She flipped through her photos—which were a showcase of how boring her life had become. Pictures of Christmas decorations from last Christmas, fabric ideas for new curtains for Emma and Darias’s bedroom. A bird she’d seen outside in the snow.
At last she found a sketch she’d done for an evening dress. She clicked on it and kept hold of the phone so he couldn’t start scrolling around. “This dress was inspired by my new sister-in-law, Emma. She makes everything look fabulous, but I thought this would drape over her well.” The dress was a bias-cut design with an asymmetrical hem and neckline, and she’d added a necklace to balance the asymmetry. “It’s supposed to be silver. Or gold. I couldn’t decide. Maybe something in the middle.”
Ugh. She regretted rambling on. He didn’t care what color it was supposed to be. He must be cringing inwardly for her and thinking about how to change the subject.
The waiter arrived far too fast with the ravioli and sprinkled them with fresh pepper. Lorenzo still hadn’t looked up from her phone. Her hand was starting to shake from holding it. Exasperated and embarrassed, she pulled it back. So what if he didn’t want to say anything.
“It would look amazing on Emma. You should make it for her as a surprise.” His eyes shone with unexpected warmth.
“Do you really think so?” She put her phone away. “She loves neutral colors, but I thought a little flash would look so gorgeous on her.”
“And I think it’s sweet that you were thinking of your sister-in-law. I heard the story of how your brother basically bought her company for a year. A lot of sisters wouldn’t have been so understanding.”
Beatriz stuck a fork into one of the plump ravioli. “She had her reasons. Her brother is a drug addict, and she was trying to help him. Don’t think I didn’t give her a hard time about it.” She took a bite. The flavor was so exquisite it almost stole her breath—which was a nice distraction from Lorenzo, who no doubt thought he was the most delicious thing at the table. “Emma’s lovely, and so sweet with Mama.”
“Does she like the design?”
“I haven’t showed it to her. I don’t think she’s too interested in fashion. I suspect that left to her own devices she’d wear jeans and sneakers every day. You know how Americans are.”
Lorenzo laughed. “You’re so funny! I can’t believe you didn’t even show her. Has she seen any of your designs?”
Beatriz racked her mind for a second. “No. I just do them for myself. There’s no need to bore anyone else with them.”
Lorenzo stared at her, his gaze hardening. “I’m growing quite exasperated with you, Beatriz. You have a ferocious talent, and you’re not even showing your ideas to anyone.”
“My sister Mari liked it.”
Lorenzo picked up a ravioli and ate it whole. He stared at her the whole time he was chewing. She tried to ignore him by cutting up the rest of her ravioli and eating it slowly, but she was sure that her face must be reddening. His scrutiny was unnerving.
When he’d finally finished his mouthful and taken a swig of champagne, he leaned back in his chair. “I’d like to commission that dress.”
“What?” He startled her so much she almost spilled her champagne, which she was drinking way too fast. “Who for?”
“For you.” His steady gray gaze bored into her.
“Me? It wouldn’t suit me at all. It needs someone more…statuesque. I’m too short.”
“You’re not short at all. What are you, five-seven?”
“Five-six. And I couldn’t carry it off. Besides, the dressmaker we normally use wouldn’t know what to do with it, even if I could find the right fabric.”
Lorenzo smiled. “No, the guy who shortens the hems of your dresses couldn’t pull this off. But my sister Steffi will know of someone. Like I said, we just toured several Milan ateliers. I’ll call her right now.”
Before she could protest he’d pulled out his phone and was talking rapidly in Italian to his sister Steffi, whom she dimly remembered doing a French immersion course in the Loire Valley with one summer.
He hung up the phone with a satisfied smile. “She says Signora Pazzi is the best—and fast. We must plan a trip to Milan.”
“What? That’s hours away.”
“Less than two. And it’s a scenic drive.”
“I’m not sure I can get away.” This was going way too far, too fast. She couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow she was the butt of a joke.
“How’s tomorrow? I don’t have anything all day. We could leave after breakfast and be back by late afternoon.”
She blinked. She didn’t actually have any plans for tomorrow. Or the rest of the week, truth be told. And she’d love to see the inside of a real Milan atelier. Her family had everything made locally so she’d never had the excuse—except during fashion week when everything was about display, not the far more interesting behind-the-scenes stuff.
“I suppose I could. If you’re sure we’ll be back before dark.” She had no intention of telling anyone where she was going. They’d freak if they knew she was with Lorenzo Aldobrando. He wasn’t exactly a suspect in the murders, but her brother Darias didn’t seem to trust him, either.
“On my honor.” He placed a hand on his heart. Strangely, she believed that Lorenzo was a man of honor. Perhaps just because she’d seen him dressed in armor atop a magnificent horse and jousting during the coronation ceremonies. The sight was undeniably impressive—even more so when you knew how handsome the knight was beneath his armor. “We’ll meet here in town and go in my car. We can meet in the same place, on Letissa Street.”
She bit her lip. This was a chance to see one of her own designs come to life. “Okay. I still think you’re crazy, but I’ll do it.”
“Excellent.” Their main courses had arrived, and Lorenzo attacked his food with gusto. “You won’t regret it. And I suspect it will be the start of a new chapter in your life.”
Beatriz inhaled slowly. Beatriz Leone, designer. It had a nice ring to it. Then she remembered her dad’s laughter. Really, Bea? What would people say? He had no respect for fashion as an art and thought it was a silly waste of time.
But he was gone now and wouldn’t even know. And if it didn’t work out—if the dress looked terrible, or the seamstress laughed at her design and said it was impossible, or Lorenzo turned out to be poking fun at her—no one would know. It was her secret. Everyone around here had so many damn secrets, maybe it was finally her turn.
She ate a forkful of pork. It was tender and delicious, as you’d expect at such a fine old restaurant. She was glad that being royal and privileged hadn’t spoiled her for enjoyment of the hard work and expertise of others. And, just for now, she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Thank you, Lorenzo. I’m looking forward to it.”
The next morning, Lorenzo parked outside the stationer’s shop, half expecting that Beatriz would call him with an excuse. He’d canceled a full day of meetings to be here. He’d been so surprised to hear of Beatriz’s secret design aspirations. He could hardly believe his luck that he’d found—and so quickly—a way to become her intimate confidante.
Beatriz was wary and fully expecting him to turn on her. He had to earn her trust and convince her that he was in her corner. He had no plans to bring up the lake property or anything relating to it for the time being. Today was all about soothing her fears and stoking her ambitions. The reward—if he ultimately gained it—would be well worth the time and trouble involved.
He climbed out of his car and scanned the street. To his surprise, Beatriz was already walking toward him, carrying a cardboard cup holder with two cups of coffee and a bag from the pastry shop. She smiled when she saw him. “I brought sustenance. It’s a long drive.”
He took the coffees and pastries from her. “An excellent idea.” He opened the door, and she climbed into the passenger seat of his Audi without a second’s hesitation. Her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled, like someone excited to embark on a great adventure.
He walk
ed around and climbed in, then settled their coffees in the cup holders and peered into the bag of pastries. “Mmm, my favorites.”
“Eat them all. I had breakfast at the palace before I left.” She buckled her seat belt. “The weirdest thing happened in the pastry shop. I ran into my brother Sandro. He never even told us he was coming to Altaleone. Let me just tell my mom he’s in town.”
He listened to her quick phone call, noticing that she gave no clues as to her whereabouts or plans for the day. Then she hung up and turned off her phone. “Okay, now I’m going ghost on everyone. I don’t need them all gabbing about me visiting Milan with you.”
“You didn’t tell them where I’m taking you?”
“No. I didn’t say where I was going or with whom.” Her eyes flashed, and a mysterious smile tugged at her mouth. “Better to keep it a secret for now.”
“Because of me, or because you don’t want them to know you’ll soon rival Miucci Prada in fame and fortune?”
“Oh, stop!” She pulled off her gloves. “But you’re not exactly the most liked and trusted person in my family.”
“Why not?” He barely knew most of them. “They’re not hung up on the old family feud are they? That’s ancient history.”
“I don’t think so. I think it was your repeated attempts to secure that land by the lake. It put Darias and Mama on edge.”
Hmmm. He thought they had so much land they wouldn’t care that much about one remote parcel. Clearly he was wrong. He silently vowed not to repeat the mistake of going through official channels again.
Lorenzo started the engine. “We have an appointment at eleven and my spies tell me the roads are clear between here and Milan, so buckle your seat belt.”
She didn’t look alarmed but followed his instructions, then picked up her coffee. “I’m glad it didn’t snow last night. I was worried something would happen, and we wouldn’t be able to go.”
She was looking forward to it. That warmed his heart—and somewhere else. Beatriz looked gorgeously severe this morning, as usual, in a black wool coat with black slacks and black boots. He loved her looks—bold and striking won over cherubic cuteness every time with him.
But it wouldn’t do to rush things. He was going to need all the restraint he could muster not to rush in and frighten her off. Beatriz was the kind of girl you needed to approach with caution. His best conquests—in business and outside it—had come from careful planning and patient waiting.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to build a bridge over the troubled waters that had roiled between their families for centuries. “I miss Rigo. I have yet to encounter a more fearsome tennis opponent.”
She laughed. “Rigo’s a fearsome opponent in the law too from what I hear. I think he feels he has to be tougher and meaner than everyone so they will take him seriously because he was born a prince.”
“I’m sure you’re right. He’d hate for people to think he was soft just because he grew up in luxury. But no one can argue with his intelligence. Has he ever lost a case?”
“Never. Last time I spoke to him he told me his latest target had settled out of court just to avoid facing him in a courtroom.”
“Do you think he’ll ever move back to Altaleone?” They’d now left the village and drove through snowy fields toward the mountains separating Altaleone from northern Italy.
“No.” Beatriz sighed. “It’s too small for him. New York City is a big enough stage for his grand ambitions. I really should go visit him soon because he never seems to find the time to come back here to visit. I miss his dark sense of humor. Sometimes I think he’s the only one who really understands me.”
Lorenzo’s ears pricked up. “Understands you how?”
She sipped her coffee. “I don’t know. People often think I’m a bitch.” She glanced at him. “When really I’m just socially awkward or something.”
She was testing him. “You’re not awkward at all.”
“Everyone in my family is so easygoing and warm and sociable. I’m usually most comfortable tucked up in bed with a good book. Rigo and I are the ones who seem to set people’s backs up without even trying.”
“I admit I haven’t met all your brothers and sisters, but so far you and Rigo are my favorites.” He winked.
“Obviously you don’t like things too easy.” She lifted a slim brow.
“Easy is often a code word for ‘boring.’ Who wants to ski down the easy slope?”
“Good point.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Beatriz was relieved that the drive was reasonably uneventful. They had a brief wait where an avalanche had temporarily blocked the road on the other side of the mountain, and the snowplows were still pushing the snow around, but after that it was smooth sailing into Milan.
Lorenzo made conversation so easy. His accounts of his travels and his exploits had her laughing so hard that she almost forgot that this man had pursued her, kissed her—albeit only on the hand—then blown her off for six long months.
No sense dwelling on that, though. She was here to see the inner workings of the Milan fashion world and—if all went well—to watch one of her drawings get turned into a real dress. Yes, she was wary that he might try to kiss her.
Or worse, bring up the lake property.
But so far he seemed utterly uninterested in her as either a sexual object or a potential business deal, which was very reassuring.
But if he wasn’t interested in getting her into bed or getting his paws on the lake, why had he invited her out to lunch in the first place?
She resolved to enjoy this experience but not to let her guard down too much around Lorenzo Aldobrando.
Once they arrived in Milan she’d half expected him to take her out for an elegant lunch, but instead they went straight to the atelier. It was up several dusty flights of stairs on the third floor of an old stone building. No sign, no advertising, no glamorous matrons swanning around feeling fabrics between their manicured finger and thumb. Just a big open room with peeling plaster walls, old-fashioned overhead lights and three women—one old and two young, hunched over sewing machines.
None of them looked up as they entered until Lorenzo cleared his throat.
The oldest woman rose to her feet and clapped her hands together. “Signor Aldobrando!” She rushed toward him. “What a pleasure. Your sister told me to expect you.” Then she turned to Beatriz with a big smile on her face…that suddenly froze.
Beatriz sighed inwardly. She knew all the signs. She’d been recognized, and this woman was now paralyzed by the fear of doing something wrong and offending a royal.
Beatriz stuck out her hand. “So nice to meet you, Signora…?”
“Pazzi!” the woman hesitated for a second, then wiped her hand on her skirt and offered it. “Emilia Pazzi at your service, your majesty.”
“Just Beatriz is fine.” She attempted a shaky smile. People had no idea that she found these situations far more awkward than they did. She never seemed to get used to their discomfort or not let it bother her, the way her more easygoing siblings did.
She fumbled in her bag and pulled out her drawings, suddenly sure that they were going to be all wrong and that no one on earth could possibly see how to turn them into a wearable garment.
Signora Pazzi pushed a pair of reading glasses onto her nose and studied them. Her lips moved as she flipped from one to the next. Beatriz had brought the drawing she’d originally shown Lorenzo, and two new ones, of the back and side view.
“Is there enough detail?” asked Beatriz, nervous at the long silence. “Do you think the neckline is too asymmetrical or that there’s too much fabric at the hem?”
Signora Pazzi lifted her eyes from the drawings, pushed her reading glasses up into her salt and pepper hair and turned her steely gaze on Beatriz. “Please take off your coat.”
Beatriz shrugged out of it, and Lorenzo took it from her. She’d worn a simple black cashmere sweater and black trousers. It was risky to strive for style when coming to the fashi
on capital of Europe. She preferred to retreat into safe classics.
The dressmaker looked her up and down, from her shoulders to her waist. Beatriz held herself steady, trying not to show fear. Was Signora Pazzi assessing the dismal smallness of her chest or the thickness of her waist? Or perhaps she could see her shapeless piano legs even through the drape of her slacks? At moments like this any cruel comment casually made in the media came back to haunt her.
Was she going to say something that would humiliate her in front of Lorenzo and make her wish she’d never been stupid enough to come here? Why on earth had she agreed to be the model for her own dress? “If you think it would make more sense to tailor the dress for someone else, I’m totally on board with that.”
Signora Pazzi looked confused. “Someone else? Oh, no. It will be perfect on you. Let me get my tape.”
Beatriz tried not to breathe, or sweat, while the seamstress measured every inch of her body. She could feel Lorenzo’s gaze on her—he thought she was too preoccupied to notice—and it made her hyperaware of every slight twitch of her muscles or even her eyelashes.
“Once she’s taken your measurements she can make you anything,” said Lorenzo. “You could just call up and say, ‘I’d like a hot pink parachute jumpsuit,’ and she can have it ready by that afternoon. Right, signora? Steffi told me she did that once with a pirate costume she needed for a party.”
Signora Pazzi tutted. “Only if I have the materials on hand.” She looked up at Beatriz. “If I have to shop for the materials it takes an additional day.”
“That’s very impressive.”
“I took the liberty of bringing in some fabrics for this dress.” Her language was stilted enough that Beatriz knew she was still a bit uncomfortable around her.
“Fantastic. How thoughtful.”
“Of course I only had Mr. Aldobrando’s description to go on. He said silver and needed to drape well. So I picked up some shantung and some charmeuse.” She jotted down the last measurement, threw her tape around her neck and tucked her pen behind her ear. Then she walked to the other side of the room, where a scarred wood table was piled high with bolts of silver-gray fabric in every shade from dark charcoal to a sparkling white satin.
The Princess's Scandalous Affair (Royal House of Leone Book 4) Page 3