Seduced by a royal knight

CHAPTER THREE

"Wait, our little Evra is getting married?" Alessio's close friend, Francisco Duarte das Aguas Santas, was just as surprised as he had been. When Alessio called from the airport in Rome, it took a few minutes for Frank to understand what was happening. "Yes, she's engaged." Alessio was starting to feel more comfortable saying the words out loud. His grandmother was thrilled at the idea of a royal wedding in Reginaldi, especially since his own parents' wedding was the last one celebrated, and that was years ago. They had died tragically in a car accident while on an anniversary trip. Alessio hoped his sister's wedding would distract his grandmother from asking him when he would find a lucky lady to be his princess. "And to some guy we'll never meet." Frank sounded almost as disappointed as Alessio had been. "I'm leaving for New York in a few hours, so I'll meet him tomorrow." "Does Jack know? Jacques de Brissard was the third person in their trio. The three men had met during their first year at college in Manhattan. Although Alessio outranked Frank, a duke with a large estate in Portugal, and Jack, a count who owned a lavender farm in Provence, they had a lot in common. Their bachelor apartment had become a home when Ginevra came to live with them—a home, something Alessio thought he had lost when his parents died. "No, I left him a message, but he's traveling to Southeast Asia for medical relief after the recent typhoon." Frank sighed in frustration. "He just returned from the earthquake in Turkey and sounded exhausted. I told him he needed to rest and recover. What is he thinking?" "He's a doctor, and his patients come first." Alessio couldn't have said it any better than Frank, but Jacques had always been dedicated to his medical career. "He's going to wear himself out," Frank predicted sadly, pausing to give instructions in Portuguese. Alessio caught him as he was supervising the farm workers. Frank was always experimenting with new crops in addition to the olives and grapes produced on his family's land. "But what are we going to do about Ginevra? She's not old enough to get married." Alessio shook his head to decline a second glass of wine from the lounge attendant, a beautiful redhead. "I don't like it either, Frank, but she's 24. She's finishing up her college education first. And if you think she was stubborn when she was eleven..." Frank grunted. "Remember when she refused to go to that fancy private school you all had chosen for her and insisted on going to the Institute of Fine Arts? You even threatened her as the sovereign ruler of her Dynasty, and what did she do?" "She called the State Department and applied for political asylum on grounds of persecution." Alessio sighed. He had tried to forget that little incident. His grandmother had not been amused by angry calls from various human rights and refugee organizations. "My friend, maybe it's time to hand our girl over to this German guy. They're a perfect match, after all." He chuckled, and Alessio couldn't help but join in the idea of someone keeping Ginevra in line.

"By the way, when is the blessed event? To come to my island out in the Azores, she and the German stud can have a private honeymoon—consider it my gift," Alessio grinned. "They haven't set a date yet, but I'll make sure to tell Ginevra when I see her on Wednesday." "Send her my love, and make sure this fiancé of hers is a good guy. If he isn't, then you, Jack, and I will talk some sense into her." "Or I'll just drag her back to Reginaldi and put her in the dungeon." They had three of them, one cleaned up for the tourists and two that hadn't been used since the Napoleonic Wars. "Human rights organizations be damned." Frank sounded more cheerful. "We're just upholding the esteemed European tradition of locking up unruly princesses in towers and such." "Do esteemed traditions mention princesses with black belts in taekwondo beating up their brother badly?" "You can blame yourself for that. You insisted she take those self-defense classes if she was going to attend an art school in that rough neighborhood," Frank chuckled. "Come on, things will be fine. If her young man is okay, then pick a date. Jack and I will help you plan her wedding. Don't worry." "The three of us?" Alessio exclaimed. "Since when are we wedding experts?" He had argued vehemently that he was the exact opposite. "Once you have the dress and the date, everything else falls into place. My mother planned my sisters' weddings. We run large estates—heck, you even run an entire country. How hard could it possibly be?" "You weren't even living in Portugal back then; you just flew in for the weddings and missed months of preparation." "I saw some of what my mother and her wedding planners did." Frank sounded a bit hurt. "They have guidebooks at the bookstore that tell you what to do." "Fine, okay, Frank, we'll all help Stefania as much as we do with canning," Alessio had no intention of being the lead wedding planner. It sounded like a nightmare in the making. "Maravilhosa. Great," Frank encouraged. "I'll spruce up the island however she likes. And I'm good for a few barrels of the family sherry." Alessio could use a barrel of sherry right now, but his flight was about to board. "Thanks again, Frank. I'll keep you updated." "Send me the report on her fiancé from the private investigator when it comes in. Adeus!" His friend hung up. Alessio wasn't sure if Frank was joking or serious about having the fiancé investigated. He was probably serious. He tapped his fingers on the small glass table. Should he? Ginevra had several million euros in trust funds, some of which would be released on either her marriage or her twenty-fifth birthday, both coming up within the next year. He sighed, recalling the trouble some other European royals had gotten into with their impulsive marriages. Perhaps it was wise. He quickly called his associate. "Matteo? Please call that private investigator from that insurance fraud case last year and have him look into my sister's fiancé." Such is life. If Ginevra found out and blew her top with him, it wouldn't be the first time—or the last.

“Welcome to Radiance bridal designs—you must be Ginevra,” Camelia greeted as she approached her workstation and shook the bride's hand.

“Yes, I’m Ginevra di Rossi,” the bride confirmed, her eyes scanning the salon with excitement. “The dresses are all so wonderful. I can’t wait to get started.” She immediately gravitated towards a full-skirted, tea-length dress. “Would you like to try this one?” Camelia asked.

“Absolutely!” Ginevra replied enthusiastically. She pointed at other dresses. “And that one, and that one, and that one.”

Camelia took Ginevra's expensive leather coat and hung it up. “The changing room is right here.” She led Ginevra across the pearl-gray carpet into the large curtained alcove that served as the changing room and hung a couple of dresses on the hooks.

Ginevra started removing her sweater but suddenly stopped. “Alessio! I almost forgot.”

“Alessio?” Camelia inquired.

“My brother—he got a phone call right before we arrived here, so he dropped me off. He should be here by now.” Ginevra took out her expensive phone from her leather purse and quickly sent a text. “There. I told him to get off the phone and get his butt in here.”

Camelia couldn't help but hide a grin. Getting a guy off his phone and into a bridal salon was always a challenge. “Do you mind sticking your head out to see if he’s here?”

Ginevra unfastened her belt. “Alessio is definitely out of his element in a place like this.”

“Aren’t they all?” Camelia replied, backing out of the alcove and ensuring the curtains were closed before she went in search of the missing Alessio di Rossi. She imagined him as a typical Italian brother—nice but clueless about fashion, just like her own brothers. Perhaps a bit on the average height side, with a slight paunch from indulging in Mamma’s lasagna and cannoli—similar to her own brothers. But when Alessio walked in, Camelia had to force herself to close her jaw at the sight of the striking Italian man before her.

Alessio stood a few inches over six feet tall, with wavy black hair and emerald-green eyes that complemented his olive skin, just like Ginevra. There was no lasagna potbelly in sight. His hair was impeccably styled, short over the ears and slightly longer on top. He was dressed like a modern-day Cary Grant, wearing a stunning Italian charcoal wool suit tailored to perfection. Camelia couldn't even begin to guess the cost, coupled with the finely woven snow-white shirt and expensive gold silk tie. She was grateful she had chosen to wear her high-waisted, ruby red 1950s "wiggle" skirt and a snug-fitting black blouse. “Are you Alex?” she asked.

“Alex?” Alessio's honeyed voice dripped with s*x appeal, even with just that one syllable. “Ah, yes. Ginevra has wasted no time. She calls me Alessio.” He spoke perfect English with a charming Italian accent. “I’m guessing you’re actually Alessio.”

Alessio di Rossi. Camelia nodded. “You may call me whatever you’d like, signorina. And what may I call you?”

“Camelia Salvatore. This is my shop.” She extended her hand, and he took it, bowing slightly in a European manner. Slowly, he released her hand and scanned the shop. “And these are the bridesmaid dresses?” he questioned, gesturing towards a short strapless number in blush pink satin and tulle.

“They could be, but that's a popular style for many brides as well,” Camelia explained. Alessio's gaze intensified as he examined the dress. “That is a wedding dress? And so is this one?” he inquired, pointing to a white satin skirt with black leaves embroidered on it, paired with a black-trimmed chiffon petticoat.

Camelia nodded. “Those are perfect for an informal wedding, not necessarily a church wedding. For example, one bride who sang in a rock band got married onstage in a gown much like this to her lead guitar player. They gave a concert after the ceremony.”

“A rock band wedding?” Alessio's curiosity was piqued.

“Lots of fun,” Camelia reassured him, reminiscing about attending that wedding and the blast from her Goth-girl phase when the band played several hits. “But not for everyone.” She decided not to mention the tiny embroidered black skulls the rocker bride had requested for one of her petticoats.