Читать книгу Modern Romance September 2018 Books 5-8 - Heidi Rice - Страница 14
ОглавлениеTESS 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 sake, which shamed her. “I guess this is goodbye, then.” She tried to toss her head, to smile. “And good riddance, right?”
“What does that mean?”
“A man like you would never want to commit to a family. Especially not a family like us.” Avoiding his eyes, she unbuckled Esme and lifted her into her arms, along with the diaper bag. Getting out of the back seat of the Rolls-Royce, she looked back at Stefano, so thuggishly handsome in his well-cut suit. The man she’d loved with such fierce, unwavering loyalty for so long.
That man had never truly existed. He was a man she’d made up in her own heart, someone noble and strong who just happened to have Stefano’s face and voice.
Looking one last time into his dark eyes, she whispered, “Goodbye, Stefano.”
She closed the car door firmly, shutting the door on her heart’s fairy-tale dreams.
“Here you go, miss.” The chauffeur set down her beat-up old stroller from the trunk, opening it for her on the sidewalk. “I’ll return to Brooklyn for you and Miss Esme shortly.”
“Thank you,” she said, proud of herself for keeping her voice steady. As she settled her baby in the stroller, two young men passed by on the sidewalk, smiling at her. She vaguely recognized them as customers from the neighborhood and tried to smile back at them, but she couldn’t manage it. Her heart was too sad. Squaring her shoulders, she looked ahead.
Foster Bros. Bakery, the sign proclaimed in neon, over the faded paint of a sign original to 1940. The bakery had been expanded in the 1970s, and the window display now showed artificial wedding cakes with old, cracked white frosting over foam foundations. With a deep breath, Tess pushed open the door, causing the bell to chime.
Inside, the tables scattered across the rose-colored tile floor were far emptier than usual. There was only one customer, a white-haired poorly dressed regular named Peg, who came in each morning and paid for her coffee with nickels and dimes, then sat invisibly in the corner for hours, drinking coffee refills and reading newspapers other customers left behind.
Uncle Ray’s head popped up over the bakery case.
“Where have you been?” he demanded as Tess came forward with the stroller. “Your aunt was so worried. We woke up this morning and had no idea where you were. Do you know how many messages we’ve left on your phone? She was about to call the police. The hospital. The morgue!”
Tess hung her head. “I’m sorry, Uncle Ray. I should have called.”
He glared at her. “You shouldn’t have stayed out all night! And with Esme, too.” He looked down at the baby with a frown. “You should be ashamed, Tess. And since you weren’t here to bake this morning, we have no pastries. Dozens of people walked out after they saw I had almost nothing to sell!”
The glass bakery case was indeed mostly empty, without Tess’s pumpkin and maple scones, or pecan rolls or cherry Danish twists. The only pastry on offer was her aunt’s morning glory super-bran honey-sweetened, carrot-and-zucchini muffin, which was a little too healthy for most.
“You could have asked Emily or Natalie. They’re amazing bakers and—”
“They needed their sleep. They have class. I can’t let them lose their only chance of college.” Not like you did, his eyes seemed to say.
Tess’s cheeks went hot. But she couldn’t blame him for being upset. This bakery had been handed down from father to son for generations. Her uncle took it seriously.
After Tess’s mother died when Tess was twelve, her aunt and uncle had brought her here to live with them. Tess had often puzzled over her uncle’s appearance. He didn’t look like bakers should look. Bakers were supposed to be fat and jolly, spreading joy to the world with cake and bread. Instead, Raymond Foster had the ascetic look of a marathon runner, spare and muscular, with a gaunt face and the downturned mouth of someone disappointed with his life. And now, because of her, he was even more disappointed.
Tess’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll go back and start baking, Uncle Ray.”
“It’s too late for pastries,” her uncle barked. “Make cookies. Maybe we can sell them at lunch and after school.”
“All right.” Biting her lip, she paused. “Last night...it’s not what you think. There was a good reason I didn’t come home. I... I saw Esme’s father.”
Her uncle’s eyes widened. “You did?”
She nodded.
Uncle Ray looked around. “So where is he?”
She swallowed. “He had to leave for London.”
“Ah.” Her uncle’s eyes narrowed. “Right.”
“I did see him! I did!” she said, hating the pleading sound of her own voice.
Her uncle sighed. “Then he obviously wants no part of you or Esme,” he said quietly. “It’s time to move on.”
“He did offer to—”
“Enough, Tess. These romantic fantasies have ruined your life for long enough. I won’t let them ruin our family’s business, too.”
She flinched, even knowing he was right. Stefano hadn’t wanted any part of her or Esme. He hadn’t even asked about seeing his daughter again. All he’d wanted to do was pay them off. To make them disappear. While she...
She wanted a father for her daughter. She wanted a real home. She wanted a partner she could trust, someone she could share her life with. She’d wanted them to be a family.
Forget it, she told herself harshly. Her uncle was right. Romantic fantasies had ruined her life for long enough—
The bell chimed behind her. The bakery’s door opened, and the cool September wind blew in. She heard a heavy step against the tile floor.
Maybe it was the faint scent of his cologne. The sound of his step.
But without even turning around, Tess sucked in her breath as prickles went up and down her body.
Her uncle’s expression changed into a beaming smile as he looked past Tess to the new customer. “Yes, sir? How can I help you? We’re out of pastries this morning, I’m afraid, but we have coffee and some very healthy muffins... How can I help you?”
“You can’t.” Stefano’s voice was a growl. She closed her eyes, shivering. Coming directly behind her, he said in a low voice, “Tess. Look at me.”
Slowly she turned.
Stefano looked like a dream to her, the handsome Sicilian prince staring down at her so hungrily, his muscular body powerful in a sleek designer suit.
“I thought you were leaving for London,” she said, her voice trembling in spite of her best efforts.
“I am. But I forgot something.”
“What?”
His sensual lips curved. “You.”
“Me?” Tess whispered.
From the corner of her eye, she saw her uncle Ray’s jaw drop.
Stefano put his hand on her cheek. “I can’t leave you. I tried. I can’t.”
Electricity pulsed through her body at his touch. She breathed, “It seemed easy enough for you a minute ago.”
He eyed the baby in the stroller, who looked back at him with dark eyes exactly like his own. He said simply, “I need you and Esme with me.”
“In London?”
Leaning forward, he whispered, “Everywhere.”
She felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, and her heartbeat quickened. For so long, Tess would have done anything to hear Stefano speak those words.
But she’d suffered too much shock and grief today. He couldn’t tempt her to forget so easily how badly he’d treated her. She pulled away.
“Why would I come with you?”
Stefano’s eyes widened. She saw she’d surprised him. And he wasn’t the only one. Her uncle and the white-haired customer were now staring at them, wide-eyed.
Giving her a crooked grin, he said, “I can think of a few reasons.”
“If you want to spend time with Esme, I will be happy to arrange that. But if you think I’ll give up my family and friends and home—” she lifted her chin “—and come with you to Europe as some kind of paid nanny—”
“No. Not my nanny.” Stefano’s thumb lightly traced her tender lower lip. “I have something else in mind.”
Unwilling desire shot down her body, making her nipples taut as tension coiled low in her belly. Her pride was screaming for her to push him away but it was difficult to hear her pride over the rising pleas of her body.
“I—I won’t be your mistress, either,” she stammered, shivering, searching his gaze.
“No.” With a smile that made his dark eyes gleam, Stefano shook his head. “Not my mistress.”
Tess heard a gasp. Glancing back at the cash register, she saw that her aunt and cousins had come downstairs from the upstairs apartment. They were standing next to her uncle, wearing the same stunned expressions.
“Then...then what?” Tess stammered, feeling foolish for even suggesting a handsome billionaire prince like Stefano would want a regular girl like her as his mistress. Her cheeks were hot. “You don’t want me as your nanny, not as your mistress, so—what? You just want me to come to London as someone who watches your baby for free?” Her voice shook. “Some kind of...p-poor relation?”
“No.” Taking her in his arms, Stefano said quietly, “Tess. Look at me.”
Although she didn’t want to obey, she could not resist. She opened her eyes, and the intensity of his glittering eyes scared her.
“I don’t want you to be my mistress, Tess. I don’t want you to be my nanny.” His dark eyes burned through her. “I want you to be my wife.”
* * *
Tess’s beautiful face looked pale against her scarlet-red hair as she stood in the faded bakery. Her green eyes were shocked, even horrified.
Stefano was a little shocked himself. He marveled at how quickly everything had changed. Yesterday, before he’d known about the baby, marriage had been the last thing on his mind.
His own parents had hardly made him think well of the institution, and none of the ice-cold heiresses and greedy, pouting models Stefano had dated had ever tempted him to change his mind. Taking them to bed was more than enough.
Even an hour ago, knowing that Esme was his child, he’d grimly intended to let Tess go, leaving just his money to sustain them.
But when he’d watched Tess put their baby in a stroller and leave him, walking toward the bakery, he’d felt a jolt like a cold knife slicing through his solar plexus.
He hadn’t wanted her to go.
Then he’d seen two men pass her on the sidewalk, slowing their walk to smile at her. Farther down the street, they’d turned back to look at her again. Their polite smiles changed to leers as they elbowed each other. Stefano could only imagine what the two men were saying about her. Or what they’d like to do to her.
The knife in Stefano’s gut had twisted deeper. He didn’t want to imagine Tess with another man. Ever. And yet he’d let her go so she could find a man who could love her. A better man.
But what if the next man wasn’t better?
What if he was worse?
Admittedly love was a mysterious emotion to Stefano, as he’d never experienced it. From the outside, it seemed like a self-inflicted delusion, an addictive madness that people used as an excuse to behave badly. Love came like a hurricane and left like a tornado, leaving people trampled and homes destroyed.
It had been that way with his parents, and to an entire army of their discarded lovers and spouses, in their exhaustive quest for love. And all the while, they’d left their only child to languish in an isolated castle in the care of paid servants. To them, children were an unacceptable impediment to enjoying a love affair.
What if the man Tess chose was similarly selfish and cruel? What if he treated her badly? What if he cheated on her? Stole from her? Hit her?
What if, far from him being a better father than Stefano, he resented raising another man’s child and mistreated Esme? What if he abused her?
A cold shudder had gone down Stefano’s spine.
He’d thought giving up Tess and the baby was the right thing to do—for their sakes. In that moment, however, he’d suddenly realized he was leaving them to the mercy of wolves. And Tess, with her kind nature and optimistic heart, might not know the difference until it was too late.
After all, she’d thought Stefano was worth a year of total loyalty. How badly astray could those rose-colored glasses lead her?
There was only one way to be permanently sure of their security. One way to keep them safe.
He had to marry her.
Perhaps Stefano couldn’t love her. Even so, he could damn sure take care of her. And his child.
As he’d sat in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce, the desire—the need—to permanently claim Tess as his own had rushed through him with the force of a tidal wave. When she had disappeared into the bakery, his driver had started to pull away from the curb.
“Stop!” Stefano had shouted.
He’d couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t let them both disappear and trust that the next man would deserve Tess more than he did. He’d thought he could.
He was wrong.
Now Stefano looked down at her in the bakery’s soft light. He was dimly aware of some old love song playing on the radio. From behind the counter, four people, a man and woman and two teenaged girls with backpacks, watched with their mouths wide. Ah, yes, Stefano thought. That must be the aunt and uncle and cousins who’d made Tess speak with such fear about being a poor relation. Stefano could hardly wait to take her away from the bakery and treat her as she deserved—like a princess.
“Well?” he said gently. “What is your answer?”
She shifted her feet uncertainly on the tile floor. “You—you want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t mean it,” she choked out, searching his gaze desperately. “A man like you could never be faithful to just one woman.”
“You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “I’ve seen the damage of that in my parents’ marriage. I would never betray you.”
Tess bit her lip, looking up at him.
“Say yes, dearie!” cried the bakery’s only customer, an elderly woman nursing a coffee at the furthest table. “He’s a hunk!”
“I...” Tess looked down. Her dark eyelashes swept against the smattering of freckles on her pale cheeks. “I don’t understand. The only good reason to marry,” she said in a small voice, “is for love.”
“You once said you loved me,” he pointed out.
Her lips curved. “As you pointed out, that was before I even knew you.”
The edges of his lips quirked. “So, get to know me.”
Her eyes widened, then she shook her head, repeating stubbornly, “Love is the only reason for marriage.”
Stefano thought about arguing with her, of pointing out that, in his opinion, romantic love was at best a biological reaction brought on by hormones and pheromones to coax a couple into settling into domestic life; at worst it was a delusion, an intoxicating dream that people used like a drug to escape real life. But with Tess’s romantic heart, suddenly he knew all rational arguments would be wasted. Only an emotional appeal would work.
Deliberately, he lowered his head so his lips nearly brushed against her ear. He felt her shiver as he breathed in the scent of her red hair, like vanilla and flowers.
“You are the only woman I’ve ever wanted to be my wife. Only you.”
He felt her shiver as she pulled away. Her emerald eyes were almost pleading. “But...”
He cupped her cheek. “I can make you and Esme happy,” he said softly. “You’ll always be protected and safe. We’ll travel the world by private jet. You’ll have homes in Paris and Rome and St. Barts. A castle in Sicily.”
Her lips parted. “You have a castle?”
“It’s a bit of a ruin.” He gave her a wickedly seductive smile. “But yes.”
“A castle,” she whispered to herself.
Still, Tess didn’t say yes. Other women might have been lured with dreams of wealth and status—not her.
Stefano took a different tack.
“You had to drop out of design school,” he murmured, twisting a tendril of her red hair around his finger. “As my wife, you’ll be far more influential in the fashion world than any mere designer. You’ll be invited to every event. Runway shows. Fashion awards. Berlin. The Met Gala.”
“I will?” she breathed.
He drew her closer into his arms, not caring who saw. Even baby Esme seemed almost solemn, watching from the stroller.
“Let me make you a princess.” His hand gently stroked down her cheek to the edge of her throat, to her shoulder. His gaze fell to her pink lips as he whispered, “Let me give you the fairy tale.”
Tess’s eyes were huge. He could see she was tempted. But, still, she didn’t say yes.
Why?
He thought of everything he’d ever done to persuade a woman into his bed. He’d never imagined, he thought with grim amusement, that he’d someday need even greater charm to persuade a woman to wed.
What else could he offer, aside from the heart he did not have? What could he propose that wasn’t a lie?
Then he remembered what Tess cared about most.
“Let me give our daughter a name,” he said huskily. “Let me give her a home. Let me be her father. I want you as my wife. My family.”
Pulling the solid gold signet ring off his finger, Stefano slowly went down on one knee. All the women in the bakery gasped, but he had eyes only for her. He took her hand, looking up at her.
“Marry me, Tess.”
She sucked in her breath. He saw tears in her eyes, and he knew he had her.
“Until I can get you a diamond ring, I offer this.” He held up the signet ring. “It’s been in my family for generations. I give it as my pledge of fidelity. My promise of forever.” He looked up at her. “Will you, Tess? Will you be mine, not just now, but forever?”
For a moment, she seemed to hold her breath, as if caught between desire and fear.
“Say yes,” squealed one of her young cousins.
“Yes!” cried the other one.
“Do it, Tess,” her aunt said hoarsely. “Seize your dreams before it’s too late.”
The uncle was silent, watching them.
Tess shivered. Then her fingers tightened over his.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Triumph rushed through Stefano, greater than he’d ever felt before, even when he’d made his first million, when he’d made his first billion. This was better. What he’d assumed was an entitlement to be merely demanded—Tess’s hand in marriage—had become, with her hesitation, a prize to be fought for and won.
Still kneeling, he fervently kissed her hand, then slid on the gold signet ring engraved with the Zacco coat of arms. Her fingers were too delicate, so it would fit only on her thumb, and even then, she had to keep her hand closed.
“We’ll get you another ring immediately,” he promised, rising to his feet. But he didn’t release her hand. He loved the feel of her smaller hand in his own, and soon he would have more of her.
All of her.
Tess gave him a shy smile. “I like your ring fine.”
“Plain gold? No. You’ll have a diamond. The best in the city.” Only one woman in a million, he thought, would have said she didn’t need a big diamond ring. Only one woman would have been reluctant to marry him unless it was for the right reasons. A woman who put her child above herself, and who was loyal and kind and true.
As he stood beside her in the weak September light from the bakery’s windows, her family rushed forward to congratulate them. Stefano looked at Tess, now being hugged tearfully by her aunt and cousins.
He could hardly wait to marry her.
“You’d better take good care of her,” the uncle said gruffly behind him. “After the year of hell you put her through.”
Stefano turned with a single brusque nod. “I will.”
“When will you marry?” the aunt asked, smiling.
He turned to Tess. “Tomorrow.”
They all looked at one another, astonished. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ll take you to London as my wife.”
Her beautiful face appeared entranced as she nodded, ducking her head. “All right,” she whispered. “Tomorrow.”
“I cannot wait,” he said huskily, feeling a swell of pride and the glory of conquest. Cupping her face in his hands, he lowered his mouth passionately to hers. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
