“Principessas do.” He looked up from his paper, half-bored, and gazed at her coolly.
“No one does,” she shot back. Why did he make her feel like she was six years old?
He dropped the paper onto the leather seat of the Rolls Royce with a sigh. “Princess Liliana Cavelli must be as chic and polished as it is possible for any woman to be. She will be the envy of some, the bane of others, and always—” He held up a finger when she would have spoken. “Always she must be elegant and beautiful and a proper representative for Montebianco. She will dine with kings and queens, ambassadors, heads of state, and yes, perhaps even her own American president.”
Lily felt her eyes widen.
“She is the wife of the next king, and the mother to the king after him. She must look the part and she must never, ever bring shame to the Cavelli name—or to her son—by refusing to do so. It is about more than her own desires, after all. It is about duty and honor, and centuries’ old tradition.”
When he put it like that, he made her feel small and petty. She wasn’t used to feeling that way.
“But it seems so extravagant,” she muttered defensively.
“It may appear so now, but you will witness the truth for yourself soon enough. And you would not thank me if I allowed you to be unprepared for the role.”
Lily turned away. Damn him for making her feel like she was the one in the wrong. He was spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on clothing, shoes, handbags, luggage, belts, scarves, coats, and lacy underwear that could be spent on other causes, and yet he made her feel terrible for protesting the expense.
She thought of Danny, of his adorable baby smile and the way his eyes lit up when she came home at the end of each day, and her heart filled with love. Because of this crazy turn of events, her baby would never go hungry, would never do without medicine or a roof over his head or the warmest clothes in winter. He was her entire world. For him, she would wear sackcloth and ashes—or Prada and Gucci.
She despised the idea of accepting so much from Nico and yet she realized she had no choice. Lily vowed in that moment she would teach Danny that money did not make the man. He would not grow up as spoiled and selfish as his father. Somehow, she would make sure he understood.
They didn’t speak again and he went back to reading his paper. Soon, she found herself seated in a posh salon with a team of women hovering over her and one of Nico’s hulking security guards standing by in the corner—yet another reminder her life had changed drastically. She was nobody. Had been nobody. Was she really in danger in a salon? Quite possibly, she supposed. What kind of life would this be, always looking over her shoulder and wondering if danger lurked close by?
A question to which there could be no answer.
Nico waited until work had begun before announcing he had business elsewhere and would return for her in a couple of hours. Lily wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or anxious. She soon realized, however, that Nico’s absence left her with the ability to refuse anyone doing anything with her appearance that she didn’t like
Clothes were one thing. They were impermanent, changeable. But her hair and makeup were another thing all together. Hair grew back, but she wasn’t accepting a cut that wasn’t her. Fortunately, the women were under no orders to transform her into something of Nico’s design.
Once her hair had been washed and trimmed, it was wrapped in some sort of healing hair mask—or perhaps that was masque since she was in France—while two women gave her a pedicure and manicure. A trip to the nail salon had been an indulgence of hers before she’d had Danny. Since he’d been born, she’d not been able to spare any money and she’d forgotten how much she missed it.
When the women were finished and she sat with her hands under a portable dryer, her attention was caught by a woman entering the salon. She had an entourage, and she was easily the most elegant, coolly beautiful woman that Lily had ever seen. She carried a tiny Pomeranian dog in one arm. Sable hair hung halfway down her back, rippling like silk when she turned. Beneath her jacket, she wore vibrant red stilettos with skinny black jeans and a thin sweater that rested mid-thigh. Huge sunglasses looked chic on her, though they would certainly make Lily look like a bug.
That was the kind of woman Nico needed. The kind he wanted her to be. The thought was a little depressing.
The women in the salon flocked to the newcomer, made her comfortable, brought her a delicate little cup of coffee and spoke to her in hushed whispers. A moment later, the woman was on her feet, striding purposefully toward Lily’s chair.
She whipped off the dark glasses, her reddened eyes spearing Lily with a glare. “You are Liliana Morgan?”
“Uh, yes,” Lily replied, too shocked to correct her name. And too horrified. She’d only seen a couple of pictures, but she recognized the woman standing over her so angrily.
“I,” she said imperiously, “am Antonella Romanelli. I believe you have stolen my fiancé.”
Lily swallowed. Oh. Dear. God.
“I’m sorry,” she babbled. “Truly I am.” Did she explain everything to this woman? Keep her mouth shut and hope she would go away? What did one do when confronted by an angry princess?
Antonella propped a bejeweled hand on one lean hip. “Of all the places, yes? Here I am, running from Montebianco to soothe my wounded pride, and you appear. Could the world be any crueler?”
Surprisingly, her eyes filled with tears. Lily found herself reaching for the princess’s arm almost without thought. But what could she say that would help?
Antonella shifted out of reach before Lily touched her. “I have a habit of chasing away prospective grooms.”
She grabbed a tissue from a box on the table and dabbed at her nose. Her gaze moved over Lily, not rudely, but assessing. “How has he chosen you? What have you done to him? Dio, I do not see it,” she said. “Surely a child is not enough to make a difference.”
“I’m sorry for your pain, Your Highness,” Lily said, smarting from the remark and feeling her temper rising in spite of the princess’s obvious distress, “but not everyone is as privileged or as beautiful as you. And my son is none of your concern.”
Antonella laughed, a sweet sound that had no humor in it. “Oh my dear girl, forgive me for insulting you, but you cannot know what you’ve cost me. You cannot know.”
Before Lily could reply, the princess was striding across the room, snapping her fingers and speaking in rapid Italian. She took her dog from an assistant as her entourage regrouped and scrambled to follow her out the door.
Lily numbly watched her progress, a horrifying realization striking her—Princess Antonella was in love with Nico. Did that mean that Nico was in love with the gorgeous princess? Had Lily ruined more than just a treaty and expectations, as he’d described it?
Her stomach twisted. She forced the pain down. She didn’t care if he was in love with someone else. She really didn’t.
She continued to tell herself that for the rest of the afternoon as the women in the salon worked on her hair and makeup. No one mentioned Princess Antonella and the woman didn’t return.
But that didn’t make the knot in Lily’s stomach go away any quicker.
By the time Lily was finished in the salon, she barely recognized herself. Once the treatment had been washed from her hair, it had been blown out into a sleek mass of shiny, silky platinum before being pulled back into an elegant ponytail. Though Lily was no stranger to cosmetics, with a baby to look after she didn’t usually have the time or the money for more than a tube of lip gloss and mascara. Now she’d been shown how to apply a hint of blush and eyeshadow to accent her natural features. Her lips were a pale pink, and her lashes were long and lush.