Flipping the fabric over, Lex stitched the cotton layer. “What do you mean? Did a number on him?” She glanced up from the sewing machine.
“Massimo hit puberty sooner than most boys his age. Picture a twelve-year-old as tall as Massimo is now. Ohh—he was so very sexy for an Italiano.”
“I bet.” Lex’s pussy about dripped thinking about Massimo touching her earlier in the morning. His words swirled over her hangover. “Do you not think your clit would be swollen this morning from my cock giving it the attention you deserve?”
Jemma kept on talking. “His mother, Princess Elisabetta Giada, died a while back. His padre ran the palazzo with whores and mistresses. One and all naked, having sex, and—” Her eyes widened and she stopped herself from continuing.
“Uh huh. Kinda like what I walked in on—with you, Luigi and Rocco?”
“No. Massimo as he grew up never paid them any mind. And he still doesn’t, Lex, please. Anyway—Massimo dated a much older woman as a kid.”
She kept sewing. “Massimo told me about Marcella last night. She’d been hired by his padre to seduce him.”
“I’m surprised. He’s never been one to discuss the past.” Jemma’s face twisted in response.
“How did Massimo and his padre make amends afterward?” Lex’s father did some unforgiveable things in his lifetime, but they were never directed toward her with the intention of causing harm, as this was to Massimo. It’s one thing for a father to hire a hooker for his adult son. It’s another to hire an adult female to seduce a minor leading him to love her.
“They didn’t.” Jemma’s eyes filled up with tears. “Scusa. It breaks my heart when I think how Massimo grew up. Many wonderful gifts but without any love,” Jemma sobbed.
She reached across the table holding Jemma’s hand. “Are you okay?”
Jemma shook her hand away.
Lex continued to stitch while Jemma collected her emotions.
“Sì sì.” Jemma lifted her pointer fingers under her long eyelashes to prevent a mascara run. She fanned her eyes with her hands then went back to sewing. “Massimo came to Milano to study. Years later, he earned a doctorate in business administration to avoid coming home to the Isola di Girasoli. He’d return to the palazzo when the king traveled. Massimo’s padre kept a mistress in the States while married to Massimo’s mother. She occupied his free time.” Jemma stood, taking the first completed garment and slipping it over the body form. She nodded in approval.
Impressed, Lex complimented, “Your design is amazing, Jemma.” She pulled out her camera and snapped a picture. “The tweak to the garment is minor but it made a great improvement.”
“My darling, the change is significant, no? Amore, all thanks to my new American friend. I love it.” Jemma stood next to the body form and hugged it to take a photo.
“Cheers!” Lex snapped a picture.
Returning to her seat and working faster, she said, “So—King Umberto.”
“Yes?”
Jemma sewed less and gossiped more. “He withdrew funds from Isola di Girasoli royal trust, moving to the States for his retirement. When Elisabetta gave birth to Massimo, his mistress in New York gave birth to Paloma, his daughter.” She mumbled a few curse words under her breath which Lex didn’t understand. She ranted, “Can you imagine having two women pregnant at the same time?” More profanity in Italian came from Jemma’s mouth along with rip from the garment she’d been constructing, and she finished, “Anyway, when Paloma became a teenager, Umberto and Massimo fought over the Marcella situation. Around the same time Umberto moved to New York full time.”
Unimaginable to Lex, though she’d heard many stories about Eddie rumored to have a kid in all fifty states. A few knocked-up, heavy metal groupie cases went to court for child support and proved false. But Lex had told Birdie if any half siblings existed, she wanted to know them. Birdie always denied such allegations.
“Why didn’t he marry the mistress? Rather than going off and marrying Princess Elisabetta?”
“King Umberto’s padre required him to marry Elisabetta. She came from the House of Oro. He’d risk losing his riches if he didn’t.” She continued sewing. Skilled at multitasking, Jemma continued to chitchat. “Umberto was no King Edward VIII.”
Lex snorted, understanding her Duke of Windsor comparison. “Yes, and I bet his mistress was no Wallis Simpson either. So, Massimo has a half sister?”
“Sì, Massimo won’t acknowledge Paloma.”
“Are you serious?” She felt a frown.
She gave a confirming nod. “Massimo did the DNA test when he went to New York to meet her when the king died. His sister is not dynasty.”
“Why?” Lex stood with her garment and placed it on the next body form. This isn’t as bad looking as I thought it would be.
Jemma held up the camera. “Darling, pose with your garment.”
“Miss Ford Model, we only send clothing images, not face shots, to the buyers.”
“Sì, but this is for my Girasoli scrap book, per favore, Lex.”
“No! I don’t enjoy having my photo taken. Take your picture and get back to Massimo’s sister. I’m fascinated.” Lex stepped to the side, away from the shot. I even hate the clicking sound the camera makes too many bad memories.
“Blah, blah, blah.” Jemma snapped the picture without Lex. She tossed the camera on her station and answered, “Paloma grew up without the church’s blessing. Umberto tried many times with the Vatican to have his mistress and Paloma both acknowledged. Even after his Princess Elisabetta died and Umberto went public with his new family.”
“And?”
“Vatican didn’t go for it. The Pope made it clear King Umberto fell from grace and often quoted in Il Messaggero newspaper saying as much.”
“I wonder what Paloma is doing now?”
“Paloma received a huge inheritance from the king when he passed. Umberto transferred his money into a Swiss bank account when he moved from Isola di Girasoli and later put into a trust for his new daughter—five hundred million dollars and change.”
“Did the trust carry over to Massimo?” Lex didn’t know why she made this her business, but she did. She feared she was turning into Viveca. Indeed, she was fascinated by Jemma’s conversation. It helped her understand Massimo’s phobia for getting close.
“No, no, no, Massimo received this garment company left to him by his grandfather. He also obtained the royal estate from the isola’s land and the legacy to being a royal heir. But as far as I know he never wanted to be king.”
“Why didn’t Massimo receive the monetary funds from Umberto’s estate?” A flashback to her own father’s death and being left with nothing but bills kicked her stomach. One she didn’t expect. She reached for a drafting pencil from the canister and squeezed it between her thumb and pinky finger.
Damn you, Daddy. A week after Eddie’s funeral the lawyers showed up at Birdie’s doorstep saying Jasper Management owned Eddie’s music rights, leaving them with no royalties. Birdie was checked into rehab within days from hearing the news. Jasper Management handled Birdie’s career in the eighties. She didn’t see a penny from her songs.
Clap! Clap!
Jemma smacked her jeweled hands. “Lex! You okay? You’re zoning out on me, my darling.”
“Huh?” The pencil snapped and broke in two in Lex’s hands. “My head hurts, hangover from last night. Sorry. You were saying?”
“As I was saying—Massimo fought to have his padre stand trial for tax fraud and financial embezzlement. You name it—he went to court over it. His padre withdrew money from the Isola di Girasoli’s casino and kept it for himself.”
“Massimo concluded his father stole money from the Republic di Girasoli.”
“Sì, he hired lawyers and spoke out in public to the press. He regrets the publicity now. But our prince has a strong alliance with the late Pope. When the king left for New York—he told Massimo his son was dead to him.”
Lex sat staring at the deconstructe
d garment. She’d already known Massimo’s heart had been smashed over his father’s actions. But did it destroy his ability to be with one woman? The right woman? Forever? Would any man be able to be whole after a childhood such as Massimo’s?
“Let me ask you—do you think Massimo will ever be able to heal?”
“Sì, sì, sì, I knew you’d fall for him, darling.” Jemma grabbed Lex’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’d love to think so, no? As we’ve grown up together over the years, I’ve watched his heart soften. He gets close to a woman here and there but it doesn’t last. The spotlight is a lot to handle.” Jemma went over to the sewing machine, ready to get back to work. “We have to change the topic. You’re going to get me in trouble if I’m quoted.”
“Mum’s the word, my friend, mum’s the word,” Lex confirmed, sitting in disbelief. Poor prince.
“Let’s talk about tonight, darling.”
“I hope the crowd will be more interesting than Diane, Karl and Vincent.” She gave Jemma her attention and said, “I loved meeting Michael Kors. He’s the sweetest.”
“My darling, with tonight’s crowd you’ll find the ladies more girlish and the men on the prowl. You know—arrapato.”
“Horny?” she repeated, uncertain she’d heard Jemma right.
“So fucking Italiano horny, no? It’s similar to a sex party but with diamonds and celebrities.” Jemma cupped her two hands under her cleavage making her breasts even more pronounced. She winked at Lex.
I want to get in trouble tonight. I want Masi and me to have fun…
Chapter Fourteen
Blake Morgan’s Gay Mafia Know How
“A sex party?” Excitement surged through Lex, dreaming about the wonderful things which may come from tonight. “What’s the ambiance?”
“It’s a charity event with silent auctions for the outrageous artwork.”
Boring. “I thought you raved it as—”
“Upstairs is art, my darling, no? Downstairs is a special club with several hidden rooms. It’s my favorite event from this season. They have dance floors and secret alcoves for lovers. The music will be trance like. A DJ they’ll bring in from Ibiza. Summer cocktail attire revealing your boobies, legs and back.”
“What are you wearing?” Sheer joy bubbled through her.
“Another gown I created accentuating the diamonds Luigi gave me for Christmas, and you?”
“No clue.” Lex realized she didn’t have anything revealing boobies, legs, or back.
“For you, my darling, I have an idea. A dress I designed but can’t wear because, as you know, it’s poor fashion etiquette to dress in your own creations.”
“I’ve never heard—”
“A designer must always wear another designer’s clothing.”
“Why?” Lex didn’t think a motto as such would fly in New York.
“It shows they are fearless when it comes to competition.”
“Really?”
“Nah.” Jemma exhaled. “But Luigi requested I wear the diamonds he gave me in public. My other dress will not work.”
“Gotcha.”
“Luigi’s gifts are like an extension of his penis. Significant and bold, I must have it on me at all times.” She snorted and went into a laughing fit. When she finished, she said, “The dress I created clashes with them, due to its high neckline. Whatever Luigi wants, Luigi gets. So diamonds tonight it is, with a dress with a plunging neckline.” Heading for the door, she said, “It’s my original creation.”
“Meaning?”
“A nude hue, smothered in rhinestones, cut in the right places, and by right, I mean wrong. I have it in my office. Let me go get it.”
Once Jemma left, Lex opened her laptop up on her desk, setting Jemma’s modeling memorabilia to the side. She fired off emails to the apparel mass market buyers at Kmart, Walmart, JC Penney and Target, showing them the first image they’d put together. She’d have the look books done today. Massimo’s graphic artist would tweak them for a proper presentation. Right now she needed to get their immediate feedback. She included two images, a description on the Girasoli brand, and the suggested wholesale prices.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Jemma emerged holding up with pride the gown she’d created.
“Wow! Jemma I’m speechless. The gems are ice rocks sewn to skin identical fabric.” She felt brave. “Can I try it on?”
“Sì, my darling.” Jemma held up the dress to her body and danced around the showroom.
Lex stripped off her jeans and button down shirt and put on the slinky cocktail cover. “You’d have to let it out an inch or two. My hips are wider than yours.”
Jemma ran her hands over Lex’s back smoothing out the shape. “Suck it in, darling.” She zipped up the back.
“And you’d have to take it in at the bust.” Staring in jealousy, she admired Jemma’s breasts. “Lord knows I don’t have your set.”
“Sì, sì, sì.” Jemma stepped back, giving Lex a onceover similar to the look she gave her this morning when she was on Massimo’s bed. “My design is stunning on you. With your blonde hair and tan skin, it’s gorgeous. Come to the mirror.”
She stood facing the full length, three way mirror next to a showroom mannequin. “I, ah, it’s beautiful. But I don’t have the confidence to pull this off. It’s not me. I don’t show my body and…” Lex was naked.
“Show your hot body, my darling. Show it—show it—show it,” Jemma sang. She raised her hands to the showroom’s florescent lights and circled the workspace, dancing. “Honey, this is the largest art show in Italia. You have to stand out as the face for Easton Essentials.
Lex shook her head to say no.
Jemma pressed on. “Shame on you, darling—shame on you. You must have your photo taken.”
“It’s not me, Jemma, and for the last time, no photos.”
“The prince will drop dead when he sees you. You’re wearing this. I won’t have any arguments.” Jemma looked up at Lex with such hope in her eyes. Lex had made a friend on this trip. One with a great commonality to her interests—fashion. She thought how she’d react, being rejected by a friend’s disinterest to wear an Easton garment. Devastated.
“Okay, okay, I’ll do this for you.”
“Yeah!” Jemma squealed and hugged Lex.
“Where does your self confidence come from, Jemma?” Lex turned to her side, trying to get comfortable with her silhouette.
“Haven’t you ever noticed? Italiano women have it.”
“For sure,” Lex put her hands on her hips, wishing she could be more confident.
“No matter how tall or short, fat or thin, rich or poor, we’re confident. It’s about our sexual desirability and how we are on the inside.”
“Why do you suppose Italians are confident?”
“We know we are worthy. Look at Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. The lady, how do you say in English—is an ugly duckling.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But there’s something appealing about her, no? It’s in Mona’s eyes.” Jemma posed to the west to impersonate the oil painting.
“I hear ya.” She exhaled. “Can you bottle up some Mona Lisa self confidence? I’ll bathe in it tonight.”
“I’ll teach you a few tricks for assurance, darling. We’ll also do some red carpet rehearsals so you can pose for the camera,” Jemma responded.
“Thank you.” Lex beamed. Tonight would be fun, better dancing than last night. “Let’s get these patterns done. And if we have time, we’ll alter the dress.” She turned her back to Jemma to get unzipped.
She discussed her ideas for Jemma to have her own couture line for Girasoli, an upscale black label. Jemma loved the idea and was already at work on putting several gowns together for her own collection.
“Prego.” Jemma assisted Lex with the dress, placing it back on the hanger. “Tonight on the red carpet, will you say it’s a Jemma Fereti gown for Girasoli?”
“I’d be happy to.”
“The party is going to be enchanting.” Jemma s
tarted to hum some Italian song.
Lex reminded herself to tell Massimo about the plant in Asia and the fabric treatment tonight. She knew the buyers would eat up this more affordable brand. They’d been after her to do one with them but didn’t have the resources or the time.
They worked through lunch and finished the designs. The samples came out better than expected. She taught Jemma how to estimate cost per garment based on Girasoli’s textile fees and calculated the margins for a good markup to turn a hefty profit.
* * * * *
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Lex’s laptop signaled an email, followed by a second beep and a third. “It’s about nine in the morning in New York.” She turned her attention to her laptop. Her inbox contained three new emails with responses from the buyers.
The first email read:
Dear Miss Easton,
I enjoyed watching you on TV last night at The Fashion Ball. It’s nice to see you putting yourself out there. We are flattered you have reached out to us with your new brand. We’d love to have you create a flanker label using the Easton Essentials name, as it has high awareness and demand with our consumers. Girasoli is a textile manufacturer and has no consumer equity with our savvy shoppers. Our female customers know who Prince Massimo Tittoni is, but his name is not on the label, Girasoli is. We wish you the best success with your endeavors.
Sincerely,
Kimberly McDonald, Executive Vice President Women’s’ Apparel
Another alarm shadowed across her screen as she clicked on the second and third emails to read similar responses.
“Shit.” Stunned, Lex held onto the laptop with both hands. A quick and disturbing thought came to mind—failure. Their strategy backfired. She didn’t think about Girasoli brand equity in North America.
“What is it?” Jemma stepped around, putting her hand on Lex’s shoulder.
Lex tilted her laptop screen in Jemma’s direction.
Jemma leaned forward over the table and read the email aloud. Halfway through reading it, she screamed in Lex’s ear, “Argh, Lex! What are we going to do?”
Think, Lex, think. “My head is wrapped up in the designs. I didn’t foresee this about the branding. It’s different in the prestige market. You can build something special. In the mass market, you have to fly off the shelf the minute you hit the retail floor.”