“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 f**king idiot,” Gretchen yelled into the phone from the other side. “Why did you call at four f**king 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 f**king 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.