Once Upon a Billionaire

Chapter Eight

To Griffin’s surprise and pleasure, breakfast at his mother’s included the bride-to-be and the groom. He liked his cousin Alexandra. She was levelheaded and rarely ruffled by the pettiness of court. They ate a formal lunch, but when everyone left the table to mingle and walk the grounds after the meal, he sought out Alexandra.

“Your Highness?”

Alexandra turned and gave Griffin a delicate smile. “Hello, cousin.”

Like many in the Bellissime royal family, Alexandra wasn’t a beauty. She had regal, elegant features, but there was a hint of sternness to her face that bespoke of a woman who got her way. There was no softness in his cousin, Griffin mused. Not like Maylee, who wore her heart in her eyes at all times.

“May I talk to you for a moment?” Griffin asked. “It is in regards to a personal matter.”

“Of course,” Alexandra said, and offered him her hand. He placed it in the crook of his elbow and they strolled into his mother’s famous gardens. When they were alone, Alexandra craned her neck, looking around. When she was satisfied they were alone, she gave him a devilish grin. “We can drop the formalities now that your mother isn’t around. I swear, she breaks into hives every time she hears Luke call me Alex.” She nudged him with her elbow. “So, what’s troubling you, Griff?”

He gave his cousin an awkward smile. “Lots, actually.”

“You can tell me.” She winked at him, all of the austere dignity disappearing from her face, and for a moment, she looked like a sly young woman instead of Her Royal Highness. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Griffin considered for a moment. He didn’t have anyone he could talk to except for Alex. Alex would understand. “How, exactly, does one woo a commoner?”

She laughed. “Well, for starters, you stop calling them ‘commoners’. It’s rude.” She leaned in. “Is this about your little assistant? I saw her. She looks charming.”

He shot Cousin Alex a frown. “Why would you assume it’s her?”

“Because I’ve never seen you lose your temper so fast, Mr. Griffin,” she teased, deliberately stressing Maylee’s inappropriate naming convention for him.

He groaned. “I have tried so many times to correct her, but she doesn’t seem to understand it.”

“It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute when she does it in front of my mother.”

Alex laughed. “No, I can imagine not. Sybilla-Louise is a bit of a dragon, isn’t she? I’d say she’s more proper than our Grandmother, and I always thought she was a terrible stickler for decorum.”

Griffin sighed as they continued walking. “So . . . how exactly did you let Luke know that you were interested in him? It’s not something I find easy to do.”

“Goodness, Griff. Have you not dated in the past?”

He had. But those girls had either been daughters of nobility in Bellissime he’d been tossed in with, or rich girls at an Ivy League college who were used to a very specific lifestyle—glamorous parties, polo events, and anything that involved society. “This is . . . different.”

“Well,” said Alex. “When I decided I wanted to meet Luke, I invited him to the palace for dinner. And then I made sure both my mother and my grandmother were unavailable, so it was just the two of us. And I feigned a great interest in the movie he was making, which was filming here in Bellissime last summer. He invited me onto the set and I showed up every day. After that, he got the hint.”

He was impressed. “Grandmother didn’t find that extremely forward?”

“I didn’t ask her opinion,” Alex said, her eyes shining. “I’d already turned down four proposals from suitable candidates in the last two years. I think she was suspecting that I was going to marry who I wanted and when I wanted to, not who she thought I should marry.” Alex shook her head. “It’s a good thing we’re not as stuffy as other royal families, or they’d probably have a fit I was marrying an American.”

“And a commoner to boot,” Griffin added with a grimace.

Alex smacked his arm with a silk-gloved hand. “You really need to let go of the commoner thing, Griff. That’s step one.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Step two is to let her know that you’re interested. Did you?”

He thought of the kiss they’d shared that morning. “I think she has an idea.”

“Then let her know that you are serious,” Alex advised. “That you’re not interested in pursuing anyone else. You’re not, are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” Griffin bit out. “She’s . . . different.”

“How?”

“She’s very . . . American. Southern American.”

“I’m not following.”

“They would refer to her as a ‘redneck’ at home,” Griffin said. At Alex’s confused look, he added, “Very backward country people. For example, Maylee believes she is a burn talker.”

“A what?”

He explained it to his cousin, who looked more intrigued than amused. “And you said she used this on your hand?”

Griffin showed her his knuckles, which, surprisingly, weren’t even bruised. Huh. “I must not have hit it as hard as I thought.”

“Or maybe there’s something to it,” Alex said. “Stranger things have happened. Very curious. Luke’s superstitious, you know.” She got a soft smile on her face at the mention of her fiancé.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I originally set the wedding date for the thirteenth but he refused. We had to wait until the seventh of the following month, because he believes seven is lucky. And I’ve caught him throwing salt over his shoulder before heading on the set. It’s rather amusing.”

“Have you ever caught him trying to heal someone with a touch?”

“Well, no.”

“Then I rest my case,” Griffin said. “My American is more peculiar than yours.”

“Your American?” She gave him a shrewd look. “It sounds as if you’ve claimed her.”

Griffin sighed. “I don’t know what I think when it comes to her.” He still wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to pursue Maylee, but he found he was obsessed with her lately. Thought about her in his dreams, jerked off to her in the shower . . . He had it bad, whatever it was. “I suppose I should clarify my intentions.”

As soon as he figured them out.

Alex nodded her approval. “Try doing something nice for her. Last time I saw you with her, you were running the poor girl ragged. Why not find out what she wants or needs, and provide it for her?”

He thought about this. Every time he pictured Maylee, he thought of that wild, springy blonde hair that was constantly escaping its confines. It made her look tousled and fresh from bed. It drove him wild, but he knew it wasn’t entirely appropriate. “I’m not sure.”

“Is she accompanying you to the ball tomorrow night?”

“I imagine so.” He wasn’t sure if she had an suitable dress. He’d quite forgotten about the ball. He pictured her in a pale dress, as pale as those wild curls . . . and snapped his fingers. “I think I have just the idea. You’re a genius, Alex.”

She laughed. “I’ll have to add that to my list of titles. Her Royal Highness Alexandra Olivia the Third, Total Genius. It has a nice ring to it.”

Griffin smiled.

When he got back to the hotel, he spoke privately with the concierge for a few minutes, had an appointment set for the next day, and went up to his room feeling rather proud of himself for being so thoughtful. He even kept his surprise secret through breakfast the next morning, as Maylee chattered on about his schedule. He had another family meeting this morning, followed by a rehearsal of the wedding in which all of the royal family had to attend. After that, there was a celebratory ball. Bellissime’s oldest chapel was Sainte-Anne de la Vallée. All of Bellissime’s monarchy had married there since the time of Charlemagne, and it was a rather tiny affair. As an apology for having a small crowd at the actual wedding, there was an enormous wedding ball that all those who weren’t important enough for the actual chapel could attend. This meant the royal family’s staff, lesser nobles, visiting nobles, diplomats, celebrities, and anyone else who could sneak their way in.

Griffin was unlucky enough to be invited to both the wedding and ball, as a member of the royal family. Maylee, however, merely had to look presentable for tonight, as she would be on call for the wedding, but not actually invited.

Which was why his gift was perfect.

Once he was done with breakfast, Griffin folded his newspaper and tucked it under his arm. “Ready to start the day?”

“Ready,” she said with a smile at him, and closed the laptop. She threw it into a large tote bag she’d taken to carrying around—a ghastly touristy contraption that read BELLISSIME: LAND OF BEAUTY. He didn’t criticize it, though. Time enough for that later.

“We have a full day,” Griffin told her as they left the table. When they entered the main lobby of the hotel, he pretended that he’d forgotten something and snapped his fingers. “I need to retrieve something. I’ll meet you at the car.”

She gestured at the elevator. “Do you want me to go get it, Mr. Griffin?”

He shook his head. “Under control.”

Mystified, she headed out of the hotel and he turned and headed to the concierge’s desk to make sure Maylee’s beauty appointment was set up. The concierge was all smiles, even if she seemed a bit mystified that Lord Montagne Verdi was making a hair appointment for his assistant.

Five minutes later, Griffin made his way out to the sedan . . . and frowned.

Maylee was leaning against the car door, laughing and smiling as the driver, Robbie, hovered close nearby and flirted with her. It was clear that the man was staking his claim, judging by the possessive way he regarded Maylee.

And it pissed off Griffin. He stormed back into the concierge’s office. “I want a new driver by this afternoon,” he informed her.

“Oh, I’m not really sure if that falls under my jurisdiction—” she began.

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Just get it done for me.”

“Right away, Lord Montagne Verdi.”

Griffin straightened his jacket and headed back out to the car. He scowled at Robbie and gestured for Maylee to enter the car. He scowled again when Robbie winked at Maylee and opened the door for her, and she thanked him in her soft drawl. He slapped the business card given to him by the concierge into the man’s hand. “Take us here first.”

“Very well, my lord,” the driver said.

Inside the car, Maylee opened up the laptop and began to go through his emails. “Your two o’clock got shuffled to three,” she told him. “So I had to move a few things around to ensure that we can pick up your tuxedo from the tailor and get everything ready for the ball tonight.”

“And do you have a gown?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “Well, Mr. Griffin, I do, but it’s far too fancy and expensive. I was going to suggest you return it.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “It was purchased with the anticipation of the ball in mind. You’re required to attend while you’re in my employment.”

“I’m not sure I belong,” she hedged.

“Trust me, every fool in Bellissime is going to be at this thing tonight. You’ll belong just fine.”

She winced.

Oh, hell. That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant. “Don’t worry about it,” he added brusquely. “You’re there to work, regardless of who attends.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you should be properly attired.”

“Yes, sir.”

Griffin sighed and glanced up at the driver. He wanted to knock on the glass partition that separated the front of the sedan from the back, but that would make him seem impatient. Still, they had to be arriving soon, didn’t they? The concierge had assured him that the salon was no more than a few blocks away. He stared out at the streets, covered with Bellissime flags and banners, ready to celebrate the wedding of their royal princess. People walked the streets, taking pictures of the decorations, and it seemed like everyone in the world was in the city this morning.

They pulled up to a busy sidewalk and the driver parked the car, then exited to open the door. Maylee glanced up from her laptop, peered at the location, and frowned. “I think we’re at the wrong place.”

“We are not,” Griffin assured her. “I asked to come here.”

Her pale eyebrows rose. “Why?”

“It’s a surprise for you.” He kept the smug expression off his face. He wanted to see her reaction. See that sunny smile spread across her round face. “I’ll arrange for Mr. Sturgess to pick you up in a few hours,” he said as the driver came to her side of the car and not his.

“Pick me up?” She looked even more confused. “But . . . I don’t understand. Why? What are we doing here?”

Griffin adjusted his cuffs, pleased with himself. “I’ve arranged to have a makeover for you. They’ll do your hair and makeup for the ball tonight.”

She flinched again. “Oh.”

He pursed his lips. She didn’t look very pleased. Perhaps she didn’t understand. “It’s so you can have an appropriate hairstyle for the ball and look like the other ladies.”

“I understand,” she said flatly.

Well, this wasn’t going how he’d anticipated. “You’re welcome,” he snapped.

“Thank you,” she said in just as nasty a voice. Then, she got out of the car and slammed the door, practically storming to the very expensive salon that he’d booked for her.

Scowling, Griffin stared after Maylee. He did not understand that woman at all. When the sedan pulled away from the curb again and began to drive toward the palace for the wedding rehearsal, Griffin checked his watch. It was early in Bellissime, but the day would be in the early dawn hours over back in New York City.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Hunter.

The phone rang six times on Hunter’s office phone and went to voicemail. He hung up and dialed Hunter’s personal line instead. Six times, voicemail. Damn it. Wake up, he texted to Hunter. I need advice. I made a hair appointment for Maylee. Why would this make her angry?

Ten minutes later, his phone rang, Hunter’s name showing up on his screen. “So? Any ideas?”

“First of all, you’re on speakerphone,” Hunter said in a gravelly voice.

“Second of all, you’re a fucking idiot,” Gretchen yelled into the phone from the other side. “Why did you call at four fucking am?”

Griffin glared at nothing in particular as he held the phone away from his ear. “Is your girlfriend going to scream epithets at me the entire time? Because I can hang up.”

“Hey, don’t get pissy at me, buddy. You’re the one who called at four fucking o’clock in the morning.”

“That’s because I wanted to talk to Hunter,” he emphasized. “Not you.”

“We’re a package deal. Isn’t that right, baby?” Her voice got sweet, and he heard Hunter barely stifle a groan in response.

“Please tell me you’re not making out while I’m trying to have a conversation with you,” Griffin said, revolted.

“Um . . . Hunter’s occupied,” Gretchen said, and she sounded a little silly and breathless. “I’ll dispense advice. Look. Did she know you made her a hair appointment?”

“It was a surprise.”

“And did you say it was a surprise because you wanted to treat her for working so hard?” Gretchen prompted.

Griffin went silent.

“Hello?” Gretchen called. Griffin could have sworn he heard another muffled groan coming from Hunter, and then a stifled giggle coming from Gretchen. This wasn’t helping.

“I . . . ,” Griffin began. “I told her that it was so she could be appropriately attired.”

“Okay, so you implied she’s gross-looking normally. Way to go, shit for brains.”

“I did not.”

“You basically told her that she looked like crap.”

He frowned. “But she looks inappropriate most of the time. She knows this.”

“Oh, boy. Let me guess. You’ve told her several times that she looks inappropriate?”

“Of course. We had to buy her new clothes because her others were garish. She looked completely improper.”

“Wow, Griff. A pike up your ass and a foot in your mouth. That’s quite a feat.”

He groaned. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you care?”

“What do you mean, why do I care?”

“I mean, you’re a douchebag to me all the time and you never care about that. Why care about Maylee?”

He frowned. “That is none of your business.”

“Ooooh,” she said into the phone, and for a moment, he had the revolting thought that he’d just heard Hunter’s girlfriend orgasm into the phone. But in the next moment, she sang out, “Griffin and Maylee, sitting in a tree, F U C K I N G—”

The phone clattered to the ground and Griffin held it away from his ear again. A moment later, there was a rustling on the other line, and he heard Hunter’s voice. “Hello?”

In the background, Griffin could hear Gretchen’s laughter.

“I’m still here,” Griffin snapped. “Can’t you control her?”

“No,” Hunter said, and Griffin could have sworn he heard a smile in the man’s voice. “But man, you’ve got to be nice to Maylee. She’s a good girl.”

“I know that,” Griffin retorted. God, why were his friends so incredibly infuriating? “I was trying to do something nice for her. I thought she would like it. What woman doesn’t want a makeover?”

“A woman who was just told she was ugly,” Gretchen shouted on the other end of the phone.

“Take me off speakerphone,” Griffin said. “Right now.”

“Hunter has to go,” Gretchen called out, her voice tinny and loud over the speakerphone.

“No,” Griffin said. “I still need—”

“Nope, he’s got to go,” Gretchen yelled. “He has an enormous boner and I have to take care of it.”

“God, Gretchen,” Hunter said, and it sounded like they were wrestling over the phone again.

Ugh. Griffin hung up on them. Those two were like wild animals in heat. He drummed his fingers on his leg, thinking. Maybe there was something to what Gretchen had said, despite her crude mouth. Maybe he’d somehow offended Maylee after all.

He’d just have to be that much more complimentary when she returned, to let her know how nice she looked.

Then, maybe, she’d stop frowning long enough to let him kiss her again. He thought about her soft mouth and how enthusiastically she’d kissed him in return.

He definitely had to shower her with compliments, he decided. He wanted to see her face blossom into that smile that made his heart pound. That smile let him know he’d done right . . . and that she was pleased.

And he liked seeing her pleased.

Griffin finished adjusting his antique familial cufflinks, then examined the way his tailcoat fell in the mirror. Perfect. If it was even slightly off, his mother would flip out, declare that Griffin had gotten shoddy with his appearance, and then he’d never hear the end of it. No one cared about appearances more than Princess Sybilla-Louise, not even the queen. He examined the tails on the tailcoat with a small turn. Ludicrous. He looked like a penguin. Why did men have to dress up in such ridiculous getups for a party? He slung his bow tie over his neck and went to the door adjoining their rooms. Robert had picked up Maylee this afternoon and she’d run errands while Griffin had met with the Bellissime Museum Society to discuss a donation to fund a new wing. He hadn’t seen her all day.

And it was . . . strange.

He rather missed her cheery competence and unbridled enthusiasm. Kip took everything in stride and was more of an assistant than a companion, but Maylee felt like the opposite. Now that Griffin was used to Maylee’s extreme reactions to seeing new things, he found he missed that. He considered things with her eyes in mind. Would Maylee smile when she saw that souvenir stand? Would she want to go for a walk tonight and visit the chocolate district? They’d passed it on the way back from his mother’s palace, and he’d stopped and purchased her a box of truffles, one of the few things that Bellissime was known for, and had them carefully packed so he could present them to her later. He wanted to see Maylee’s face when she saw the expensive treat.

He wouldn’t mind feeding them to her, actually. Watching her exclaim in delight at the first taste, seeing her eyes open in sensual wonder as the flavors slid across her tongue. Watch her lick her lips with pleasure and turn to him for more. Maybe she’d lick his fingers, too . . .

Griffin’s pants felt uncomfortably tight. Adjusting himself with a quick movement, he counted backward from one hundred to get control over his body. When he was satisfied, he cleared his throat and moved to the door adjoining their rooms, strangely nervous. He had a small jewelry case in his hand—ancestral jewels that were attached to the Viscount Montagne Verdi title and had been since the nineteenth century. He wanted Maylee to wear them tonight, so anyone who saw her in them would know he was claiming her for his own.

He wondered what his mother would think when she saw his American personal assistant wearing the Verdi emeralds.

Then, he decided he didn’t give a shit.

Maylee touched her hair, pleased with her appearance.

She looked . . . pretty tonight. Very pretty, if she said so herself. The lady at the salon had babbled in constant French, but Maylee had caught enough to hear “blow-out” and “Lord Montagne Verdi” and “makeover.” So she’d sat quietly and let the woman do what she wanted to her hair. A few hours later, Maylee’s frizzy corkscrews were straightened into a smooth, shiny blonde mane. Her bone-straight hair was pulled into an elegant upsweep, a small flowered clip at the back of her head keeping everything in place. Thick makeup had been applied with an airbrush—an airbrush, of all things!—and Maylee’s skin was perfect, not a freckle or a rosy spot showing. Her eyes were smoky, fake eyelashes making her own baby-blonde lashes seem dark and full.

She looked rather like a princess, Maylee thought. Griffin wouldn’t be able to find fault with her appearance today.

She dressed in her princess gown, too. The dress had been included with the other clothes that Griffin had purchased for her, and when Maylee first saw it, she’d thought it was a mistake. But sure enough, she was supposed to wear this gorgeous, fancy gown out to this party. The lady at the boutique had told Maylee the name of the designer, but she’d forgotten. All she knew was that it was stunningly beautiful, and she got to wear it. She put on her strapless bra and then the sleeveless bodice. It was a deep, almost velvety rose, and the fabric was a delicious, rustling taffeta. The bodice itself was simple, straight across the bustline and sleeveless. The waist was nipped by a full beaded sash in a pale ivory, and from the sash, the full skirts rustled and pleated their way downward to the floor. She had matching ivory high heels, too. She didn’t have jewelry to go with it, so she left it alone. She didn’t want to be too ostentatious tonight.

It took a little bit of hopping, but she was able to do up the zipper in the back of her dress—no way was she going to ask Mr. Griffin to do it for her. She still didn’t know what to make of him. The man kissed her and then insulted her. He gave her these intense, longing looks . . . and then drove her to a hair salon so she’d look “normal.” He flattered her ego one minute, and stomped it into dust in the next.

Which was really rough, because she rather liked him. He was smart, and took his duties very seriously. He didn’t smile much, but when he did, it felt a bit like a present. He made her laugh with his dry wit, and he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, which was nice considering most people heard her accent and dismissed her as an idiot. And he kissed divinely, like he had all the time in the world to taste and savor her.

Sometimes, she really, really liked him.

And other times, she wanted him to take a long walk off a short pier.

There was a knock on the adjoining door, and Maylee sucked in a breath, jerking up the last of her zipper. “Just a sec!” She dragged on the skirted crinoline that would make her dress have a little bit of flare and act as a slip, and shimmied it up her legs before sliding her feet into her shoes. “Be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”

She could have sworn she heard a snort on the other side of the door.

When she was dressed, Maylee hurried to the door and pulled it open. “Yes, Mr. Griffin?”

He lowered his hand, clearly ready to knock again, and stared.

Maylee preened a little under that stare. He had to be impressed with her new look.

“Maylee?”

“Who else?” She smiled and touched her hair when his gaze went there. “Do you like it?”

His brows drew together. “You look so . . . different.”

Her happy bubble burst. Maylee’s shoulders slumped. “I thought we wanted different.” Hadn’t he deliberately driven her to the salon because he hated the way she looked and was tired of her disgracing him?

“No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. I was just surprised. You look like a different person.” He gave her a quick smile. “It’s good.”

It didn’t feel good. Maylee swallowed her hurt and blinked back her tears, because she didn’t want to mess up those weird spidery eyelash extensions the nice French lady at the salon had given her. “Well,” she said in a fake cheery voice. “What can I do for you, Mr. Griffin? Do you need your tie fixed?”

He held it out wordlessly.

She looked like a stranger.

Griffin couldn’t stop staring at Maylee. At the gorgeous blonde angel that stepped into his room, dressed in a sleek pink gown that made her breasts plump up from the banded neckline. Her hair was shiny and her eyes were dark and lush and she looked so polished that she could have held her own with anyone in the palace’s halls.

And that threw him for a loop.

He’d sent her there to get transformed, so why was he disappointed to see the perfect, elegant creature before him? Why was he sad to see those wild corkscrew curls had been tamed into a sleek upsweep? That her errant freckle or two on her nose was now totally covered by makeup?

She was exactly what he’d wanted, right?

Griffin rubbed his face, frustrated. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

He knew he didn’t want that sad, unhappy look on her face that was there right now. She hadn’t missed his reaction. She knew he wasn’t thrilled, and the keen disappointment on her face was obvious, even though she was doing her best to hide it. “You look fine, Maylee. Really. I’ve just had a long day and I’m sorry if I’m not saying the right things.”

“You don’t have to say the right things,” she said in a faux-cheerful voice. “I’m your assistant.” She took the tie from his hand and crooked her finger, gesturing that he should lean forward. He did, and a moment later, she had his tie fixed and smoothed his collar down over it. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, and glanced in the mirror to straighten his clothes. He wanted to say romantic things to her. That she looked like a vision, that she looked like a princess. But he couldn’t get past the fact that she didn’t look like Maylee. It was making him feel rather confused.

“Since we’re doing makeovers today, can I make a small suggestion?”

He looked over at her, surprised. “What did you have in mind?”

Her mouth quirked on one side, and his heart flip-flopped. It was as if his Maylee was peeking out from underneath the glamorous exterior.

Then he swore to himself. His Maylee? He was insane. She wasn’t his in any sense of the word.

“I’d love to do something different with your hair,” she told him.

He looked in the mirror again, surprised. “What’s wrong with my hair?” He’d smoothed it down and gelled it like he normally did. His part was perfectly straight, not a strand out of place.

“It’s fine if you’re eighty,” she said, and that teasing little smile returned to her face, and all of a sudden he wanted to kiss her, to smear all that thick makeup off and see the bright, happy country girl underneath who he was obsessing over.

He needed to get ahold of himself. “What did you have in mind?”

She crooked her finger at him again, arching a now-perfect eyebrow. And he was lost to that enticing finger. He couldn’t resist that come-hither expression on her face. She could have told him she wanted to shave him bald, and he’d still have approached her, helpless to pull away.

“You should take off your jacket so we don’t mess it up,” she told him. “Shirt, too.”

Interesting. He removed his jacket first, and then undid the tie she’d just fixed so beautifully, tossing it onto the bed. This felt a bit like a strip tease. He looked over at her to see if she was thinking the same thing, but he noticed that her gaze was averted, and she had so much makeup on her cheeks it was impossible to tell if she was blushing or not.

He really needed to have a word with that hotel concierge. Even though she was just doing her job, he wanted someone to blame for his vague unhappiness with how Maylee looked. She was impossible to criticize; her gown, her makeup, and her hair were perfection.

And it was bothering him. He didn’t like it, and he couldn’t exactly say why he didn’t like it, just that he didn’t. Disgruntled, he stripped off his shirt.

When he was down to his undershirt, he looked over at Maylee. “All right. You have me half-naked. What do you want to do with me?”

The words came out huskier than he’d expected.

Her eyes widened, and her smile grew wider, then she bit her lip, as if she were trying to hide her expression. “Um. I’d like to borrow your bathrobe, actually, so I don’t get anything on myself.”

“Take whatever you need,” he told her. Damn, that sounded incredibly erotic, too. What the hell was his problem?

She went to his closet and pulled out the bathrobe, shrugging it on over her lovely pink gown. When she tied it at her waist, he felt another surge of possessive lust and had to count backward from one hundred again.

“Now,” she told him, tightening the belt of his robe at her narrow waist. “I need you to bend over the sink.”

Twenty minutes later, Maylee was pleased with Griffin’s transformation. Gone was that old, glued-down, bone-straight hair that was always plastered to his skull. She’d washed his hair and then put a bit of styling wax on her fingers to tousle his hair, and with the help of a blow dryer, Griffin’s hair was now a light golden-brown crown that topped his head in stylish spikes. It was slightly tousled, but trendy, she decided. Way better than his old hairstyle. “There,” she announced. “You look ten years younger.”

He gave her a curious look, then reached for his glasses and put them on, studying his expression in the mirror. “I look like I belong in a boy band.”

She laughed. “No, you don’t. You look very handsome. And I’ll have you know, this is how Luke Houston’s hair was done in his last movie.” She’d seen a picture of it in one of the magazines at the hair salon and was inspired. “Trust me, you look like a young, dashing viscount instead of like my Pepaw did your hair for you.”

He still looked uncertain, touching one of the spikes. “And you like this?”

“I love it,” she enthused. He did look incredibly handsome this way. It took his look from slightly too nerdy and scholarly to a bit more devilish.

Griffin nodded, and then reached for his shirt. “Very well, then. We should get going.”

“All right.” She averted her gaze so she wouldn’t watch him dress—because really, if she was caught staring at her temporary boss, that would embarrass both of them—and concentrated on taking off the borrowed robe and then replacing it in the closet. Her hand smoothed down the soft fabric of the robe. It had smelled like his soap, and it was odd how reluctant she was to part with it. Party dress, she reminded herself. You’re wearing the prettiest party dress ever. You can’t wear a bathrobe over that, no matter how good it smells.

But, she had to admit, it did smell mighty nice.

When he put his jacket back on, it was safe for her to turn around, and she watched him put on his cufflinks with long, elegant fingers, and then held the tie out for her again. She fixed him up, and then gestured at the door. “Shall we go?”

Griffin smoothed his jacket one last time in the mirror, and she realized he was nervous. It made her feel a little better about tonight. Heck, she was nervous, too, and no one was really expecting much out of her.

“I have something for you to wear with your dress,” Griffin said.

“An employee badge?” she asked.

He gave her a wry smile. “Not a badge. A necklace and some earrings. They belong to my title.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I don’t know that I could, Mr. Griffin.”

“Well, I certainly can’t,” he said, fidgeting with his tie. “They’d clash terribly with my cummerbund.”

Maylee’s voice rose in a hysterical giggle. “I’m picturing you with earrings on and it’s kinda funny.”

He grinned over at her, and she felt like she always did when he smiled—genuinely smiled—at her. Like she’d been gifted a present. “I’m more of a brooch man.”

“Stop it,” she said with a laugh, pressing her hands to the front of her gown. “You’re going to make my boobs pop out of this dress.”

“Heaven forbid,” he said in a dry voice that implied he wouldn’t mind that so much, and it made her flustered all over again. And she could have sworn he glanced down at her boobs.

They did look pretty nice in this dress, if she said so herself.

He picked up a small case off the top of the dresser and opened it, then showed her the jewels. Big, square unadorned emeralds hung from two earring posts, and the necklace consisted of glittering diamond ropes twisted together, with three more square emeralds dangling from the center.

“Oh, lordamercy, that looks rather expensive,” Maylee breathed.

“It is.”

“Oh, dear.” She touched an earring and winced. It was heavy. “What happens if I lose one?”

“I sue you for three hundred thousand Bellissime notes.”

Maylee felt sick. She dropped the earring back onto the velvet tray. “Really?”

“No. It’s just an earring. And it’s insured. Don’t be so nervous.”

“What happens if I barf on it?” she asked as he picked up the necklace.

“Is that likely?” He indicated she should turn around.

“Pretty likely,” she admitted, turning around. Lordamercy, this was just like something out of Pretty Woman, except she wasn’t a hooker. Maylee frowned at the thought. “Do you normally buy girls’ clothes?”

The cool chain of diamonds slid over the base of her throat, and then she felt Griffin’s hands brush against her nape as he did the clasp. “I can say with perfect honesty that you are the first one I have ever purchased clothing for.”

For some reason, that made her feel better. She patted the necklace and then picked up the first earring. To her relief, it had two backings—one that was a normal gold clasp, and the other a wax ball that would prevent the post from slipping out of her ear. Thank goodness. Maylee put both earrings on and gave her head a little shake to test them. “How do I look?”

“Quite elegant,” Griffin said.

“So in other words, nothing like myself.”

“Nothing like yourself,” he agreed, that odd look on his face.

And for some reason, that hurt her feelings all over again. He didn’t seem to like her dressed up or in her regular clothing. She couldn’t win with him. Couldn’t he just tell her he thought she was pretty and actually mean it, darn it? Maylee sighed, all the fun of the evening vanishing again. Now she just felt weighed down, like she was wearing a wallet around her neck. “Are you ready to go, Mr. Griffin?”

He extended his arm to her in a courteous gesture.

She put her hand in the crook of his sleeve, and they headed downstairs.

To Maylee’s surprise, it wasn’t Robbie driving the car tonight. Nor was it the usual sedan. The Verdi limo was out again in full force, and an elderly gentleman was their driver. Maylee smiled at him to make him feel welcome. He had to be nervous on such a big night. She knew how that felt.

“You changed drivers?” Maylee whispered to Griffin, curious.

He shot her a quick look of satisfaction. “Mr. Sturgess will be unavailable for the rest of our visit.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

“Yes, quite,” Griffin said in a voice that didn’t sound displeased at all.

As they got into the limo, Maylee slid over on the seat, tugging at her bust line to make sure that her dress didn’t expose anything. She smoothed her skirts and waited patiently as Griffin got in, checking her earrings and necklace again to make sure she still had them.

When he got into the limo, his pocket buzzed. Griffin pulled out his phone and then made a grunt as if he was in pain.

“What is it?” Maylee asked. “Is everything okay?”

He showed her his screen. “They uncovered a marble column and some tile work. They think it might be part of a floor.” The picture he showed her looked like a bunch of broken stonework, but she’d take his word for it.

“Your archaeological dig in Spain?” she guessed.

He nodded, staring at the picture. There was a look of intense longing on his face. “I wish I was there.”

“If it makes you feel better,” she told him, “I wish I was there, too.”

He looked over at her, surprised. “You’re not enjoying yourself here in Bellissime?”

Maylee sat, tongue-tied. She wasn’t sure what to say. She could tell him that she enjoyed his company but she found the whole wedding and society thing stressful? That she constantly felt like she was never good enough? That she kept waiting to slip up again and it made her so nervous that she’d almost thrown up in the sink before putting on her pretty dress? Would he be insulted that she didn’t want to be here? So she thought carefully, and then answered, “There’s just . . . so much going on.”

“True.” He looked down at his phone again and sighed. “I imagine it’s a lot calmer in Spain. No one’s mother to complain that you’re letting your staff become too familiar and too complacent.”

Her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth. “Your mother said that about me?”

His expression became a little distant, as if he’d revealed too much. “I wouldn’t read that much into it, Maylee. My mother is affectionately referred to as a harridan and not so affectionately as a royal bitch. No one likes her, not even the common people. Not the queen, not even her sons. She is a stickler for the old monarchy, and Alexandra and her family are more progressive. Don’t worry about it.”

Maylee swallowed hard. “Should I be wearing this jewelry, then? Won’t your mother think that’s too familiar of me?”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

Oh, lordamercy. Was he setting her up to fail? So Her Royal Highness Sybilla-Louise would cut Maylee into itty-bitty chunks with her tongue? That sick knot lurched in her stomach again.

“Really,” he said again. “It’s fine, Maylee.”

“If you say so,” she whispered. It occurred to her that it was the first time he’d called her anything but Miss Meriweather.

She had no idea what that meant, either.