have to spend nearly all of the next three weeks at the palace. Her father’s shop wouldn’t be big enough to handle the load; the rooms set aside as a workshop at the castle would be a much better fit. That meant pushing the majority of the orders they had pending, and declining orders from all of the ladies who would be desperate to attend a ball at the behest of the King.
A ball. Maggie’s lips twisted. Why on earth would the Piaceres think that was a good idea in the current economic climate? It would cost a fortune, and the people they ruled were losing their homes to a predatory real estate mogul at an alarming rate, alongside high unemployment and a dismal exchange rate.
She started her car and headed toward home, her righteous anger now tamping down her ridiculous hormonal reaction to Prince Salvy. Perhaps she should accept that her body would never get the memo from her head on that man, because if she was going to spend weeks in his company, she would have to find a way to deal with it.
You’re not sleeping with him, or kissing him, or letting those damnable blue eyes talk you into anything remotely sexual. You’re not like those other women, swooning over his abs and his title.
That was true. She had never loved Salvadore because of those things. She had fallen for his kindness, his sharp mind, and his willingness to read hers. Salvy had been the one to nurse a baby rabbit into adulthood when Nico deemed it a worthless cause. He’d been the one to hold her hand while she got stitches in her knee.
For those other women, the crown was all that mattered, but to Maggie, it had always been the thing that she knew would take him from her.
By the time she’d gotten home, the places where he’d touched her were only tingly, not on fire. Progress. She tossed her keys and picked up the creamy invitation from the palace, then went to find her father.
He was awake and in the shop, sitting in his favorite work chair with a half-made dress on his lap. His hands were trembling and idle as they rested atop the emerald green satin. The sadness coming off him made it hard to breathe, and Maggie dropped to the ground at his feet.
“Hey, Papa. We have trouble.”
“What else is new?” he mumbled, still staring at the dress. Maggie saw that he’d snagged the delicate fabric with a bad stitch but didn’t comment.
Instead, she ripped open the royal seal on the back of the envelope and extracted a thick, expensive card stock printed with the same golden swirl as the address. Her mind went blank as she read it, and the pieces of the puzzle Salvy had failed to give her clicked into place.
His Royal Highness King Alfonso Piacere extends the following invitation to all available ladies in Cielo:
The Royal Family is hosting a formal ball, to take place over three days at the end of November at the palace in Arcobaleno. The purpose of which is for Prince Salvadore Andrea Piacere to choose for himself a bride befitting his station.
You are cordially invited to join the festivities, to include feasting, dancing, and on the third day, a royal wedding. Please note that the dress is formal and that accommodations will be provided.
“What is it, bella mia ? You look as though that piece of paper has spit in your eye.”
It took Magdalena another moment to gather herself. Now that she’d read this smarmy invitation, the lust in her blood receded completely to make room for her growing disgust. Not only a ball, but a party to choose a bride ? Were they serious ?
Other phrases from the invitation danced in her mind, namely the not-so-subtle reminder that only ladies of certain birth would be eligible to…to what? Degrade themselves for a chance to be a princess? Enter into an arranged marriage with a man who would surely have no intention of turning away from his countless mistresses?
She crumpled the invitation in her hand and tossed it into the fireplace, the second time that week that she’d chucked
A ball. Maggie’s lips twisted. Why on earth would the Piaceres think that was a good idea in the current economic climate? It would cost a fortune, and the people they ruled were losing their homes to a predatory real estate mogul at an alarming rate, alongside high unemployment and a dismal exchange rate.
She started her car and headed toward home, her righteous anger now tamping down her ridiculous hormonal reaction to Prince Salvy. Perhaps she should accept that her body would never get the memo from her head on that man, because if she was going to spend weeks in his company, she would have to find a way to deal with it.
You’re not sleeping with him, or kissing him, or letting those damnable blue eyes talk you into anything remotely sexual. You’re not like those other women, swooning over his abs and his title.
That was true. She had never loved Salvadore because of those things. She had fallen for his kindness, his sharp mind, and his willingness to read hers. Salvy had been the one to nurse a baby rabbit into adulthood when Nico deemed it a worthless cause. He’d been the one to hold her hand while she got stitches in her knee.
For those other women, the crown was all that mattered, but to Maggie, it had always been the thing that she knew would take him from her.
By the time she’d gotten home, the places where he’d touched her were only tingly, not on fire. Progress. She tossed her keys and picked up the creamy invitation from the palace, then went to find her father.
He was awake and in the shop, sitting in his favorite work chair with a half-made dress on his lap. His hands were trembling and idle as they rested atop the emerald green satin. The sadness coming off him made it hard to breathe, and Maggie dropped to the ground at his feet.
“Hey, Papa. We have trouble.”
“What else is new?” he mumbled, still staring at the dress. Maggie saw that he’d snagged the delicate fabric with a bad stitch but didn’t comment.
Instead, she ripped open the royal seal on the back of the envelope and extracted a thick, expensive card stock printed with the same golden swirl as the address. Her mind went blank as she read it, and the pieces of the puzzle Salvy had failed to give her clicked into place.
His Royal Highness King Alfonso Piacere extends the following invitation to all available ladies in Cielo:
The Royal Family is hosting a formal ball, to take place over three days at the end of November at the palace in Arcobaleno. The purpose of which is for Prince Salvadore Andrea Piacere to choose for himself a bride befitting his station.
You are cordially invited to join the festivities, to include feasting, dancing, and on the third day, a royal wedding. Please note that the dress is formal and that accommodations will be provided.
“What is it, bella mia ? You look as though that piece of paper has spit in your eye.”
It took Magdalena another moment to gather herself. Now that she’d read this smarmy invitation, the lust in her blood receded completely to make room for her growing disgust. Not only a ball, but a party to choose a bride ? Were they serious ?
Other phrases from the invitation danced in her mind, namely the not-so-subtle reminder that only ladies of certain birth would be eligible to…to what? Degrade themselves for a chance to be a princess? Enter into an arranged marriage with a man who would surely have no intention of turning away from his countless mistresses?
She crumpled the invitation in her hand and tossed it into the fireplace, the second time that week that she’d chucked
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