Practical Princess Alessia Bertinelli

Nick

The circle of schmoozers crowding around Alessia are completely blocking the doorway leading into the house where the boss himself is waiting for me. I ain’t gonna go entering that densely packed crowd and squeezing past those hoop skirts, and I’m pretty sure it ain’t classy to command a lady ‘Hey, step aside, would ya?’ as was my initial impulse. I stop a full fifty meters back from that crowd instead and cast my gaze to the side of the house, thinking of circling around back and slipping in that way--

“Nicky?” Alessia caught sight of me, following the stares of a few of her friend circle. She hands off her drink to the guy beside her without even looking at him, hiking up her skirt and rushing up to greet me like she is still that carefree, hyper eight year old. I guess she’s not much like her prim and uptight mother after all.

That’s a good sign. Still, the way she’s calling me ‘Nicky’ and greeting me with a full on hug is a little too… familiar. Like ma said, I hardly know this girl. She don’t get out much, and we live in hell of different neighborhoods and social circles. Even once she finally breaks off that hug, she keeps clutching at my hands like we’re already knelt at the altar. Her eyes search my face, and she’s smiling at me so giddily, I wonder if she’s drunk. But nope, of course not. There’s no smell of it on her breath and no flush in her cheeks save those burning apples of color – It’s a blush most fellas would consider to be downright adorable. And I guess it is. She really does have a nice sort of face now that she’s all grown. Like I said, she looks like her famous beauty of a mother: big eyes, long lashes, and full lips, with a fashionable little mole of a beauty mark naturally gifted to hover right over her dimples.

“It is you, right Nicky? You look so…” She smiles all the broader, toying with my hands. “Grown up.”

“Yeah, you look good too,” I offer, pulling back my hand and rubbing at my neck. “But hey, it’s just Nick now.”

“Well hey, you can still call me Lis,” she smugly references her nickname. It’s not some special bond between us. It’s just a regular short form a stubborn kid like me was inclined to stick to in defiance of her butler ordering us to call her ‘Miss Alessia’. “It is so good to see you!” she gushes on, squeezing all the tighter at my sole remaining captive hand. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Yeah, your old man sent the invite.” Wrong thing to say. Her smile starts to dim, and I quickly try to salvage things. “I was glad he did. It’s good to see you too. Been a long time, huh? And that is one hell of a dress. I mean, you could be on bridal magazine right this minute.” Real smooth hint, idiot.

“You like it?” She gives a little twirl. “I was shopping for a prom gown, but the second I saw this…” She smooths her hands down the finely made bodice.

“Just had to have that too, huh?”

She nods, completely oblivious. “You want to dance?”

“Uh… shouldn’t dinner come first?” Not to mention her father is waiting for me, up in his office on the second floor, and nobody keeps that man waiting, especially not--

“It’s my party,” she asserts, tugging on my hand. “And I say we dance. Come on.”

She tosses her sunhat to one of the angry looking mooks who was panting at her side before I made my casual appearance. I didn’t know I’d end their time together the second our eyes met. It’s not like I felt any spark with this reunion, but Alessia sure seems to.

She has not once dropped my hand, as she hauls me inside her massive house, down the corridor and into the ballroom with her crowd of flunkies trailing along after us. This high ceilinged, marble floored luxury add-on to the Bertinelli living space is dotted with only trickles of chatting patrons so far.

Everyone looks to Alessia, the second she enters. She claps her hands in sharp command and gestures to the band, still fishing their instruments out of their cases. They strike up a tune in an instant, and hey, her dad said to give her whatever she wants today, so… I give an obliging bow, touching my mouth to the back of Alessia’s hand before sweeping her up into partner hold. I know how to waltz, but I’m better at swing. Alessia’s all for that. She snaps for the band to quicken their tempo without me even needing to ask. She shows off her Charleston as a new, quick tempo song starts. I mirror the steps, but try to use that outward turn to break away from her finally… No such dice. Alessia’s laughing and throwing back her head, but I hate the fact that absolutely everyone in here is staring at us. And shit, here comes the boss.

I instantly halt my box step, turning to him with a shamed, meek nod. “Sir.”

“Derosso.” He shifts his eyes to Alessia where they instantly adopt a much warmer cast. “Having fun, princess?”

She throws her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. “So much fun, daddy. Did you know Nicky was such a wonderful dancer? He even knows how to Charleston! I can never get any guy to properly Charleston.”

“Wait for the dance to start, and I’m sure you’ll have dozens of suitable partners make the attempt for you, regardless of their success rate,” her father assures her. “But what about your dinner?”

“Dinner can wait,” she dismisses, completely blind to the fact that even if she personally is not yet hungry, there is an entire kitchen staff who slaved away all day to get those dishes out, perfectly cooked and piping hot, on time, for an entire mansion’s worth of expecting, hungry guests. She tugs on my hand, pulling me back up against her. “It is my day, and I am having fun. I want to keep going.”

“So long as that’s alright with you, sir,” I forestall her, as she tries to pull me back out onto the dance floor.

“Of course. Whatever my girl wants.” He waves to the other guests, and they scramble out to join us, as the dance begins in full swing.

Alessia is just as bold as I remember. She keeps her eye on what she wants. She even rests her head against my chest and snuggles up against me when the slow songs start, so close I can feel the press of her breasts, despite her father being right there, watching us.

“I am really glad you came today,” she repeats, leaning her head on my shoulder. “You remember our wedding?”

She means when we were eight and she insisted we all play dress us, despite Carm and me and all six of the other children there being much more interested in tag or hide and seek. Her servants were all glaring at me though, and I knew it would be bad for ma if Alessia started crying, throwing another tantrum because we weren’t doing what she wanted, so I agreed to wear the top hat and let the kid playing priest pronounce us ‘man and wife’.

“Surprised you remember that,” I mutter.

She gives a wicked smile. “How could I help but think back on that promise? I know why daddy called you here today. Nicky…” She turns my chin, and all I want is to snap at her that for the last time, it is Nick. I’m not eight years old anymore. “You know the answer is yes, right?” I blink in sharp surprise. “You don’t even need to ask. When I blow out the candles on my birthday…” She smooths her hand down my chest and lower on my stomach. “You are always what I wish for.”

That is… scary. We have not spoken in a decade. She knows nothing about me.

I try to keep my expression calm and encouraging, because I know that’s what the boss would want. I know I should be happy about this little crush of hers. It means this marriage is already a done deal. She is more than happy with the arrangement. She might have even been the first one to suggest it. All I can think though… is how far and fast I want to fucking run from this.