The Billionaire’s Prodigal Wife
Chapter 52

Mackenna was exhausted. Her head was pounding, and her arm was killing her. She had finally agreed to take one of her painkillers, but it wasn’t working fast enough, and Alessandro was ruthless in his critique of how things fit, didn’t fit and more than once she found herself on the verge of tears.

“No, no, no,” he swore under his breath as she stepped out of the closet with a long evening dress, miles too long for her legs with a slit so high it may as well have been to her armpit. “I do not like this.” He grabbed scissors out of Samuel’s hands and got on his knees and instantly started cutting away at least a foot of fabric.

“Alessandro!” she gasped horrified. “It’s silk.”

“It’s too much silk,” he barked back. He stood up waving for pins and he closed the open h*p area and then took his scissors, put then down the front of the dress, and opened her cleavage another two inches. He stood back. “Something isn’t right.”

Samuel stood beside him; his head tilted in the same manner as Alessandro’s with his fingers on his chin as they both studied her. “Her legs aren’t right for the cut. The slit needs to be more to the front than the side.”

Alessandro yanked on the skirt of the dress and turned it a fraction of an inch then stood back, “you’re right, the legs were wrong for the cut.”

“There is nothing wrong with my legs!” she shrieked at them both.

They both rolled their eyes as if she were being dramatic and she instantly started tugging the dress off in the middle of the open space. “You are both being jerks and I am not one of your silly,” she was yanking her arm through an opening as she tried to unzip the back, “size triple zero models who disappear when they turn sideways. I have curves and short legs and boobs and I,” she gasped for breath as she struggled to pull the dress over her throbbing head, “will not be condescended to any longer!” She threw the dress at their feet glaring at their amused faces.

“Someone is cranky. We should probably get her something to eat,” Samuel looked around. “Daria, can you get Mackenna a sandwich from the café across the street?”

Mackenna screamed in frustration and then flopped into a wingback chair, bumping her arm, and then screaming again.

“Grab the black cocktail dress, Samuel, I want to see that one.”

“No,” she spoke up. “I’m done. My head hurts, my arm hurts, my pride, and ego are bruised and battered. I am done!”

“No, you’re not done. You need a snack. Also, I have a favor to ask of you,” Alessandro approached her and pulled her out of the chair, hugging her to his chest.

“No, I am not doing any favors for you. I’m angry.”

“Samuel, can you give us a minute?” He waited until Samuel cleared the room, “oh and get her a coffee to go with the sandwich?”

She shoved against his chest angrily. “Coffee will not make this better.”

“Yes, it will. Vanilla lattes are your kryptonite.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry you are not enjoying the process.”

“I hate the process,” she mumbled absently playing with the buttons on his shirt. “I’d rather just be naked than go through any more of this. I miss my thrift store clothes.”

“You will love your wardrobe once we get it all home and it’s properly fitted to you.” His modistes were working full tilt fixing everything he’d changed.

“Hm,” she didn’t agree, keeping her eyes averted. “What is your favor?”

He sat in the chair and pulled her, so she was sitting across his lap, wearing nothing but the bra and panties. “Remember the model I told you about? The amputee?”

“Yes, what about her?” His fingers traced circles on her thigh as if trying to distract her. She covered his hand with hers.

“Her parents are very overprotective and with all the things in the press right now, they are not keen on having their daughter working exclusively for someone the press is portraying as a cad.”

She chuckled, “you are taking a kicking right now, aren’t you?”

“And I deserve it.” He shook his head. “I should have seen the things for my own eyes, I should have listened to my wife, and I should have realized how sick my grandfather was, but I cannot go back in time, I can only move forward,” he tilted her chin, “with my wife at my side.”

Mackenna was exhausted. Her head was pounding, and her arm was killing her. She had finally agreed to take one of her painkillers, but it wasn’t working fast enough, and Alessandro was ruthless in his critique of how things fit, didn’t fit and more than once she found herself on the verge of tears.

“So, what do you want from me?”

“They came to Phoenix on Saturday to check out where their daughter could potentially be based and then you fell, and it hit the news and they are having second thoughts.”

“Ah, they think I tried to off myself,” she rolled her eyes. “The press are idiots. I didn’t survive through the hell of the last five plus years just to kill myself because Dulce showed up to my apartment. Dumbasses.”

He didn’t want to talk about his protégé or the hell she’d put Mackenna through. “The Whitlock family is requesting dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” she nodded, “okay. I understand you’ll be home late. If she is who you want for the new collection, then you should meet with them.”

“They’ve met me, several times. They want to meet you.”

“Me?” She made a face, “what the hell for?”

“You live with the beast of me,” he commented wryly. “They want to know from the horse’s mouth whether or not I’m the devil.”

“First you say my legs are wrong and now I’m a horse?” she stared at him teasingly. As he opened his mouth to protest, she laughed. “I’m joking Alessandro. Just joking. Fine. We can have dinner with them. Set it up but,” she swung her arms behind her, “at least one of these dresses better damn fit.”

“It’s why I asked for the black cocktail dress next.” He grinned unrepentantly, “I was hoping you’d agree. I did have Rosie already make the reservations.”

“Arrogance,” she rolled her eyes. “Is there anything I need to know about this family?”

“Whitney was in a farming accident at eight, she’s eighteen now. She lost her leg. She has been an ambassador for amputees, and I found her on the pageant circuit. She’s stunningly beautiful, blue eyes, blonde hair, cheekbones for days.” He shook his head, “but she’s spunky as hell and I know you’re going to love her. I won’t lie as beautiful as she is, it’s her personality I adore. She’s going to take New York by storm.”

She nodded her head slowly. “What exactly do her parents want from me?”

“I will just say, Whitney gets her spunk from her mother. I do not think she will pull any punches with her questions tonight at dinner. I feel there will be nothing off the table. You do not have to answer anything you’re not comfortable with and I will not be upset at anything you do feel you want to share with her.”

“You’re willing to discuss our personal life with this family?”

“No, but the press already has. I’d rather they hear truths from our lips than reading tabloid versions.”

“Makes sense I guess,” she whispered. “I look like hell Alessandro. I’m bruised and battered and there is no way I can hide this,” she lifted her bandaged arm.

“You forget I’m the best designer in the world,” he knew no humility, “I’ll sort you out and,” he touched the bruise on her forehead, “we have Samantha Pantha to help.” He mocked her earlier clawed hand gestures.

“I have to keep this thing going on now, don’t I?” she waved to the other portable wardrobes.

“We’re almost done. Two more evening dresses and a couple dresses I designed for dancing as soon as I learned how much I love dancing with my wife, and then ones to wear dining.” She grimaced and he chuckled hugging her to him. “I love you Mackenna. It will be over soon.”

“Fine, but when we get home, I want a massage,” she held his gaze, “with oils.”

“Deal,” he wriggled his eyebrows at her, “I’ll give you a hot bath, massage and,” he grinned wickedly, “if you want to just lay there again,” he trailed off his eyes dancing as she squirmed on his lap.

“How do I say no to such an offer?” she leaned forward and kissed him lingeringly breaking off only at the sound of Samuel and his team coming back. “Please make this go quickly.”

“You can eat your sandwich and drink your coffee and relax for a few minutes. I’ll go chat with Samuel over the changes we’ve already made and the two new designs we did today on the fly,” he kissed her cheek as he urged her to stand up.

Samuel approached, “you could have given her a robe Alessandro,” he pinched a robe off the back of a chair and draped it over her shoulders.

Esme pressed a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. “Roast beef and loads of veggies,” she smiled, “and a vanilla latte”

“I love you,” Mackenna told the woman sweetly before taking a long drink and closing her eyes blissfully.

Alessandro was already across the far end of the room talking to the team sewing and repairing his creations and Mackenna folded herself back into the chair and motioned for Esme to join her. “Sit with me and tell me about how you started with all this craziness Esme. How did you replace yourself working for Alessandro Giordano?”

Esme was rail thin, easily five feet nine tall and she knew she had the face Alessandro genuinely used for his models, big eyes, high cheekbones, and luscious lips. Yet, she was working behind the scenes and Mackenna was curious as to why.

She made a face as she sat down. “I walked for Alessandro last year in Paris and Milan and then I fainted backstage.”

Mackenna knew the modelling world was fraught with such stories, so she didn’t quite understand how this was extraordinary and Esme knew.

“I have an eating disorder,” she whispered, “and Alessandro immediately had me pulled from the line when the doctors reported my kidneys were failing.”

“Oh Esme,” she covered her mouth in horror. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Alessandro covered all my medical bills and a treatment program. He even came to a counselling session with me to make it clear he has no expectations of me to be a certain size to wear his clothes. He also told me if I decided I never wanted to walk a runway again, he would replace a job for me within House of Giordano to would remove the pressures of looking a certain way.”

Mackenna smiled as she realized this was more in keeping with the kind of man, she’d known her husband to be in the first year they were married. Kind, compassionate and responsible.

“He mentioned to me he was going to start a label here in America. He arranged my work visa and pays me the same he did when I modelled so I can still take care of my family back home in Bergamo. He set me up as Samuel’s assistant and I won’t lie, I don’t know which of them is worse,” she rolled her eyes, “the super model or the drag queen. But I’m genuinely happy for the first time in a long time. I know women under other contracts who would have been dropped and left to fend for themselves. Alessandro didn’t. He even managed to get me into a local group counselling for eating disorders and makes sure I have a ride there and back.”

“He’s a good man but can I just say, how brave I think you are?” Mackenna patted the girl’s knee. “It’s hard to get up and leave your entire family behind to start out for yourself in another country and while you’re still healing and getting better. If you need anything, anything at all, you call me.” She motioned for the girl to pass her cell phone over and she plugged her number into it. “Anytime. Got it?”

“Yes, thanks Mackenna.” She chuckled then, “and it wasn’t too hard to leave my parents behind. They’ve been trading off my looks since I was a preteen and I love them but really, my mother is part of my problem with food so it’s actually a lot easier than you would guess.”

Esme got up and walked away leaving Mackenna to finish her lunch and Mackenna’s gaze turned to where her husband was leaned over Samuel’s shoulder at a desk pointing out a change he wanted, and she noticed the clasp on the younger man’s shoulder and Samuel’s ease with him. Alessandro had simply accepted this man as he was, flamboyant, drag queen by night and felt no threat to his machismo by him at all. As she looked around the room, she realized for the first time, without Dulce in the room, the entire atmosphere around Alessandro was relaxed, vibrant and accepting.

As she chewed her food, she was thoughtful as she wondered if Dulce’s behaviour without the influence of Salvatore would be as relaxed or if she would continue to display the diva-like behaviour for which she was known. Only time would tell but for now, Mackenna admitted, she was glad to have her husband away from the woman so she could experience him as his own person.