Page 49 of The Beast Who Bought Me
“Yeah. I need a tux. For tomorrow night.”
Benedetti’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “Tomorrow night? But sir, you must understand, custom tailoring takestime?—”
“Then I guess you’ll have to work through the night. Money is no object. And it’s not for me,” I add as he begins to approach me with his measuring tape. I already have one tux from Benedetti. I don’t need another. “It’s for a guest. You get ready while I bring him up. Rosa will bring you anything you might need.”
“As you wish, Mr. Orsini.” His eyes gleam with the greed of a craftsman who’s just been told to spare no expense, but there’s curiosity there too. I don’t think his clients typically have guests who require emergency formal wear.
When I descend to the basement, the Clemenza looks up from the bed where he’s been reading that newspaper for the hundredth time. His hair is still a little damp from his shower, but at least he’s washed himself after what happened earlier.
He’s been behaving himself, ate his lunch when it was sent down, took his vitamins. But there’s still the little matter of using my property without permission.
We’ll deal with that later.
“You have an appointment,” I tell him as I unlock his collar.
He stretches out his neck and gives me a sideways glance. “Appointment?”
“Upstairs.”
The wary look in his eyes appears again. I toss him the plain white terry robe I brought down. “Put this on.”
“Nothing else?”
I smile. “Well. Almost nothing.” I pull the golden cock cage from my pocket and watch his face flush as understanding dawns. “Unless you’d prefer to stay down here?”
He lets me put it on him without further complaint, staring glassily at the wall. I take the cage in one hand and him in the other, soft and warm and growing slightly in my palm as I stand there trying to figure out this stupid device.
I have to be careful. It’s in the contract, after all. No permanent physical damage. So I take my time. I slide the cage into place, adjusting him into it with my fingers, because I want to make sure it sits right, that's all. I'm beingconsiderate, which is more than he fucking deserves.
At last it’s on. And once he’s wrapped up in the robe with his golden secret hidden underneath, he gives me a look as haughty as a prince dressed for court.
But that cage is a reminder of his captivity, of who owns his body.
Of who ownshim.
When we get up to the great room, Benedetti has arranged his tools and is humming to himself softly. He looks up as we enter, but shows no surprise, just the careful neutrality of a tailor who’s dressed enough powerful men to know when not to ask questions.
But then the Clemenza steps forward, and everything changes.
“Lorenzo,” he says, and his voice is warm. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
The tailor’s expression morphs into genuine respect, the kind that can’t be bought or faked.
“Signor Clemenza!” Benedetti’s bow is much deeper than the one he gave to me. “It’s been far too long. You look…” His eyes take in the drawn face, the slight frame. “Very well,” he finishes, not even blinking at the lie.
“I’m getting there,” the Clemenza says.
I wasn’t expecting this easy familiarity between them, but of course they would know each other. Caligula Clemenza will have been fitted by the city’s most exclusive tailor since he was old enough to wear a suit.
“The new tuxedo is for you?” Benedetti asks eagerly.
The Clemenza glances at me, and I give a stiff nod. He smiles. “The new tuxedo is for me.”
“Ah!” Benedetti is clearly delighted. “Maria and I have your measurements on record, of course, but…”
“Yes, I’ve lost a little weight,” Caligula agrees. “Better take some new ones.”
Benedetti picks up his measuring tape. “Shall we begin?”
