The entire day, Marie and Ann indulged beyond reason.
They summoned a renowned designer from London and commissioned gowns by the dozen, silk from the Orient, velvet from Italy, lace from France. They ordered cosmetics and perfumes, jewels set in gold, slippers crafted from the softest leather.
Marie signed Lorenzo's name to every account with a flourish and a cold smile.
---
Lorenzo was attending to correspondence in her study when a servant arrived bearing a ledger. The man looked ready to bolt as he presented it.
Marcello accepted it, reviewed the figures, and let out a low whistle. "Madonna," he said in Italian, "è costosa." *(My lady, she is expensive.)*
Lorenzo bit her lip and released a long breath. "She vowed to ruin me. So long as it is merely my purse she empties, I can endure it."
Marcello raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
---
By evening, Marie and Ann had called for wine, cask upon cask from Lorenzo's private cellars.
The finest Bordeaux, the richest Chianti. They summoned a celebrated jester from the king's court, along with musicians, players of lute and drum, a man skilled with the vielle.
The great hall transformed.
Marie danced without restraint, her new silk gown—crimson and gold, cut scandalously low, swirling around her. She had painted her lips with the costly cosmetics. Her hair hung loose and wild over her shoulders. She looked like a courtesan from a Venetian pleasure house.
She danced with the jester, laughing at his bawdy jests.
She danced with Philip, letting him spin her until she was dizzy. She called for more wine, drinking straight from the bottle as no proper lady should.
Ann matched her sister's wildness, the two feeding off each other's recklessness. They taught the musicians a French drinking song, crude and shameless, the sort sung in common taverns.
The servants watched with wide eyes. Some of the younger maids clapped along. Even a few of the Italian guards were grinning.
Matthew joined the party his gaze tracking every movement of Marie's body, how the gown clung to her curves, the wine-flush on her cheeks.
Philip tried to maintain some decorum but eventually surrendered, laughing and clapping as his sisters sang and whirled.
Marie climbed onto a table and continued dancing there, her skirts raised to her calves, scandalous and free.
But her laughter had a desperate edge beneath it.
Pierro appeared at the training ground where Lorenzo worked through sword exercises with brutal precision, each strike harder than the last.
"Your Highness," he said, slightly out of breath. "The ladies have been drinking heavily. There is music, dancing. Lady Marie has mounted a table. It's becoming... quite improper."
Lorenzo's blade came down on the practice dummy, cleaving it entirely. "Is William present?"
"No, Your Highness. Only the Boleyns. And Signor Matthew, though he joined the party and keeps his distance..." Pierro hesitated. "His eyes never leave Lady Marie."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened. She struck another dummy, then another. "Watch her. But don't interfere unless someone lays hands on her. Let her have this."
She struck again and again, each blow carrying her frustration, her jealousy, her desperate urge to go to that hall and throw Marie over her shoulder and carry her away from all those watching eyes.
But this was part of Marie's game. Her revenge. Her attempt to prove she didn't care.
Lorenzo would let her play.
For now.
Marie returned to her chambers drunk, stumbling and giggling. The maids rushed to help her, steadying her as they began unlacing her gown.
Then Lorenzo entered without knocking.
Marie giggled and played with her loose ginger locks. "Oh, look who finally appears."
The maids curtsied deeply. Bess stepped forward, her tone carefully respectful. "Your Highness. May I be of service?"
She was genuinely trying to make amends.
Lorenzo's expression remained blank. "That will be all for the evening."
The maids filed out. Bess gave one final curtsy and closed the door.
Marie waved her hand dismissively. "How rude. You can't just dismiss my women like that."
Lorenzo turned to look at her. "What's rude is spending enough coin in one day to feed a village for a year."
Marie's smile was sharp. "Why should I care? My captor is a prince. Princes have such deep pockets."She climbed into bed, still wearing her chemise. "Besides, I'm merely playing my role. A whore should look the part, shouldn't she?"
Lorenzo said nothing. She removed her coat, then her shirt. She unfastened her trousers and climbed into bed in just her undergarments.
Marie raised her hand dramatically. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
Lorenzo lay back, closing her eyes. "Going to sleep."
Marie threw a pillow at her. "You have no business here! We only share this bed when we fuck!"
Lorenzo opened her eyes slowly. "And who established that rule?"
Marie threw another pillow. "I did! Just now!"
Lorenzo exhaled slowly, dangerously. "You're drunk, Marie."
"And you're unwelcome,"Marie shot back. "I'm a whore, remember? I can service you quickly, and then you can leave."
She was trying to hurt Lorenzo. Trying to reduce what happened between them to something cheap and meaningless.
Lorenzo moved closer suddenly, capturing Marie's mouth before she could protest.
Marie gasped, and Lorenzo deepened the kiss. Her hands slid up Marie's chemise, finding her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples.
Marie's wine-hazed mind struggled to understand. *This should be quick, rough. Why does his touch make my skin burn?*
Lorenzo's thumbs worked over the hardening peaks, then her mouth left Marie's to whisper against her ear: "Are you still sore from yesterday?"
Marie was already breathing hard, her body betraying her despite the wine, despite her anger. "You don't get to—" she gasped, but Lorenzo's mouth was on her neck, and God, why did that feel so good? "—ask me that. Get on with this. And don't finish inside me."
Lorenzo went still. "Why not?"
Marie's voice turned cold, deliberate. "I have no desire to bear your children. Ever."
The words were meant to wound. And they did—though not as Marie imagined. Lorenzo was hurt that Marie hated her so deeply. But also quietly relieved. Because children were impossible anyway.
But Marie didn't need to know that.
Lorenzo decided then: if Marie wanted to play games, Lorenzo would play better.
She kissed Marie again, slower this time, maddeningly sensual.
Then Lorenzo flipped her.
Suddenly Marie was on her stomach, gasping in surprise, and Lorenzo was pressing her down into the mattress, her weight settling over Marie's back.
*What—what is he doing?*
Lorenzo's hand came up to wrap around Marie's throat from behind, just holding her, controlling her.
Lorenzo's mouth found the back of Marie's neck, kissing slowly, deliberately. Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin there.
"You said you're a whore,"Lorenzo murmured against Marie's ear, her voice low and rough. "But you're trembling like an innocent. Which is it, Marie?"
*Bastard. He knows exactly what he's doing to me.*
Lorenzo's tongue traced the shell of Marie's ear, then she bit the lobe gently.
Marie's hips jerked involuntarily.
Lorenzo's free hand slid down Marie's side, pushing the chemise up slowly, exposing her back, her hips. The cool air on her skin made Marie shiver.
Lorenzo's mouth moved to the side of Marie's neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Her hand on Marie's throat tightened just slightly.
Lorenzo shifted, pressing her hips against Marie's backside. Even through the fabric, Marie could feel the bulge of the prosthetic, hard and insistent.
"Tell me something, dear wife," Lorenzo whispered against Marie's ear, her hips grinding slowly against Marie's ass. "How long do you intend on playing this game?"
Marie's breath was coming in gasps now.
"A game?" Marie said, annoyance in her tone. "You started it! I will finish it—"
But Lorenzo's tongue traced her ear again and the words died in her throat.
Lorenzo's hand released Marie's throat and slid lower, teasing along Marie's spine, her hip, but never quite touching where Marie needed.
Lorenzo kissed down Marie's spine, each kiss slow and deliberate, while her hips continued that maddening grinding.
Marie's hands fisted in the sheets. Her hips lifted slightly despite herself, pressing back against Lorenzo.
Lorenzo chuckled darkly. "Your body is more honest."
Lorenzo's hand finally, finally slid between Marie's thighs from behind. Her fingers found Marie's center, already soaked.
"So wet,"Lorenzo murmured. "And I've barely touched you."
Marie whimpered—she couldn't help it.
Lorenzo's fingers circled her pearl slowly, teasingly, while her mouth continued kissing Marie's shoulders, her neck.
Marie could feel herself getting close, that tightening, that building pressure. Lorenzo's fingers circling, her hips still grinding against Marie's ass, the weight of her holding Marie down,
Then Lorenzo stopped.
Completely.
She pulled away, rolled Marie back over to face her.
Marie's eyes flew open, dazed and desperate. "Let me go if you're going be childish about this, "
Lorenzo looked down at her, Marie spread out and flushed and panting beneath her. "Not yet," Lorenzo said softly. "Not until you're ready to admit that you want me."
Lorenzo stood, reaching for her pillow.
"Sleep well, Marie," Lorenzo said, and sank into the chair by the window, curling into it with the pillow clutched to her chest.
Marie stared at her from the bed, still shaking, still aching. "Just Go away"
"Sleeping here," Lorenzo said, her voice muffled against the pillow.
"You just—you can't just—"Marie's voice broke on a sob of pure frustration.
Lorenzo said nothing. Just stayed there, curled tight in that chair, her back to Marie, trembling slightly.
"I hate you,"Marie whispered into the darkness.
Lorenzo's only response was a long, shuddering breath.
Neither of them slept.