Marie woke feeling wretched, pounding head, dry mouth, and a desperate ache between her thighs that made her want to scream.
*I hate this. Hate that my own mind isn't mine anymore. Hate that I need his touch.*
She lay there staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. Lorenzo had left early as per her habit
*What does he want from me?*
She touched her neck, feeling the marks he'd left there. Bruises from "his" mouth, from "his" teeth.
The thought should have made her furious. Instead, it sent a flutter of heat through her belly.
*What's wrong with me?*
The maids came to help her bathe. Lorenzo entered without warning just as they were preparing the water.
"Leave us,"Lorenzo commanded.
The English maids exchanged knowing looks as they departed, whispering about the Italian prince's appetites, about his insatiable desires.
The Italian maids left silently, respectfully.
Marie pressed a hand to her throbbing head. "Say what you came to say and leave."
Lorenzo studied her for a moment. "Today we'll be meeting together with the Italian courtiers residing here. I allowed yesterday's... revelry because you needed to release some steam. But today, I expect you to show more restraint. Behave yourself."
Marie tilted her head and smirked, letting the chemise slip slightly off one shoulder, exposing more skin. "Your desires are my orders. Anything else?"
Lorenzo sighed, recognizing the dangerous tone. Her eyes dropped to Marie's exposed shoulder, lingered there for a heartbeat too long, then she simply turned and left, pulling at her pants uncomfortably.
Marie called the maids back immediately.
They returned and prepared her bath. Marie sank into the warm water, already planning.
*Today I'm stuck with Lorenzo. I might as well do my worst.*
"Bring me my new red dress," she said in Italian to the Italian maid.
They did so. When the English maids saw it, they seemed baffled. It was very avant-garde, one might even say a little too revealing. The corset was cut scandalously low, and the white fur collar, French style, only accentuated the exposed décolletage.
Bess approached Marie and whispered, "Isn't this a little too much, my lady? You might catch cold."
Marie played with the warm bathwater, feeling content. "It will be alright."
She dressed carefully in the provocative gown, had her hair arranged in an elaborate style with loose curls framing her face, and made her way to the dining hall.
Pierro fell into step behind her as usual, but Marie stopped him. "Return to your master. I don't need you following me about."
Pierro looked uncertain. "My lady, His Highness commanded—"
"I'm dismissing you from that duty,"Marie said firmly. "Go."
Pierro bowed reluctantly and left.
Bess followed quietly at a distance.
Marie entered the dining hall to find Philip half-asleep at the table, grunting in pain with each movement. His hangover was clearly terrible.
Ann, meanwhile, looked fresh as a spring morning, like yesterday's revelry had been nothing.
Marie sat down, the low-cut dress immediately drawing attention.
Ann's eyes widened slightly but she said nothing, just smiled knowingly. "I hear you're with your husband the whole day today. I had plans—I suppose we can postpone them."
Marie replied nonchalantly, "I'll survive."
Matthew noticed Lorenzo's absence immediately. He slid his chair closer to Marie, his eyes dropping to her exposed décolletage before he caught himself.
"You look rather... well-rested, cousin," Matthew said carefully. "Though that's quite a bold fashion choice for breakfast."
"Is it?" Marie said innocently. "It's all the rage in France."
"I'm surprised the prince allows his precious wife to dress like a sl—"
Thomas entered, cutting Matthew off. "Yesterday there seemed to be quite a festivity," he said disapprovingly. "And now this morning my daughter appears dressed like a Parisian courtesan."
Marie took advantage of his interruption to shift away from Matthew. "A compliment of my husband," she said smoothly. "He had this commissioned for me. He wished for me to look... memorable for the courtiers today."
It was a complete lie, but Lorenzo wasn't there to contradict her.
Ann giggled, catching on. "How generous of him. Father, you do not want to offend Signor Lorenzo."
Thomas grunted and sat down to eat, clearly uncomfortable with the dress but unable to argue if it was the prince's gift.
Pierro returned to Lorenzo's office.
Lorenzo was unstable. She sat reviewing ledgers, but her focus was clearly elsewhere. Her fingers drummed on the wood, jaw tight.
But also amused, a small smirk as she remembered Marie pinned beneath her, how close she'd been to breaking. Marie's breasts heaving, her lips reddened, her eyes desperate.
Then she remembered what one of the older Italian maids had told her earlier: *"Non dovreste andare a letto con vostra moglie così spesso, Vostra Altezza. Potreste finire per farle male."* *(You shouldn't bed your wife so often, Your Highness. You might end up hurting her.)*
Lorenzo had been sexually active long enough to know that was true, even for herself, given that the prosthetic grinding against her clit could be quite harsh sometimes. But the thought that followed was immediate: *This woman is literally begging for it. It's her fault for being this stubborn.*
She was experiencing something like a second puberty with Marie. She could barely keep it together.
"Your Highness," Pierro said carefully.
Lorenzo looked up. "Report."
"Lady Marie has dismissed me from following her. She says I should return to you."
Lorenzo's eyebrow raised, smirk widening. "Did she now?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Lorenzo leaned back. "Follow her anyway. She's just being stubborn."
"Yes, Your Highness."
The hall had been prepared for receiving the residing Italian courtiers and minor nobility. Lorenzo arrived early, reviewing the seating arrangements with Marcello.
Then Marie entered.
Lorenzo looked up, saw the dress, and closed her eyes with a pained grunt.
The red gown was cut so low that Marie's breasts were barely contained. The white fur collar drew the eye directly to her cleavage. Her hair was arranged to look artfully dishevelled, she looked desirable .
Marie smiled sweetly and curtsied. "Husband."
Lorenzo stepped close, holding her wrist, and whispered urgently, "You can't be dressed like this. Please change."
Marie just glided past her and sat in her designated seat, gesturing graciously for Lorenzo to sit. "Shall we begin? I'm sure the courtiers are eager to meet us."
Lorenzo had no choice. To make a scene now would only draw more attention.
She sat, jaw clenched.
The first courtier was Lord Benito Del Ratto, a pompous older man with significant land holdings.
"Your Highness, Lady Marie," he bowed. "What an honor to—"His eyes dropped to Marie's cleavage before he caught himself and forced them back up.
"Signor Benito," Marie said warmly, leaning forward just slightly to accept his bow—perfectly proper, except the angle gave him a perfect view down her bodice. "How wonderful to meet you. My husband speaks so highly of your contributions to the Italian merchant guilds. Tell me, is it true you single-handedly negotiated the Venetian glass trade agreements?"
She looked at him with such genuine admiration, such intelligent interest, that the man puffed up like a peacock.
"Well, I wouldn't say single-handedly, my lady, but—"
"Oh, but surely you're being modest," Marie interrupted, touching his sleeve briefly—a perfectly acceptable gesture, barely a second, but Lorenzo saw the way the man's eyes tracked that small contact. "A man of your obvious capabilities must have been essential. I would love to hear all about it sometime. I'm trying to understand my husband's business better, you see."
Lorenzo watched Marie's face—the innocent enthusiasm, the bright intelligence—and wanted to throw something.
Because Marie wasn't being improper at all. She was being charming. Interested. The perfect wife wanting to learn about her husband's work.
But Lorenzo saw what was underneath: the way Marie angled her body, the precise amount of time she held the man's gaze, the soft admiration in her voice that made every man want to be the one teaching her.
Lady Del Ratto grabbed her husband's arm firmly and steered him away, but not before he'd already committed to "perhaps a conversation over tea sometime to discuss trade routes."
Lorenzo's jaw ticked.
---
The next visitor was worse.
Sir Giacomo Ferretti, a young knight barely twenty, approached with his elderly mother.
"Your Highness, my lady,"he bowed deeply.
"Sir Giacomo!"Marie's face lit up. "Oh, I'm so glad to finally meet you! My husband told me about your valor during the French campaign—how you held the eastern gate despite being outnumbered." She turned to Lorenzo with sparkling eyes. "Didn't you say he was one of the bravest men you'd ever served with?"
Lorenzo had said no such thing, but now she had to nod.
Marie turned back to the young knight, who was already blushing. "And you were injured, weren't you? How terrible! Are you fully recovered?"
"I—yes, my lady, thank you for asking—"
"I'm so relieved. My husband needs men of such courage." Marie's smile was sunshine itself. "Tell me, do you miss Italy? I confess I'm terribly homesick for a place I've never been. My husband's descriptions of Florence make it sound like paradise."
She made it sound like innocent conversation, but Lorenzo watched the young knight fall completely under Marie's spell—the way she listened with her whole body tilted toward him, the way she asked thoughtful questions about his family's estates in Lombardy, the way she remembered every detail he mentioned and referred back to it.
"You must think me silly," Marie said at one point, laughing at herself, "asking so many questions. But I do so want to understand my husband's world. He's been patient with me, but I'm sure I try his patience sometimes."
She glanced at Lorenzo with such sweet self-deprecation that half the room probably fell a little in love with her.
The young knight was stammering assurances that she could never be silly, that her questions were intelligent, that he would be honoured to help her understand Italian customs—
Lorenzo cleared her throat. Loudly.
The knight's mother, who had been watching with increasing alarm, physically stepped between her son and Marie. "We really must be going. Come along, Giacomo."
---
By the third hour, Lorenzo was in agony.
Marie had not done a single thing that could be called improper. She had:
Asked the visiting bishop about "maintaining spiritual harmony in marriage," a perfectly appropriate topic, except she'd rested her hand on Lorenzo's thigh under the table as she spoke—hidden from view, perfectly innocent-looking above the table, but her fingers had traced slow circles that made Lorenzo grip her wine cup hard enough to leave marks
- Dropped her handkerchief a couple of times, always with a laugh and a "how clumsy of me,"requiring various courtiers to retrieve it. Each time she thanked them with a hand briefly on their arm and a smile that made them forget they had wives
- Discussed Roman architecture with such genuine knowledge and enthusiasm that three different scholars invited themselves to join the conversation, forming a small circle around her chair while their wives watched from across the room
The brilliant thing—the absolutely maddening thing—was that Marie was being everything a proper lady should be. Interested in her husband's world. Charming to his allies. Gracious and warm and intelligent.
Lorenzo could not call her out without looking like a jealous fool.
Marcello appeared at Lorenzo's elbow. "Your Highness," he murmured in Italian, "she's... impressive."
"She's...really going for the kill.," Lorenzo muttered back.
"*Sì.*" Marcello's eyes held a gleam of reluctant admiration. "But you must admit—she's not technically doing anything wrong."
Lorenzo's hand clenched on her armrest. "I know."
And that was the problem.
Every wife in the room could feel what was happening—the way their husbands leaned toward Marie like flowers toward the sun—but Marie had given them nothing concrete to object to. She was being the perfect lady. Educated. Curious. Charming.
Just... devastatingly so.
Every husband left the encounter thinking Lorenzo's wife was brilliant and beautiful and what a lucky bastard the prince was.
Every wife left thinking that woman was trouble and needed to be watched.
And Lorenzo, Lorenzo wanted to throw Marie over her shoulder and carry her from the room, consequences be damned.
Lorenzo was doing damage control constantly, keeping people in line, redirecting conversations, physically stepping between Marie and various courtiers. She was indeed Helen of Troy, beautiful, dangerous, and causing absolute chaos.
Marcello kept giving Lorenzo cautious looks. This was a disaster, but all agreed the prince had exquisite taste—such a beauty only belonged in an Italian bed and court.
After a while, music filled the hall and people began socializing more freely.
Lorenzo's hand shot out and grabbed Marie's wrist. "This little act will cost both of us."
Marie looked at Lorenzo's hand, then up at her face. "You're making a scene, husband."
"I don't care." Lorenzo's voice was low, dangerous. "I had found a solution. Right after your stay with your parents, we would have gone back to Italy and gotten married properly. But now you've made sure to fuel rumours. How long before Henry uses it as an excuse to split us up?"
"Unhand me," Marie said quietly, but there was steel in her voice. "You should have thought about it before you took me by force."
They stared at each other. The entire room was oblivious to what was going on, in fact thinking they were being cute newlyweds, eager to climb each other.
Finally, Lorenzo released her wrist. "Marcello, please escort Lady Marie to the gardens for fresh air. Alone."
"Of course, Your Highness,"Marcello said smoothly.
Marie smiled triumphantly and swept from the room, Marcello trailing behind her.
Lorenzo turned to the remaining courtiers, forcing calm. "My lady needs her rest. She will not be joining us for the remainder of the day. Please, indulge me! Shall we continue?"
But the damage was done. The whispers had already started.
---
Lorenzo was pacing when Marcello returned.
"Well?" Lorenzo demanded.
"She walked the gardens for twenty minutes, then returned to her chambers," Marcello reported. "But Your Highness... today was a disaster. But not entirely bad! They all want her tied to you—such a beauty would make the crown look more magnificent. However, the wives are offended, the husbands are... interested. This undermines the distance I managed to put between Henry and your marriage. He might get cause to have you stay at court under the pretext of having Marie learn the ways of the English court."
Lorenzo slammed her fist on the desk. "*Cazzo!*" *(Fuck!)*
"What will you do?"
Lorenzo was silent for a long moment. "I don't know. If I punish her, she wins—she gets the reaction she wants. If I ignore it, she escalates."
"She's trying to provoke you."
"It's working,"Lorenzo said grimly.
Marcello hesitated. "There's something else. William and Matthew were seen with a group of men at a local tavern. Those were soldiers dressed as peasants. *Ragazzo*, I don't trust them." *(Kid)*
"Neither do I," Lorenzo said. "Have the *figli del bosco* prepare for anything." *(Wood children - the soldiers Lorenzo had stationed not far from the Boleyn estate)*
"Yes, Your Highness."
Lorenzo sank into her chair.
And the worst part? Despite everything, despite the chaos and embarrassment, all Lorenzo could think about was getting Marie alone again and finishing what they'd started.