The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) (23 page)

His stomach tightened. “You mean when I didn’t come after you? After I read the diary?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “You did us both a favor, I see that now. It would have been cruel of you to let me believe things could be the way I’d fantasized when we both know they couldn’t.”

Salvy hated the way she saw herself—not good enough, a commoner—even though he knew that the majority of the upper class in his country could see only the same thing. He didn’t care one whit about her blood, or her lineage. Those were not things that made people good and worthy. She was Magdalena; the only person who had ever bothered to see him as more than a crown. More than a second son who would never be necessary.
 

“And now? You think I’m not being selfish and cruel by having you under these circumstances?”

Her smile turned sad, and when she leaned in to kiss him, it was gentle. Full of longing instead of heat, lazy instead of hurried.
 

“We’re adults now, Salvadore. We both understand what this is and what it isn’t, and you’re not taking advantage of a swoonish young girl who had the foolish idea that she could fall for her best friend.”

The monotone of her voice made him cringe. Did she really believe that things were so different between them now? Was she sure that neither of them would get hurt, that they were in any way more capable of handling this now than they were then?

He’d jumped into sleeping with her because the desire had been overwhelming, and that’s what he did. He took what he wanted when it was offered and discarded the pieces the next morning, or after a week of mornings, if the sex was worth it. Only Valla had lasted longer, and their arrangement contained no emotion other than lust, on either side.
 

This…thing between Magdalena and him felt like a volcano set to erupt. It would cover them both in burning hot lava, and maybe for a while, it would feel like the good kind of hot. But what about after the ball?

Maggie had always been a romantic, even as a child. Her parents had a wonderful relationship, much like Salvadore’s own parents, and he knew that she’d dreamed of love like that. He wanted that for her, and so this would end. He wouldn’t be the person who stole her chance at happiness.

“You never told me what’s bothering you,” he said, trying to maneuver back onto solid ground. “Before.”

“It’s nothing. Just this whole thing with my dad being sick and having to sell the house.” She bit her lip. “We’re going to take the offer. The shitty one.”

“What? Why?”

“They have something on my dad, something he did a long time ago but that he thinks would topple the business if it got out. Plus,” she started, crawling off his lap and grabbing her purse. She reached inside and pulled out a white envelope. “They sent me these.”

His lungs squeezed even before he looked down at the pictures she was holding out to him. They were…compromising, to say the least. They also turned him on a little, and he looked up to gauge her reaction. At least she didn’t look ready to run.
 

“They’ve gotten to the security cameras,” he bit out, anger welling past the other emotions clouding his mind. “My father isn’t going to ignore this, now that we’ve got proof of the blackmail that I can show him.”

“You can’t say anything to the King, Salvy. Think about it. He’ll want to know how you know the cameras have been compromised, and then he’ll know about us. If he doesn’t already.” She was pacing, her arms folded over her chest, expression twisted with nerves. “He’ll ask what they have on my dad.”

Salvy caught her hand. “He won’t care, Maggie. I promise you, your job here is secure.”

Even as he said the words, he wondered if they were true. His father had set this entire thing up to force Salvy to calm down. Sure, the ball had been his idea, but the King probably wouldn’t be able to see how taking advantage of their seamstress counted as growing up.

Would he see it that way? See
Maggie
that way? Hard to tell. His father was perceptive about some things and obtuse about others. He’d always liked both Magdalena and Gabriel, and Nico said the King was aware of Gabriel’s diagnosis and planned to give his daughter every chance to continue, but…

“I believe that you think that, Salvy, but you’ve always had the biggest heart in your family.”

She paused in her pacing, turning to face him. He could see in the determined set of her jaw that she believed what she was saying. Magdalena had always believed in him more than he believed in himself.

“You’ve always been determined to make me into Prince Charming,” he teased, pulling her back into his lap.

“Well, I think you’ve always done fine on the charming front on your own. It’s the responsible and influential part that I know you’ve got in you. Because of your heart.”

She pressed one hand over his chest and kissed him, lazily again, until he whisked her shirt over her head and carried her to the bed. He eventually lost himself in the intensity of his emotions, in the woman underneath him. It was hard because, for the first time, Salvy had to force himself not to think about tomorrow.
                                                                 

Chapter Eighteen

Magdalena

Camilla showing up at the castle came as a surprise. Magdalena had to get permission from security to let her up to the workshop, since she wasn’t on the previously approved list of staff that she’d sent through for approval before the process started, and since she hadn’t had time to start on a dress for the woman, Maggie dragged her feet.

Camilla, for her part, did not take kindly to the hour wait. Magdalena was plenty bristled herself by the time she went to meet her friend at the back door. She didn’t have time for the interruption and this entire process had taken her out of the workshop for nearly an hour—too long. The staff went to lunch thirty minutes ago, which meant she was going to have to skip yet another meal. Maybe one of the others would think to bring her something back from the servants’ kitchen.
 

One could hope. With only a week left until the ball, everyone’s minds were stretched to the breaking point.

She gave Camilla a tight smile when she saw her waiting on the porch, her coat drawn tight around her and the tip of her nose ruddy from the cold. Maggie thought she looked pretty, with her blond curls twisted into a sophisticated knot at the nape of her neck and her blue eyes bright in her pale face.
 

“It’s about time,” she snapped.

“If you had called ahead I could have made sure you were on the visitor’s list,” Maggie replied, biting her tongue to keep from telling Camilla to go to hell. She didn’t even like her; why was she bending over backward to keep her happy?

“I shouldn’t have been kept waiting outside like a commoner, anyway,” she huffed, hurrying past Magdalena and into the hallway. “Don’t they know who my family is?”

No,
Maggie thought.
Barely anyone does and fewer give a shit.
 

She bit her tongue harder. “I haven’t had time to start on a design for you, but if you’ll come into the shop, I can show you the materials we’ve ordered and you can pick from those. Maybe we can do a quick sketch while you’re here, and I’ll take your measurements.”

Her stomach clenched at the contrite tone of her voice. She didn’t have time for this, not at all. There was no time for extra gowns and she wasn’t even sure there would be extra fabric, but she knew Camilla was expecting her help. And the other woman had gone along with the plan to look into Matrigna, although of course that had been motivated by her own problems with the company.
 

“Gee, thanks for carving out so much time for me….” She trailed off as they reached the workstation under the windows, the one Maggie had claimed as her own from the first day of preparations.
 

Maggie stopped too, and felt her jaw drop. A mannequin that she hadn’t put there stood next to the table. What’s more, it wore a splendid,
expensive
gown. The fabric was satin and lace, made of a pale yellow material with cream-colored trimmings. The waist was pulled tight with a corset, and as Magdalena rounded the magical thing, she saw the ties were artfully hidden in the back by the bodice. The hem was decked with more pricey, intricate lace.
 

“Is this my dress?” Camilla breathed, her eyes huge as they took in the masterpiece.
 

Magdalena didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know where the dress had come from, but she certainly hadn’t made it for Camilla—it was the wrong color, for one thing, and the measurements were off. The waist would be too tiny to fit her, and she doubted the other woman’s smallish breasts would fill out the cups.

“Maggie, it’s beautiful!” Camilla squealed, rounding the dress and attacking Magdalena with a hug that squeezed the breath out of her. “You’re such a tease!”

“I…I didn’t…” There were no words. Should she let Camilla have it? It might be possible to make the necessary alterations in time.
 

“What’s this?” the other woman said, plucking a small, square card out of the sash at the waist of the dress.

It was the sight of the handwriting on the outside of the card that brought Maggie around, and all at once, she knew who had ordered the dress and left it here.
Salvy. He wants me to go so badly
,
he’s gone out of his way and ordered this.
 

Her heart swelled and her throat closed at the kindness of the gesture, of the planning it must have taken to have it so perfectly made and delivered to be a surprise.
 

She wanted to rip the card out of Camilla’s hands, tell her to step away from her dress, but fear paralyzed her.
Shit.
What did the card say?

Camilla was already reading it, and ugly red splotches appeared on her chest and neck as she did. When her cold, blue eyes raised back to Magdalena, they brimmed with hatred.
 

“I see. You don’t have the time or money to make my dress, but you have time to order one for yourself.” She ripped up the card, then folded it and ripped it up again, tossing the pieces like confetti. “I should have known. You’ve always been after Salvadore, trying to use your time at the palace and your friendship to get into his pants.”

“That’s not true,” Maggie said, finding her voice as anger flushed her veins. How dare Camilla say a word about her friendship with the prince? She didn’t know anything of the torture that had resulted from it.

Jealousy turned Camilla green, and Maggie wanted to laugh, then spit in the woman’s eye. What did it matter if she was sleeping with Salvadore or if she’d dreamed, a decade ago, of a future with him? Camilla would be the one at the ball, the one with a chance to catch his eye and watch him drop to one knee, a ring in his hand. Not her.

“Yes, I can see how not true it is that you’ve finagled this dress out of the prince, a dress you could certainly never afford on your own. And now you think you’re going to the ball.” Camilla stepped closer, until Magdalena could smell the hummus she’d had for lunch on her breath. “You’re the fucking saddest person I’ve ever met.”

“I think you should leave,” Magdalena said, trying like hell not to reach out and punch Camilla in the face. She deserved it, and the desire to brag about the things she’d been doing with Prince Salvadore every night bubbled to the surface.

It wouldn’t be worth it to confirm Camilla’s suspicions, though. She would definitely take the confession and run straight to the tabloids with it, so the secret needed to remain guarded.
 

“Why don’t you just admit that you’re in love with him? Everyone knows it’s true. Be honest with yourself for once in your life.”

Magdalena’s heart caught in her throat. The words slammed into her like little pellets, forcing her to face head on her feelings for Salvadore, so carefully packaged and put away for all of these years. She couldn’t be honest, not with Camilla or herself. It was too dangerous.

“I care for Prince Salvadore as a friend.” She swallowed. “As I care for Prince Nico and King Alfonso. The Piacere family has been good to my father, and to me.”

“You really are pathetic.” Camilla took a few steps back and studied the dress, her posture exaggerated as she propped her chin on one thoughtful finger. “You know, I don’t think this dress will suit you at all. But maybe we can do something about it.”

All of the blood drained from Maggie’s head as she realized what Camilla was about to do. She wanted to stop her, wanted to tackle her to keep her hands off the beautiful dress, but fear held her still. If Camilla walked out of here feeling as though she had said her piece, had gotten the best of Maggie, then maybe that was where it would end.
 

Her throat squeezed around her heart as she watched Camilla reach for the delicate lace trim that skimmed the sweetheart neckline. The bitch ripped it loose in one smooth movement, the sound of the tiny crystals that embellished the top bouncing off the tile floor like drops of rain.