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.