Signora Pazzi turned and stared at her expectantly. I have to choose. She decided to act with the confidence the seamstress seemed to expect of her, rifling through the bolts, looking for the fabric that most closely matched the image in her mind. She pulled out a bolt of pale silver charmeuse with only a very slight sheen to it. “This.”
“Beautiful.” Signora Pazzi clapped her hands together again. “Give me an hour and we’ll be ready for the first fitting.”
Beatriz’s eyes widened. “Today?” She hadn’t really planned to strip down to her underwear today. Though she should have expected this after Lorenzo’s enthusiastic endorsement of the seamstress’s speed. And was Lorenzo going to stand there and watch?
It was the dead of winter, and her skin was pallid and sad-looking. And she hadn’t been getting as much exercise now that her dad was gone. Some days it took all her energy just to go out to the stables and ride her horse in the indoor arena. This seamstress was used to dressing models and she was anything but…
“We’ll go find some lunch, and then we’ll come back.” Lorenzo beamed with confidence. If he was gleefully anticipating seeing her almost naked after lunch, he’d be sorely disappointed. She resolved then and there to ask him to wait outside, even if he was paying for this whole adventure.
Her head was still spinning as she walked back down the flights of stairs. “See,” he said, his deep voice startling her from her reveries. “I told you I’d find someone who knows what she’s doing. Steffi says she’s the best seamstress in Milan. She can even run off an exact copy of any designer original just from looking at a photo of it. Not that Steffi would ever order that kind of thing, of course.”
She glanced back to see his cheeky grin. “Thank Steffi for her trouble in finding someone.”
“No trouble at all. Steffi and I both thoroughly enjoy the world of fashion. We’re usually looking for ways to become involved in it.”
“You? I’m surprised.”
“You think that only gay men enjoy fashion?” His gray eyes flashed a challenge.
“No. I suppose not. I guess it’s just not what I expected.”
“You said that people don’t see the real you. Perhaps I have the same problem.” He lifted a brow. “People only see what they expect to see.”
They’d reached the door at the bottom of the stairs and pushed back out into the frosty sunlight. “You have a point,” she admitted. Maybe there as a lot more to Lorenzo Aldobrando than his rather dubious reputation as a wheeler-dealer from a family of shady—if wealthy and established—characters. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. For now.”
He laughed. “I like how you don’t mince words, Beatriz.”
“That’s refreshing too. Most people wish I would mince them more often.”
“I think some hot, freshly made pasta is in order. Does that sound good?”
“It sounds perfect.”
Lunch was wonderful—as could be expected at one of Milan’s finest restaurants, which was only a couple of blocks walk from the atelier. She checked her phone as they waited for their appetizers, and saw that her mom had called. Her mom would have a heart attack if she knew who her daughter was with right now. Most likely she just wanted to know what Darias said about the business cards, but that was hardly an urgent matter.
It occurred to her that she knew nothing about Lorenzo’s family. “Do your mother and father live in Italy?”
His gray eyes darkened. “My father lived on the family estate near Torino but he passed away last year. My mother died sixteen years ago.”
She instantly regretted asking. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not. He was angry at the world since the day she died. Maybe he’s happier now.”
She blinked in surprise. It was hard to imagine being happy that your father was dead when she missed hers so much.
“He was a very difficult man,” Lorenzo said, almost apologetic. “Very demanding. My friends tell me that’s why I’m so driven and why I work so hard. Like I’m still trying to impress him even though he’s dead.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
Humor twinkled in his gaze. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t know how to live any other way. Work hard, play hard, that’s what I was raised to do.”
“My father was all about playing hard. Not so much the work,” said Beatriz with a smile. “He enjoyed life so much. I miss hunting with him.”
“I’d love to go hunting with you.”
“Really?” Beatriz couldn’t quite picture Lorenzo sitting on a horse for hours while hounds sniffed around in the bushes. “Because I haven’t been once since he died. There’s excellent hunting around the lake. In fact that’s the only reason we ever went there.”
Lorenzo leaned in. “I haven’t been hunting in years. My father thought it was a waste of time. He only encouraged me to go on a few hunts because he considered it part of a gentleman’s education, like learning how to sail and play tennis.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn to sail.”
“I keep a small boat in Chiogga. I take it down to the Greek islands at least once every summer. You’ll have to come with me this year.”
Beatriz’s eyes widened. “That sounds amazing.”
His smile caused the most adorable crinkle lines around his eyes. “I think maybe I need to work less, and play more.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan.” Her brother Darias phoned while they were sipping coffee after their meal. She ignored it, and decided to turn her phone right off again. Surely her family could just talk among themselves for one afternoon? They was so used to assuming that she had nothing but time on her hands and was available to run their errands or listen to their minor problems at the drop of a hat.
And right now she was having way too much fun to worry about them. It felt great to step out and spend the day doing something unexpected and exciting—with a man who was turning out to be equally surprising and intriguing.
After lunch they strolled through some high-end boutiques and shared opinions on the season’s looks. Beatriz thoroughly enjoyed being able to share her thoughts about different styles and shapes with someone who didn’t think her ideas were pointless nonsense but who actually understood and could engage in discussion about the finer points of design.
Perhaps people noticed and recognized her, but no one said anything. And there was a secret thrill in being seen about town with such a handsome and dashing man. She noticed that he attracted female attention wherever they went, yet his eyes never wandered. If Lorenzo Aldobrando intended to get her under his spell, it was working.
After about two hours they headed back to the atelier. The buzz from her lunchtime glass of wine had started to wear off, and the nerves—perhaps fuelled by strong coffee—started to kick in.
Her heart thudded as they climbed the stairs, and she tried to visualize her creation made out of fabric, rather than simply pencil and dreams.
The dress was pinned onto a mannequin at one end of the studio, sewn but not yet hemmed or lined. No doubt that came after it was expertly fitted.
She undressed behind a standing fabric screen, and the seamstress brought the dress back there and helped her into it. Signora Pazzi’s careful measuring and expertise had produced a near-perfect fit.
“I should have brought heels,” she murmured when she noticed how the hem dragged on the floor. “Just stand on your tiptoes,” said the seamstress in a conspiratorial whisper. “The dress looks good on you.”
Does it? Beatriz wanted to see herself in the big mirror at the far end of the studio, but that meant stepping out in front of Lorenzo Aldobrando’s appraising gaze. This time he might be critiquing not only her personal appearance but also the artistry of her design.
She drew in a breath—slowly and carefully so as not to put pressure on the seams—and stepped out from behind the screen.
Her eyes flew to Lorenzo’s. He raked his gaze down over her—permissible under the circumstances but st
ill disconcerting—and she watched as a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. His eyes met hers. “Beautiful. The fabric is perfect.” He gestured toward the mirror for her to take a look.
She hardly dared lift her eyes, but when she did she saw herself walking, rather awkwardly on tiptoe, so as not to drag the hem on the floor, with the smooth silvery silk draping over her thighs as she moved.
Damn. It does look good. As she’d hoped, the silk draped elegantly over her form without clinging, and the asymmetry of the neck and hemline added quiet drama that made her look taller and more shapely than she actually was.
She glanced at Signora Pazzi and could almost swear she saw a smile in the older woman’s eyes, even though her mouth was pursed in stern appraisal. “A little tighter under the armpits, I think,” she muttered.
“Perhaps a millimeter or two,” agreed Beatriz, “but overall you cut it perfectly.”
“It’s a magnificent dress.” Lorenzo walked toward her. “And I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Elegant and unexpected at the same time.” His gaze rested on hers for a moment. “Like its designer.”
“Oh, stop.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I feel self-conscious enough already. But, Signora Pazzi, you did a wonderful job. And so fast!”
Signora Pazzi put in a couple of pins under the armholes where the fabric needed to be taken in by a few millimeters. “Are there any other adjustments you’d like me to make?”
“None. It’s exactly as I imagined. You’ve literally made my dream come true.” Beatriz couldn’t stop a goofy grin sneaking across her face as she looked her creation up and down in the mirror. How many of these sketches had she done over the years—five hundred? Maybe even a thousand. And she never expected to see one come to life in silver-gray silk, let alone see it draped expertly over her own body.
Which looked pretty damn good in it, truth be told!
Lorenzo grinned. She could tell he was pleased that his plan was a success. “How long will it take to finish the dress?”
“Another hour for the adjustments, hem and partial lining,” said Signora Pazzi. “It will be ready for pickup by four.”
“Excellent. We’ll go entertain ourselves for a while.”
Beatriz dressed and they headed back downstairs. Beatriz turned her phone back on—she shouldn’t go incommunicado all day—as they stepped out into the crispy, icy afternoon.
“Shall we go to a museum? There’s an interesting exhibit of contemporary textile artists at the—”
Beatriz stared as her phone came to life and revealed that she’d missed twelve calls and had seven voice mail messages. Why would she get so many calls in such a short period? Before she even had time to call her voice mail, the phone rang. Her brother Sandro. This time she answered, nerves already tightening in anticipation.
“Hello?”
“Beatriz! We’re all frantic about you. Mom’s been trying to call you.”
“Why?” The edge in his voice made her anxiety ratchet higher.
“There’s been a…development.” He hesitated. “Something awful arrived in the mail. Why didn’t you answer?”
She swallowed. She didn’t want anyone to know where she’d been today. “I was busy.”
“Who are you with?”
And she certainly didn’t want them to know she was out with Lorenzo. “Is it really any of your business? I don’t question your every movement and quiz you about your companions.”
She regretted how snappy she sounded, but this inquisition made her nervous. She tried to take one single lousy afternoon off to do something that meant a lot to her and now she was being treated like a murder suspect.
“Can you come home now? It was some kind of threat.”
“What?” Terror spiked through her.
“Gibran is investigating, but he wants us all safely under guard here at the palace. I’m here myself, with Serena.”
“Oh.” The fear gripping her chest eased a little. Just a threat. If anything really bad had happened he would have said. But clearly they didn’t like her being off somewhere by herself. As usual she was being treated like the baby of the family when she was actually the oldest of them all. Still, she wasn’t going to leave them hanging. She didn’t want to upset her mom. “I’ll be back soon. Bye.”
Damn. This was the end of her magical afternoon. And she wouldn’t get to see the dress finished, either. Another episode in the anticlimactic life of Beatriz Leone.
“Lorenzo…” Her voice sounded flat. She was letting him down as well, after all he’d done today. “I’m afraid I need to go home right now.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Beatriz found herself on edge all evening. Her father’s and grandmother’s bodies had been stolen from the family graveyard despite the constant presence of armed guards, and Gibran, the security chief, suspected it was an inside job.
Worse yet, her beloved father’s finger had been severed and sent to her mom in the post. What kind of sadist would do such a horrible thing? It turned her stomach to think about it.
If that wasn’t bad enough, everyone wanted to know where she’d been all day and with who—and why—when it was none of their business. The inquisition started as they were about to go in for dinner. Sandro’s new girlfriend Serena was admiring her mom’s gold necklace with an intricate pattern of interwoven vines.
Beatriz loved the necklace and immediately liked Serena all the more for noticing it. “We had a jeweler appraise it three years ago, and he said it likely dates back to the Byzantine era, and may even have belonged to Empress Theodora.” Serena looked appropriately dazzled, and Beatriz was about to share an interesting tidbit about Theodora’s renowned jewelery collection when Darias rudely interrupted her.
“Fascinating, Beatriz, but stop trying to distract us with trivia and tell us where you were all day.”
Beatriz struggled to keep her composure. She did not want them to know she was out with Lorenzo. Darias would tease her mercilessly like he always had on the rare occasions she actually had a date of any kind. “I simply went for a drive.”
“Taking two coffees and a bag of pastries with you,” said Sandro.
“Exactly.” She lifted her chin. “It takes a lot of caffeine and calories to keep me going when it’s this cold.”
“I can relate to that,” said Serena.
Beatriz warmed to her even further. “See? Finally someone else here understands. It’s nice to see you again, Serena.” Then a distraction technique occurred to her. “I hope they didn’t put you in the moonlight room.” The room was famously haunted. Though none of them had ever seen a ghost, their guests occasionally had a sleepless night there.
“Why?”
“Oh, stop it, Beatriz,” said her mom. “You know there’s nothing wrong with that room. It’s one of the nicest. And it’s right next to Sandro’s.”
“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that.” They probably wanted to sneak into each other’s rooms at night. And why not?
Still, her distraction was working. And she suddenly thought of a way to up the ante and get back at Darias for years of teasing all at the same time. Her heart beat faster as she resolved to reveal a secret she’d been keeping for some time now. “But no one can argue that strange things happen in that room. I swear a voice told me to look on top of the big armoire one afternoon, so I pulled up a chair, and found the strangest thing up there.”
“What were you doing in there in the first place?” asked Darias gruffly.
“Oh, it was right before the coronation. I think I was just making sure it was set up to receive guests after Emma moved out.”
“Surely the servants could have taken care of that,” continued Darias, looking increasingly wary. Beatriz felt a rare thrill of victory. It was nice to see her bossy brother on the defensive for a change.
“Aren’t you going to ask what I found up there?” Beatriz lifted a brow.
“I think I know what you found,” said Emma, her voice quiet.
Beatr
iz hesitated for a moment. She liked Emma very much. Still, she wasn’t about to reveal anything they didn’t already know. “I bet you do. And since it’s common knowledge now that my brother paid you to marry him—for one year—it will come as no surprise to anyone here that there was a contract detailing the particulars of the arrangement. That’s what I found on top of the armoire.”
She looked at Darias, who looked appropriately chastened for about half a second. It really wasn’t fair that he should do something so underhanded and end up with such a lovely and sweet wife as Emma. Everything Darias touched turned to gold. She cocked a brow. “The year isn’t up yet.”
Darias was never fazed by her biting humor. He simply put his arm around Emma’s waist and squeezed her close. “Emma and I have long since moved past that. My urgent need to find a wife in time for the coronation proved to be the best thing that ever happened to me.” Then he kissed Emma so sweet and slow that even Beatriz felt her chest tighten with emotion.
He loves her so much, that bastard brother of mine. Why would he begrudge me the same happiness? Maybe she and Lorenzo would hold each other affectionately like that one day, in full view of the whole family.
But only if she didn’t let Darias—or anyone else—crush her budding romance before it even had a chance to blossom.
“It was my fault it was up there.” Emma’s cheeks were now pink. “I should never have brought it here with me. I’m not even sure why I did. And when I moved into Darias’s bedroom after the wedding I forgot it was up there. Then a coronation guest moved into the room and I wasn’t able to retrieve it. When I finally found the time to sneak back in there, it was gone.” She blinked. “I’m glad it was you who found it, Beatriz. I was worried it might get leaked to the press.”
“I’m the very soul of discretion.” Beatriz winked so that only Emma could see her. She hoped that Emma could tell what she was doing. She’d thrown her under the bus but only as a very effective strategy to divert attention from her own activities. She was pretty sure Emma would understand when she explained it to her one day.
The Princess's Scandalous Affair (Royal House of Leone Book 4) Page 4