“We intend to sex them up a bit.”
As she leaned toward him, her eyes changed from green to black. “My clothing isn’t frumpy. The Easton client is a real woman who wants to feel good in the clothes she wears. She isn’t interested in ‘sexing it up a bit.’ My buyers are—” She cut herself short too frustrated to continue. She bit down hard on her lower lip.
Itchiness scratched his throat as he witnessed Lex struggle with her emotions. “I am sorry, Lex. I am. But this is business.” Massimo wondered how long she could keep up her tough girl persona.
“Who’s designing the garments for you?”
“Jemma Fereti. You met her today at the pool.”
“There were three women at the pool. Forgive me, but I couldn’t tell them apart.” Raising her pointer finger midair, she asked, “The tallest one?”
“Sì, Jemma started with Girasoli after università. We grew up together.” He held his Bellini up to her all knowing finger to toast the notion and then took another sip.
“Uh huh, as expected, your designer is drop dead gorgeous.” Her eyes rolled.
Clara came with the entrees, grouper, still on the bone. She squeezed lemon over the scales and returned to the kitchen.
Lex moved her fish around on the plate, looking as if she’d lost her appetite.
Massimo reached across the table to stroke her hand and console her.
She didn’t pull away or stab him with her fork as he expected, resembling the moment at the pool earlier when he’d held her hand and she looked deep into his eyes. He sensed Lex overcame great obstacles in her lifetime to have made Easton a success in the high stakes fashion world.
“The textiles are vital to you?”
“My entire business relies on them.” She rested her body in the chair. She’d given up.
He stroked her fingers, admiring their softness, hoping she’d relax.
Her once strong grip felt frail and cold against his. Lex’s mind must’ve been preoccupied with many thoughts. Massimo couldn’t imagine. It was a brave test to witness her digest defeat, one he hadn’t expected. It made him uncomfortable.
Lex’s body spoke to him as her face darkened and hope vanished. Tired, she couldn’t continue, turning her torso to the side as a signal she didn’t wish for him to witness her eyes fill with tears. She kept her hand with his.
At first, he’d reached for her to console, not intending to make her cry. “Lex—”
When she glanced at him again, she’d recovered. “My company is all I have.” She squeezed his hand tight.
“Lex, I did not know. I had no idea.” Acquainted with her emotions to a high degree, Massimo felt empathy for Lex. Girasoli for many years existed as his nourishment, keeping his passions alive. Today, he needed more for his business, for his life.
“But you have zero intent on giving me my shipment.” Close to hyperventilating, her shoulders shook, as she gasped for air and mumbled, “Am I right?”
“Sì, I am afraid so. As stated earlier, this is business.” Bella, mi scusi.
Withdrawing her hand from his, she raised her right thumb to collect a fallen tear as she caught her breath. “Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.” Lex wrapped the pashmina tighter around her shoulders. “I’ll ring Goldbaum & Goldstein first thing in the morning.” She crossed her arms, likely not happy with having to go to a different manufacturer.
Massimo hadn’t heard about the Gold’s before. “Are they a new fabric supplier?” I haven’t met Signor Goldbaum or Signor Goldstein. Nice people to work with?”
“Very. Sarah Goldbaum and Hannah Goldstein have been friends with me since college.” Her eyes sparked a challenge he didn’t wish for. “At Columbia University I majored in Women’s Studies and they graduated in—International Law. They were in my sorority.”
“International law?” His tonsils throbbed as if a frog had leapt down his throat. “Who are Sara and Hannah?”
“My lawyers! G and G represent Manhattan’s finest. They never lose a case.”
“Aaugh!” Without intention he stood, enraged. It was impossible to sit. Royal etiquette rule number one, titled Grace. His mother, Elisabetta Giada, Princess of Oro, taught him as a boy. Always walk away from nastiness—never stick around or react. Massimo threw his damask napkin over his plate. He couldn’t manage her meltdown, remain professional and be dignified at the same time. One minute she’d flirt, next second she’d cry, and then she’d threaten. He realized he may not be any better. “If you will mi scusi, dinner is over. Buona notte.”
“Good night to you too,” she echoed, dropping her head between her hands.
He marched away, unsure what else he could do for her. If he stayed, they’d rip one another to pieces. Her lawyers didn’t worry him. Girasoli contracted the best legal counsel money could buy. But would the courts see it his way or hers?
* * * * *
Lex sat at the table, stunned. What had happened? It’d taken every restraint she possessed not to reach over the table and strike the prince. She’d imagined doing it though, several times. How could anyone with such a handsome face be so coldhearted? Such a dickhead. She couldn’t turn this situation around.
The prince didn’t intend to budge. She’d underestimated him. But she couldn’t go home empty handed. She was convinced Birdie would down prescription painkillers with a liter of Tanqueray as if they were Good & Plenty’s. She’d be six feet under next to Eddie by Christmas.
A noise drew her attention.
She looked up to see a familiar face walk into the ballroom.
Roberto gave her a pitying look.
“Signorina Easton, shall I clear your plate?” he asked. “Clara mentioned you didn’t eat much. Dinner tasted unsatisfactory?”
“The food is fine,” she answered. The company is horrific.
He sighed and then asked, “May I help you with something?”
“No. Please give me a minute to collect myself.” She swallowed hard and could feel the tears she’d worked to hold back well up, streaming down her cheeks.
“Per favore don’t cry.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a thin silk handkerchief, and sat down next to her.
Lex took the hanky. “Thank you.” She noticed the Tittoni monogram embroidered on the center. Its lettering scratched her sunburned cheeks as she patted her eyes dry.