The Heir The Prince Secures

His gaze shifted to the bedroom door at the end of the hall.

Shaking his head hard, he pushed the thought away. Only one thing mattered now. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with honor.

Stefano’s gaze slid to the baby still cuddled in Tess’s arms. Esme had fallen asleep hours ago, as soon as she’d been changed and fed. That seemed appropriate given that it was past midnight. He didn’t know much about children, but even in his own disastrous childhood, Stefano had always been tucked safely in his bed every night by a nanny. For all his parents’ selfishness, they’d managed at least that much for their only child.

Which was more than Stefano himself could say if the paternity test proved Esme was his daughter. Had he unknowingly abandoned Tess, pregnant with his baby, without any money or any means to contact him?

His hands tightened.

He’d never wanted to hurt her. He’d tried his best to protect her, by leaving her. Before her love for him could get any worse.

Stefano still wasn’t sure what love was, exactly. Was love real, and was he deficient in some way since he’d never felt it? Or was it an illusion, and were other people deluding themselves?

He preferred to think the latter.

But he’d never known a woman like Tess. The women he dated were usually exactly like him—selfish and ruthless, looking out only for themselves and determined to win at any cost.

Was Tess truly so innocent that she’d given him her heart and virginity, then raised his baby with faith he would return, loving him with such unimaginable loyalty?

He’d never known anyone that unselfish. Ever. Including—and especially—his own parents.

Stefano’s father, Prince Umberto, had only cared about sordid extravagances, and thrilling affairs with women he swore he loved, then quickly discarded. He hadn’t just cheated on his wife, he’d cheated on his mistresses. He’d ruined the family’s famous company, the luxury Zacco brand, through his neglect, then sold it outright during the divorce.

After that, Stefano’s mother, Antonella, had gone on to marry five more times, to progressively younger men, each living off her money during marriage and demanding a fat payout at the end of it. Stefano’s parents had been too self-involved to bother personally with the care of their son, choosing to leave him at their castle in Sicily to be raised by paid servants. At twelve, they’d sent him off to an American boarding school, and left him there, even during the summers.

The Zacco legacy, the legendary hundred-year-old company—even the corporate rights to their very name—had been lost to his parents’ selfishness. After his father’s death when Stefano was finishing college at twenty-two, he’d inherited almost nothing: a falling-down castle in Sicily, some heavily mortgaged real estate, and the nearly bankrupt leather goods company that eventually became Mercurio.

In life, it was every man—and every woman—for themselves. Stefano had learned the lesson well. And life was a game he intended to win.

Over the last sixteen years, Stefano had laboriously rebuilt everything his parents had lost. His international conglomerate, Gioreale S.p.A., was now worth billions, containing luxury brands that sold everything from sports cars to champagne to jewels. And he was building the exclusive fashion line, Mercurio.

It was true, Mercurio’s launch last year hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped, but he’d just hired a hot new designer, the eccentric, trendy Caspar von Schreck. His first clothing collection would be shown next month at Paris Fashion Week.

And soon, if everything went as planned, Stefano would finally acquire what he wanted most—he’d buy back the Zacco brand. Everything was coming together.

He should have been happy, or at least pleased.

But the truth was, at thirty-eight, Stefano was feeling strangely tired of all of it. It was why he’d left tonight’s party early, even arranging for his driver to give teenage model Kebe Kedane a ride back to her anxiously waiting mother on the Upper West Side.

Once, Stefano had loved the thrill of New York Fashion Week, the parties, the clubs, the gorgeous women. Lately, everything he’d given his life to conquer...left him numb. He found himself wanting something else. Something more.

Taking back the Zacco brand would change everything, he told himself firmly. Next week he’d start negotiations with Fenella Montfort to buy back his family’s legacy. Once it was his, he’d finally feel satisfied. He’d finally feel at peace.

He’d finally have won.

“Oh,” Tess murmured, yawning as she stirred on the sofa. She blinked, cradling her baby gently as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“You’re tired.” He looked down at her. “I’d like you to stay here tonight.”

Her cheeks went pink. She looked down shyly, her dark eyelashes fluttering against her skin. “That’s very kind of you, but—”

“It’s not kind. I want this settled, one way or the other, before I leave for London tomorrow.”

“London?”

“For Fashion Week.”

She blinked in surprise. “Are you attending all of them?”

“Yes, back to back. New York, London, Milan, Paris.” He gave her a humorless smile. “I do own a fashion brand.”

“But it’s not Zacco?” She said, looking bewildered.

“Mercurio.” His smile dropped. “My father sold Zacco almost twenty years ago. I intend to buy it back. I’ll start the negotiations in London.”

“Good for you.” The deal that meant so much to him obviously meant nothing to her. She stretched her shoulders back, drawing her shoulder blades together, which pushed her breasts forward, stretching the fabric of her modest vintage shirt. Unwillingly, his eyes traced over the shape of her breasts. Catching himself, he forced his attention back to her face.

But her eyes were even more dangerous than her body. They were deep emerald pools, like oceans for an unwary man to drown in.

“When will you be back from Europe?”

“I don’t know.”

Careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in her arms, she rose from the sofa. “Thank you for dinner, and for offering to let me stay, but Esme and I really should be getting home.”

She started toward the foyer where the stroller waited, but he moved to block her. “You’re not going anywhere.”

His voice was harsher than he’d intended. Tess’s lips parted, angry sparks rising in her green eyes.

“Please,” he said, amending his tone. “I want you to stay. Dr. Miller promised the paternity results first thing in the morning.”

“Why should I stay? It’ll only prove what I already know. You’re Esme’s father. I have no reason to wait all night to get the news.” She looked at the floor. “I’ve waited for you long enough.”

An unsettled feeling filled Stefano. If she was telling the truth, then it meant he’d unthinkingly, cruelly abandoned her, pregnant with his baby. He couldn’t let himself even reflect about what that might mean or the choice he’d have to make.

Stefano came closer. “Please stay. Until we know for sure.”

Tess lifted her chin. “I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Again?”

“I work fifty hours a week.”

“Why? Does it pay well?”

Tess gave a smile tinged with bitterness. “Minimum wage. Plus room and board for myself and Esme.”

“Minimum wage?” He was outraged. “Why would you work so hard for so little?”

“There aren’t many jobs I’m qualified for and where I can keep Esme with me.”

“You should have stayed in design school.”

“Wow,” she said sarcastically. “Thank you for pointing that out to me.” Her cheeks burned. “But I couldn’t afford both tuition and day care, or manage sixteen-hour days of work and school away from her.”

Stefano stared at Tess.

He could instantly picture what her life had been like since he’d left her last year, pregnant, penniless and alone. She’d worked a menial job for little pay, giving up her dreams of college, struggling to provide for her baby with no hope for the future.

All because he’d made sure she had no way to contact him ever again.

His stomach clenched. “If what you say is true and she’s my child...it will change everything. Surely you know that.”

Biting her lip, she glanced down at the sleeping baby in her arms, then said in a small voice, “It would?”

Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, Stefano said quietly, “Please stay, Tess. You’re tired and so is Esme. Just stay. You can have the bedroom. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

She gave him a startled glance, then looked at her sleeping baby cuddled against her chest. With visible reluctance, she sighed. “All right. Fine.” Going to the stroller, she returned with a diaper bag slung over her shoulder. “Where is the bedroom?”

He felt an unexpected rush of triumph that he’d convinced her to stay. “This way.”

Stefano led her down a short hallway to the hotel suite’s bedroom with its huge four-poster bed, marble bathroom and view of the sparkling city lights. He pointed toward the bathroom. “There’s a new toothbrush, toiletries, everything you might need.” He paused uncertainly. “Do you want me to have the concierge send up pajamas? A crib for the baby?”

She shook her head, her eyes looking tired. “Just leave us.”

With a nod, Stefano departed, softly closing the door behind him. As he returned to the main room, his shoulders were tense. He felt strangely restless. He played a few notes on the grand piano, then stopped, remembering Tess and the baby were trying to sleep. Turning to the wet bar, he poured himself a short Scotch and went to the windows, looking at the darkly glittering New York night.

Taking a drink, he stared out bleakly into the night, letting the potent forty-year-old Scotch burn down his throat.

Tess. The bright-eyed redhead was different than any woman he’d ever met, funny and sweet and sexy as hell. The morning he’d woken up in her arms, he’d already been planning to have her in his bed every night until he was satiated with her. Then she’d told him she was falling in love with him, and the whole world had stopped.

Stefano abruptly turned from the window. Work. Work was what he should be focusing on right now. As always.

Setting down his half-empty glass, he grabbed his laptop and sat down on the sofa. Blankly, he read through emails, including reviews of rival companies’ shows during New York Fashion Week and details about Mercurio’s upcoming event in Paris.

As Stefano read through the reports that had seemed so urgent only hours before, all the analysis and numbers seemed like meaningless symbols on the screen. From the bedroom, he thought he heard Tess’s voice singing lullabies to the baby.

His baby.

He didn’t know that yet for sure, Stefano reminded himself fiercely. Yet—he thought of baby Esme’s dark eyes—he knew.

And if it was proved that five-month-old Esme Foster was his child? What would he do then?

Tess’s singing faded and the hotel suite fell silent. Stefano stared at the cold glow of his laptop, wishing Tess would come out to talk to him.

He took a blanket and pillow from the closet and went back to the sofa. He stopped when he realized he’d forgotten to get pajamas. He didn’t want to go to the bedroom and risk waking her, but he could hardly sleep naked, either, with her here.

He compromised by taking off only his shirt. He stretched out on the sofa beneath the blanket. He folded his hands on the pillow, behind his head, and stared at the ceiling, his jaw set.

His life didn’t need to change, he told himself. He could simply tell his lawyers to arrange a generous financial settlement for Tess and the baby, and he could fly off to London as planned.

Tess was obviously a good mother. He could trust her to take care of Esme. Once they had unlimited money, they’d be fine. Tess would be free to do whatever she wanted. They didn’t need Stefano.

Still, Stefano tossed and turned, remembering how alone he’d felt as a child, abandoned by his parents. Would Esme always think her father had deliberately chosen to abandon her? And if she did, wasn’t it true?

Stefano woke from an unsettling dream to hear his phone ringing. He wrenched it to his ear. “Hello.”

“It’s Dr. Miller. I hope I didn’t wake you. You said you wanted to know as soon as possible.”

Looking out the windows, Stefano saw the light of early dawn. He gripped his phone. “Yes?”

“Esme Foster is your daughter. There can be no doubt.”

Stefano closed his eyes. Part of him had already known—from the moment he’d really looked into the baby’s dark eyes, exactly like his own.

You’re Esme’s father, Tess had said. I have no reason to wait all night to get the news. I’ve waited for you long enough.

“Your Highness?” the doctor said.

“Thank you,” Stefano said flatly. “Send me your bill.” He hung up.

Blinking, he sat up on the sofa, staring at the gray dawn over New York City, at the fine mist of September drizzle. Rising to his feet, he rolled his tense shoulders. He quietly went into the bedroom, careful not to wake Tess, who was sleeping half-upright, with their baby cuddled on her chest.

After taking clean clothes from the wardrobe, he went into the en suite bathroom. He closed and locked the door behind him, and took a shower so hot it scalded his skin. He shaved. He brushed his teeth. He wiped the steam off the mirror. He met his own eyes.

Nothing had to change, he repeated to himself. Nothing at all. He could still leave for London today. Let his lawyers handle this. He could continue to live his life as always.

A life of power and money.

Where he risked nothing.

Felt nothing.

Stefano’s expression in the reflection was emotionless and cold. It was a trick he’d perfected long ago, imitating his father.

Once he was dressed in a crisp white shirt, dark trousers and a dark jacket, he went back into his bedroom. Reaching out, he gently shook Tess’s shoulder.

Her eyes flew open, startled. When she saw him, standing over her in the shadows beside the bed, for a moment, she smiled in pure joy, as if all her dreams had come true.

Then she blinked, remembered and looked sad.

“What is it?” she said.

“The baby’s mine.”

She gave him a wistful smile. “I know.” She waited, with painful hope in her eyes.

For what? What was Tess hoping? That he could settle down? Marry her? Help her raise the baby? Give them a home? A name?

Ridiculous.

Stefano had no idea how to be a good husband or father. He’d never even seen it done. Money was all he had to offer them. He’d give Tess a fortune and set her free.

But his body was fighting that decision. Even now, desire shuddered through him as he looked at her. She’d just woken up, but even in her rumpled clothes, tired and cuddling their sleeping baby in her arms, she was the most tantalizing woman he’d ever known.

What would it be like to wake up with her every morning? To have her in his bed every night? What would it be like to possess her completely?

Stefano pushed the thought aside savagely. Setting them free was the right thing to do. It would give Tess and their daughter the chance to be cherished and loved. By someone else.

And Stefano—

He’d focus on his upcoming negotiations. As Tess had said earlier, it was unacceptable that Stefano no longer even owned the corporate rights to his own name. He’d focus on that. Only on that.

And that was final.

“Come on, Tess,” he said roughly, turning away. “I’ll take you home.”

CHAPTER THREE

TESS COULDN’T BELIEVE IT.

She glanced at Stefano out of the corner of her eye. They were sitting in the back seat of his expensive Rolls-Royce, with their baby in a car seat between them, as his uniformed driver maneuvered the morning rush-hour traffic already clogging the streets and avenues of New York in every direction.

She’d thought—really thought—that once he had proof he was Esme’s father that he would offer to help her somehow. Hadn’t he said that if he was the father, it would change everything?

Instead, he was taking her and Esme back to Brooklyn, to drop her off at her uncle’s bakery on his way to the airport. Leaving Tess to face her uncle’s wrath alone, while he flew off to London as planned.

Stefano had changed nothing.

Her disillusionment was complete.

“You’re very quiet,” Stefano said.

She couldn’t even talk to him right now. Leaning forward, she spoke to the driver. “Thanks for the ride. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to drive in Manhattan.”

“You don’t know how to drive?” Stefano said.

She shook her head, still not looking at him. “I’m a New York girl. I take the subway.”

But, as she spoke, her hand unconsciously stroked the smooth leather of the seat. It was a strangely sensual experience. But she’d only been in a luxury car like this once before. The night he’d seduced her. The night she’d conceived Esme.

“Ba-ba-ba,” the baby said wonderingly beside her, waving her fat arms. Tess looked down at Esme with a tender smile.

“Yes. Exactly.”

After Stefano had woken her up that morning, she’d fed and changed Esme, and brushed her own hair and teeth. A chauffeured Rolls-Royce had been waiting at the curb as they’d come out the front door of the Campania Hotel, and she’d found a brand-new infant car seat had already been installed in the back seat.

This must be what it’s like to be rich, Tess thought. Your path through life was always smooth, because paid employees ran ahead of you, clearing and tidying up every problem or delay. Even a child was no problem, apparently. You could just drop her off with a clear conscience and fly away on your jet.

“You’re angry with me,” Stefano said quietly.

As they traveled over the Brooklyn Bridge, Tess looked at him and immediately regretted it. “Why would I be angry?”

His eyes were dark and serious. “It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?”

“For you.” He looked at the happy, gurgling baby. “For her.”

Tess forced herself to smile. “You’re probably right.”

This would probably be the last time she’d ever see him, she realized. Stefano had made that clear since he’d woken her up and told her coldly that Esme was definitely his child, which, duh, she’d already known. What she’d hadn’t known, what she’d waited with painful hope to hear, was how he would react to the news.

But all he’d said was that he was taking her home. After that, he’d avoided looking at her while the hotel staff had brought down his luggage from his suite.

Which was its own answer, really. Even now that Stefano had proof that Esme was his child, in spite of his earlier words, he didn’t actually intend to do anything about it.

Tess was on her own.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. For over a year, she’d dreamed of Stefano returning to claim her, taking her in his arms, kissing her, begging her to be his bride. She’d dreamed of taking only one lover her whole life, and loving him for a lifetime. Being a family.

From the moment she’d met him on the street yesterday, she’d been forced to accept that, though Stefano Zacco might be a prince, he wasn’t anything like the Prince Charming she’d imagined him to be. Still, part of her, deep inside, had hoped that once he knew without a doubt that Esme was his child, he’d change.

She was so stupid. Why did she always seek hope even at times she should have clearly accepted defeat?

“I want only the best for you both,” Stefano said now. His black eyes pierced her heart.

His every action proved those words a lie. Taking a deep breath, she looked out at the passing buildings and said in a small voice, “So you’re off to London now?”

“Yes. To negotiate for Zacco.”

Her voice trembled a little as she said, “Good luck.”

“Grazie,” he said flatly.

They made their way through the most fashionable section of Brooklyn, toward the slightly less upscale neighborhood where her uncle’s bakery had been started by his grandfather in 1940. Heads on the sidewalks turned as the gleaming car passed by.

She felt a hollow pang in her belly as she whispered, “My uncle is going to be furious because I was out all night...”

“Why do you care? You are only here to collect your things, and the baby’s.”

Frowning, Tess looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

Stefano snorted. “Surely you cannot wish to remain here, working yourself to exhaustion for little pay.”

What choice do I have? She bit back the bitter words. She wouldn’t let Stefano think she was asking for his money or anything else not freely given.

She was being foolish, she knew. Her practical, financially focused friend Lola would be screaming at her right now to demand a hefty dose of child support, as was her right, and as he could easily afford.

But she couldn’t do it.

Tess had once wondered how her friend Hallie could have ever refused money from Cristiano Moretti under similar circumstances. Now, for the first time, she understood. It was because, after losing so much, sometimes a woman had only her pride left to cling to.

She set her jaw. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve already called my lawyer.”

Confused, she turned to him. “A lawyer? Why?”

“Now that I have proof of Esme’s paternity, I cannot evade responsibility.”

She sucked in her breath. “What do you mean?”

“Tess.” Stefano’s dark eyes glittered in the gray morning light. “Did you really think I’d leave you and Esme without a penny? My driver will return later this morning to collect you and Esme, and take you to my lawyer’s office in Midtown. He’ll arrange for your bank account and funds to buy a nice apartment in any neighborhood you desire. My driver will be at your disposal anytime, day or night. All your needs will be provided for, anything you need to make your life more comfortable. A housekeeper, a cook, charge accounts at every department store, private school for Esme.”

Tess’s mouth was open. “What?”

Stefano gave a hard, careless smile. “Why does this surprise you? It is now my duty to provide for you. You will never have to work again, Tess. Or do anything you do not wish to do.”

Behind him, dimly Tess could see the Brooklyn Bridge and Manhattan skyline across the East River as the Rolls-Royce turned into her neighborhood.

When he’d said he wanted to take responsibility, for a moment she’d actually thought he intended to help raise their child, to be a real father; instead, he just meant money.

She should have been thrilled by his offer. Lola would have told her so in no uncertain terms. But she wasn’t. Stefano made her feel as if she and Esme were merely another unpleasant obligation, like an electricity bill.

Sadness filled her heart. Her shoulders sagged as she turned away, staring out at the Brooklyn street. Her street.

“Tess?”

As they pulled up in front of the bakery, she said in a low voice, “I don’t want your money.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s all arranged. Watson will be back in about two hours, won’t you, Watson?”

“Maybe three, depending on the traffic, Your Highness.”

Stefano reached over the baby’s car seat to take Tess’s hand in his own. “You’re free,” he said in a low voice. “You and the baby can enjoy your lives.” He paused. “Someday you’ll find a man who deserves you both.”

“Thanks,” she said over the lump in her throat, pulling her hand away. His patronizing words burned her to the core. She would have preferred it if he’d told her that he found her boring and that he’d rather eat glass than raise a child. At least then she could have respected his honesty. Instead, he was trying to make it sound like he was abandoning Tess for her

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