Читать книгу Modern Romance September 2018 Books 5-8 - Heidi Rice - Страница 19
ОглавлениеTESS SIGHED WITH PLEASURE, closing her eyes as she turned her face to the warm Sicilian sun.
The wind blew through her hair as Stefano drove the vintage red convertible. Her hair was pulled back with a scarf, and she was wearing a sundress and sandals. From the front seat of the car, she glanced back, smiling as their baby cooed happily from her car seat.
As soon as they’d arrived in Sicily on Stefano’s smallest private jet, Tess had felt free, like they’d left all their troubles behind, along with their bodyguards, assistants and even the trusted nanny. Stefano’s suits had disappeared, and he wore a casual black T-shirt and jeans that seemed to caress his powerful muscles. It was a different world.
Leaving the airport behind, they’d driven through the small city of Ragusa, where she’d goggled at an old mansion with stone faces carved into the balconies.
“The Palazzo Zacco,” he’d told her.
Her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “Zacco?”
He snorted. “Don’t get excited. It’s not ours. It was built by a totally different family. No—” he’d looked up, switching the car’s gears with a grin “—our little place is up in the hills.”
They’d traveled the slender coastal road on the edge of the cobalt blue sea. Now they were going deeper into the island, past orange and olive groves. As the road climbed up the hills, they passed vineyards heavy with the last grapes waiting for harvest. In the distance, she saw a village tucked into a small valley.
“The village of Gioreale,” he said quietly. “Half destroyed by an earthquake in 1961. My father ruined the rest by neglect.” As they drew closer, his hands tightened on the steering wheel, as if he were bracing himself.
But as they entered the village, Tess looked incredulously at the well-kept charming pink stucco buildings and freshly painted green shutters. There was a profusion of flowers, and the cars parked on the streets were gleaming and new.
At the center of the village, near a small, well-maintained church, outdoor cafés lined a square filled with tourists taking pictures of the lavishly sculptured stone fountain.
“I thought you said it was a ruin,” Tess breathed as the convertible slowed. “A ghost town.”
Stefano was staring around with amazement that exceeded her own. “It was.” Blinking hard as if he didn’t believe his own eyes, he looked back at it through the rearview mirror. “The fountain—did you see that? It had water! It never did before.”
Tess tilted her head. “So it’s changed since you left?”
“Yes...” Stefano’s eyes widened. “But I never thought...” Not finishing the thought, he pressed on the gas. The red convertible flew up the next hill, as, in the back seat, Esme giggled and clapped her hands, clearly relishing the wind on her face.
Tess smiled back at her baby, then looked out at the rolling hills and took a deep breath of the fresh, fragrant air.
“It’s more beautiful than I ever imagined.” She held her hand out, in the direction of the sheep placidly grazing in a nearby field, and felt almost like she was flying. She looked at him. “I can’t believe I’m princess of this magical place.”
“Magical is right.” Shaking his head, he gave an amazed laugh. “Tourists. In Gioreale.”
Leaning back against the soft leather seat, Tess closed her eyes. She tried to remember the last time she’d felt so happy. The drama of Paris already felt like a world away.
Stefano had told her that his company’s stock price was down nine percent. Costing him hundreds of millions of euros.
Costing him Zacco.
Which wasn’t to say Mercurio hadn’t gotten lots of press. It had mostly just been negative. The story was everywhere, first of the runway show itself, with the models in animal masks, capped by poor Kebe tripping and falling into the audience; then of the aftermath. The video of Tess chewing out Caspar von Schreck had already been viewed a million times. Many people were calling her defense of the young model admirable, but a good few had been insulting and rude, asking how a mere trophy wife had the right to attack a true artist like von Schreck. The one thing everyone agreed on: Mercurio might not survive this disaster.
It was all so horrifying that Tess had quit social media entirely. On the flight to Sicily, she’d called Hallie and Lola. Her friends had both been indignant on her behalf.
“Some bully was yelling at a girl? Of course you had to say something,” Hallie said.
“You can’t let bullies win,” Lola had said, her voice oddly restrained.
Tess had been happy to hear her friends’ voices. Stefano had spent much of the flight pacing, speaking tersely to shareholders and board members from Buenos Aires to Berlin. Grimly he’d laid down the law: no new clothing would be manufactured or shipped out until they’d found a new designer. It would be a crushing blow for their business, especially the flagship boutique in New York.
But they’d left that all behind. In the convertible, Tess glanced at Stefano out of the corner of her eye. He was so handsome, and never more so than now.
Golden sunlight frosted the edges of his strong features, his black eyes and olive-toned skin. His square jawline was already dark with five-o’clock shadow, though it was only noon. His short dark hair waved in the wind as his hands gripped the steering wheel.
How would Stefano feel if he lost Mercurio, on top of Zacco?
She couldn’t bear to think of it. Not when he meant the world to her. Not when she...
“Look.” He nodded forward. “The castello di Gioreale.”
Following his gaze, she gasped.
At the top of the hill was an old fortified castle, surrounded by vineyards and lit up by sunshine.
“Wow,” she breathed. Not only had he made her a princess, but he’d brought her to his castle, just like a fairy-tale prince. All her childhood dreams were coming true.
Especially this. Especially him. Looking at Stefano, her handsome prince, a lump rose in her throat. He was an incredible lover. An amazing husband. A wonderful father.
He could have been angry at her—for causing the scene with von Schreck, and for wearing her own design on the red carpet. Instead, he’d supported her. He’d announced proudly that the dress was Tess’s own design. He’d protected her from von Schreck when the man had tried to hit her. And then he’d brought her here. Tess looked at him, her heart in her throat.
Dust kicked up around them as Stefano drove the vintage red convertible behind the castle. Stopping the car, he got out and rolled up a garage door, then drove into a stable that had been converted into a six-car garage.
“No wonder it’s not locked.” Turning off the gas, he looked around. The converted stable was mostly empty inside, with only a few old estate cars. “My father used to fill this with his Ferraris.” He gave her a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Let’s see what else has changed.”
Lifting their baby out of the car seat, Tess waited as he took three small suitcases from the tiny trunk of the convertible. Then she followed him out of the garage.
Outside, the stone castle was sprawling and magnificent. Manicured gardens stretched to the edge of endless vineyards, broken up by pretty clusters of trees. Far below, at the bottom of the hills, she could see the smoky blue haze of the sea.
Tilting back her head, she looked up at the castle in awe. Red bougainvillea climbed the walls like scarlet flames. Tears filled her eyes.
“What do you think?” Stefano said quietly.
Turning to face him, she tried to smile, holding their baby on her hip.
“I love it,” she whispered. She lifted her tremulous gaze to his. “I just can’t believe it’s real.”
He grinned. “Oh, it’s real, all right. As you’ll discover once you actually live in it. The castle was built in the late Middle Ages, but the foundations are much older. It was a palace in the days of the emirate.”
“Emirate?”
“Sicily was the crossroads of the Mediterranean. Everyone’s had a piece of it at one time or another. Ancient Greeks, Romans, Vikings, Arabs, Normans, Spaniards. And now Italians.” He shrugged. “Conquerors come and go. My own ancestors came to Sicily six hundred years ago, in service to the king of Aragon.”
It all sounded very romantic to Tess. She imagined the clash of swords between knights, a damsel languishing in a rose-covered bower. “It sounds lovely.”
He gave her a strange look. “Lovely?”
“Romantic.”
He snorted. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.” Gazing up at the castle, he said, “I haven’t been home in a long time.”
“Everyone will be so excited to see you!”
“They all hated my father.” He lifted their suitcases higher against his shoulders. “I doubt they’ll be glad to see me.”
The back door of the castle was unlocked. Inside, it was dark and quiet. Tess craned her head. The closest she’d ever been to the inside of a castle was the time she’d visited the Cloisters, the medieval museum in northern Manhattan.
She looked down at her feet. Even the floor appeared ancient, with a worn, colorful mosaic that looked almost Byzantine. Everything was old. The walls were rough stone, and the furniture was obviously hundreds of years old. There was actually a suit of armor in the hallway.
Above them, the ceilings were shadowy and dark, with few windows and thick stone walls. The temperature seemed to drop.
“This is what a real castle feels like,” Stefano said, observing her with a grin.
“Amazing,” she said, shivering.
“Don’t worry. There’s a modern wing that’s a little more livable. This way.”
It was funny, she thought. For all her life, since her mother had read her fairy tales as a child, Tess had dreamed of castles. As a student, she’d pasted pictures of famous castles on the cover of her writing notebooks. From a distance, the castle of Gioreale had indeed looked majestic and awe-inspiring.
As she walked through the windowless hallways, she was forced to face the hard truth that old castles were indeed dark, cold and uncomfortable inside. Sometimes, it seemed, reality was not nearly as good as the fantasy.
But sometimes... Tess looked at Stefano’s broad shoulders as he walked ahead of her, carrying their luggage. Sometimes it was even better.
“In here,” Stefano said, pushing a thick oak door open. Following him, she gasped.
They were in a traditional great hall, with a fireplace as tall as Stefano. The high ceiling had exposed beams and was painted with old family crests and insignias. There were windows, and the furniture looked comfortable and new. Well, comparatively new. Golden light flooded in from lead-paned windows overlooking the cloistered courtyard.
“The modern wing,” he said.
“Modern?” she said faintly.
“Sí.” He grinned. “It’s only three hundred years old.”
“Only!”
Setting down their luggage, Stefano looked at the crackling fire in the fireplace. “It’s strange we haven’t seen any of the staff. Maybe they’re in the kitchen.”
With Esme in her arms, Tess followed him down a different hallway, then another. Finally he pushed open a door. Inside was a gleaming kitchen—far more modern than three hundred years old—filled with people. They were all bustling about, preparing food.
A woman gave a shocked cry as a dish shattered against the tile floor.
A short white-haired woman pushed through the crowded kitchen. Her wrinkled face lit up as she stared up at Stefano in shock. With a cry, she threw her arms around him. Tenderly he hugged her back, speaking in rapid Italian.
Stefano finally pulled away, looking a little sheepish, but happy for all that. “Tess, I’d like you to meet Gerlanda, my old nanny. She’s now housekeeper here.” He looked down at the white-haired woman, now wiping her tears with an apron. “Gerlanda, I’d like you to meet my bride from America, Tess, and our daughter, Esme.”
The elderly woman’s eyes went wide, and then she gave a joyful cry. Turning back to the others, she said a few quick words in a strange dialect of Italian—Sicilian?—and all the others began to exclaim joyfully as well. Tess found herself surrounded by smiling people, all patting her shoulder and stroking the baby’s head, welcoming her in English, in Italian or just by the warmth on their faces.
“Thank you, thank you.” Gerlanda shook her hand joyfully at Tess. “For bringing him here.” Tears were streaking her kind face. “Welcome, my princess.”
Awed by all the raucous, noisy delight now filling the gleaming kitchen, Tess turned to look at her husband.
They all hated my father, he’d said. I doubt they’ll be glad to see me.
From the happy shouts and tears, she saw he’d been completely wrong.
“What are you all doing here?” Stefano said, looking at the platters of food being assembled on the marble counter. “Is there a party?”
The others burst into laughter and a cacophony of Italian and Sicilian.
“The festival of harvest,” one of them explained, glancing in Tess’s direction. She realized they were speaking in English so she’d understand and was touched at their kindness.
“It will be our biggest one ever, since we also celebrate the success of the winery.”
“It’s doing well?” Stefano sounded mystified. The people around him laughed, their faces in broad smiles.
“Our Moscato—it just got the top rating from a famous wine critic.”
“The bottle price, it will go very high.”
“Extremely high.”
“More tourists will come to Gioreale. More hotels to open, more restaurants, more everything,” another said happily.
“The harvest festival is this afternoon,” a young woman said. “Please, you must come!”
In the corner of her eye, she saw Stefano hesitate. He glanced questioningly at Tess.
“Please, Princess, make him come!” a girl pleaded. “And your sweet baby.”
“Of course we’ll come,” Tess said, smiling at them.
Everyone cheered. Speaking in rapid Italian, Gerlanda pulled off her apron.
“But you have traveled far. You must be hungry. Your bags are inside? Salvatore,” she snapped her fingers, speaking to a nearby man. The man immediately left the kitchen, smiling as he passed them.
Gerlanda turned back, cooing at the baby. “I will make you some lunch. Just to tide you over.”
“We’re not terribly hungry,” Tess began. She was still full from the lovely breakfast that Louisa had prepared them on the private jet.
“Of course you are,” the Sicilian housekeeper said briskly. “You are too skinny. You must keep up your strength! For Stefano! For Gioreale! And this sweet little one.” She stroked Esme’s dark curls. “The festival is hours away. You will starve. I will bring you food.”
Tess tossed her husband a pleading glance.
“Thank you, Gerlanda,” he interceded. “But I’d like to show my new bride around the estate. And perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “visit the winery.”
“Yes!” The older woman’s face lit up. “See what you have done for us.”
“What has Stefano done?” Tess said.
“After his father died, Stefano always made sure to send money for the village. Even when his company was small and he had nothing. He always sent it to us. Always.” Her eyes gleamed with tears as she looked up at him. “Now you are here, so you can see your sacrifice was not in vain. Or your belief in us.” Abruptly she turned away. “You are not hungry, fine, so I will make you a picnic.”
Stefano stared after her with a smile tracing his lips. “Same old Gerlanda.”
“She calls you by your first name,” Tess said wonderingly. “No one else does. Not even your assistant.”
“Gerlanda was my nanny for two years, from the time I was eight until ten.” His smile lifted to a grin. “I think in her mind, I am still ten years old.”
“If she loved you, why did she leave?”
The smile dropped. “She didn’t. My mother fired her. She always got rid of any servant I started to care about. She didn’t want me to get too attached to them.”
Tess stared up at him in disbelief. “What?” she breathed. “Your parents abandoned you—then wouldn’t let you love any of your caregivers?”
“Not just caregivers.” His voice was casual, but she saw the tightness around his eyes. “Anyone I loved would disappear. After Gerlanda was forced to leave, I made friends with kids in the village. But at the end of the summer, they were told not to play with me or their parents would lose their jobs. So I roamed over the countryside with the gardener’s dog.” He paused. “My parents thought it was vulgar. So they told the gardener to get rid of his dog. When he refused, he was fired.”
“Oh, Stefano,” Tess choked out, her heart breaking. How could anyone be so cruel, to systematically and deliberately remove all love from their own child’s life?
“It’s all in the past.” Stefano’s expression was cool. “I haven’t thought about it for years.” He took her hand. “Come.”
But was it really in the past? As he showed her around the sprawling castle, Tess felt sick.
Because now she knew and could no longer deny it.
She loved him. She was totally and completely in love with her husband.
And he’d warned her against it from the start.
You know I’m not good with...with feelings, right? Emotions? I like you a lot, Tess. Especially in bed. But that’s all I’m capable of. I just... I’d never want to make you unhappy or break your heart.
Loving Stefano, was Tess making the same mistake her mother had made—giving herself to a man who was totally unobtainable?
Had she just made the biggest mistake of her life?
“What do you think? Can you handle it?”
Tess jumped guiltily. “What? What do you mean?”
Smiling, Stefano took the baby from her, cradling Esme in his strong arms. “The castle. It’s not too rustic for you?”
“Oh.” She looked around the master bedroom. One of the staff—Salvatore?—had already brought up their three suitcases. She studied the twisted wood columns of the massive four-poster bed, and caught the view of the valley past the balcony. She tried to smile. “I think I can handle it.”
But could she?
When they went back downstairs, they found Gerlanda waiting with a picnic basket. “And one of the village mothers thought you might find this useful for your walk.”
Stefano looked doubtfully at a fabric contraption in the housekeeper’s hand. “What is it?”
“A baby carrier!” Tess exclaimed. She’d wanted one for ages, but hadn’t had the money. When she started to put it on, Gerlanda stopped her.
“It’s man-size. For the father.”
Tess turned to Stefano with a huge grin. “Even better!”
For the next few hours, they explored fields and vineyards, beneath the wide blue sky and golden light. Stefano held Tess’s hand and carried their baby on his back. As Stefano pointed out interesting features of the estate and Esme jabbered behind them softly, Tess looked down at her hand wrapped in his larger one and felt tears in her eyes.
Stefano stopped abruptly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She tried to smile. “Nothing. I’m just happy.”
“So happy you’re crying?” he said suspiciously.
“We’re a family,” she whispered, looking up at him.
Their eyes locked, and for a moment he looked stricken.
Then all trace of emotion was shuttered from his handsome face. “Of course we are.” His voice was cool. He dropped her hand. “Ah. There’s the winery.”
Inside the squat, prosperous gray stone building, they found the winery staff busy serving the tourists in the tasting room, selling them bottles by the case. Seeing Stefano, one of the employees immediately took them back to the production area, where they found the vintner, a middle-aged man, looking harried amid all the vats.
The employee went ahead and quietly spoke in the man’s ear. The vintner whirled and saw Stefano, and his face lit up. With a joyful clap, he strode forward and eagerly shook Stefano’s hand, bowing again and again. Turning to Tess, he welcomed her with an embrace, a kiss on each cheek and a rush of words in Sicilian.
They spoke for an hour with the vintner and his staff, learning how the winery’s production and fame had flourished and grown. Then Tess started to notice some of the tourists peeking into the production area and surreptitiously snapping photos—not just of Stefano, but also of Tess. For a moment she was bewildered, then she remembered that, back in the real world, she was all over social media right now, and probably TV, as well. Being even temporarily famous made her uncomfortable. She was relieved when they finally left the winery and returned to the castle’s private land.
“The winery’s doing well.” Stefano sounded shocked. “I didn’t realize. They’re shipping all over the world. They can barely keep up production.”
“You didn’t know?” she said, surprised. “Don’t you own it?”
“No, and that’s probably why they’re doing so well,” he said dryly. “The village owns it, as a cooperative.” He shook his head, a smile lifting up the corners of his lips. “All of Gioreale is thriving.”
“Because you believed in them. Invested in them.”
He frowned. “Of course I did. I grew up here. Who wouldn’t?”
Your father, Tess thought, but she didn’t say it. It wasn’t her place. Family could be complicated, she knew. She didn’t like to hear criticism of her own father, though he’d died three years ago without ever trying to contact her. Even after his death, she’d tried to respect his wishes—by not going to his funeral or ever telling his other family of her existence.
Was it right? Wrong? Tess didn’t know. All she did know was that love could be complicated, and sometimes it could be hard to tell it apart from hate.
Which must be, she thought with a lump in her throat, why Stefano didn’t want any part of it.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Stefano said suddenly, giving her a wicked grin. “If we don’t eat this picnic, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
He led her to a grassy spot on the top of the highest hill, not too far from the castle. They spread a blanket so the baby could play. Six-month-old Esme’s idea of play was to try to clap her hands and catch her own feet, which always left her in a paroxysm of giggles.
Beneath the October sunshine, they spread out the housekeeper’s picnic of fruit, sausages, cheese and freshly baked bread, and shared a bottle of the famous red Moscato the vintner had pressed on them. Beneath them, in the castle courtyard, they could see servants preparing tables for the harvest festival—hanging fairy lights, flowers and colorful decorations. As the afternoon waned, more villagers started arriving by foot and horse and car, all of them loaded down with food and wine.
“You’re sure you want to go tonight?” Stefano said, tilting his head. “This is supposed to be our honeymoon.”
“I want to go. It looks fun. The villagers love you,” Tess whispered, her heart in her throat. She took a deep breath. “And so do—” She lost her nerve. Stuffing her mouth with grapes and cheese, she swallowed. “Yum.”
“It’s all grown on this estate.”
“Delicious.”
His dark eyes lit up. He murmured, “You’re delicious.”
Leaning over on the blanket, he kissed her, and she felt her body rise. They kissed for a long time in the warmth of the October sun, until twilight approached and Esme needed to get ready for bed.
Tess trembled, thinking how she’d nearly told him she loved him. What would have happened? The best case, she thought, was that he’d have said, Thanks, but no thanks.
Worst case: he’d be packing now to leave her.
That night, as they attended the harvest festival, surrounded by people who couldn’t wait to thank Stefano for all he’d done for them, she tried to convince herself that she could keep the secret for the rest of her life.
She didn’t need Stefano to love her.
It was enough that she loved him.
Wasn’t it?
Sitting beneath the fairy lights at the center table, Tess watched one person after another tell Stefano how he’d changed and bettered their lives. She tried not to love him. But it was hard, which was to say, impossible. And it hurt.
Because she knew he’d never love her back.
After all he’d gone through, who could blame his heart for turning numb? To Stefano, love must feel like pain. She could hardly bear to think of him as a lonely little boy, neglected and abandoned. Even his dog had been taken away.
If only my love could heal you.
Tess’s eyes widened as she straightened in her chair.
If only she could show him that love wasn’t something to be feared, but embraced.
If she could show him that true love could last a lifetime...
When the harvest festival was finally over and everyone started cleaning up, Tess rose to her feet and found Gerlanda, to ask how she could help. In response, the housekeeper gave a hearty belly laugh.
“You, do the cleaning? No. I forbid it. You do enough. You make our prince happy.”
“Sí,” another woman said. “We want Prince Stefano’s happiness, after everything he’s done.” Turning away, she smiled. “And by the way he looks at you now, Princess, you make him very happy indeed.”
Following the woman’s gaze, Tess turned. Stefano stood on the other side of the castle courtyard. His black eyes looked at her hungrily across the crowd. Their eyes locked in the velvety Sicilian night.
He came forward, and took her hand.
“It’s late,” he said huskily. She shivered at the heat of his touch. “Time for bed.”
He led her into the castle and up the stairs. Their footsteps echoed against the worn stone. He never let go of her hand, only pausing to check on Esme, sleeping in the nursery next door. Then he led her to the bedroom.
Silvery moonlight flooded the large window. Glancing out, she saw the full moon frosting the dark valley, reflecting against the black sea. Coming behind her, he gently rubbed her shoulders, pulling her back against his body. “Are you happy, cara?”
She turned in her arms. “Very happy.”
How long could she hide her love for him? She was suddenly scared as she glanced toward the enormous four-poster bed. Once she was naked in his arms, feeling him deep inside her, she feared the truth would explode from her lips, and it might cost her everything.
He must never know. He could never know.
Unless...unless she could somehow heal him. Change him. Or was that just her foolish heart believing what she wanted to believe, instead of cold reality?
Lowering his head to hers, Stefano kissed her passionately. She sighed, lost in his embrace. But, as he started to lead her toward the bed, she nervously pulled away, pretending to be interested in the shelves of leather-bound books stretching up the opposite wall.
“So many books,” Tess said awkwardly, touching their spines. “They all look so old.”
“They are, I suppose. I’ll show you the library downstairs sometime,” he replied in a low voice, pulling her back into his arms. “Thousands of books, some of them a thousand years old.”
Her jaw dropped. “A thousand?”
His sensual lips lifted into a smile. “I love how innocent you are. The smallest things impress you.”
“A small thing—a great room full of books a thousand years old!”
Stefano shrugged. “Small.”
“Then what on earth would you call amazing?”
Lifting his hand to her ponytail, he pulled out the tie, and her red hair came tumbling down the back of her cotton sundress.
“Having you in my bed,” he whispered.
Lifting her reverently in his arms, he carried her to the enormous four-poster bed. As he lowered his head to kiss her, she felt a sea breeze come in through the open window, scented with jasmine and exotic spices from distant shores. She felt the roughness of his jaw against her skin as he whispered words like an Italian invocation and kissed down the length of her body. Slowly he removed her clothes, and then his own. He made her feel she was on fire, lit from within.
And through it all, with every beat of her heart, came the rhythm of the words she longed to say.
I love you. I love you.
But the last time she’d said those words, Stefano had left, intending never to return. Just because she’d said, I’m already falling in love with you.
Strange. At the time, she’d honestly believed her words. She’d thought she knew what love was.
Looking back, Tess realized she hadn’t known at all. She’d just been in love with the idea of love, and dazzled by a romantic, sensual night with the most handsome, powerful man she’d ever known.
Real love was different.
It wasn’t flowers or jewelry or poetic words. It wasn’t the fairy tale of a grand wedding or becoming a princess in a castle. It wasn’t even spectacular, mind-blowing sex.
Real love was quieter.
It grew when you weren’t looking. From moments of laughter, of sharing. From small kindnesses. Like all the little things Stefano did that he thought she wouldn’t notice, not just for her, but for others. For his employees. For his hometown. For their child.
Despite his attempts to hide it, she’d discovered his deepest secret. Stefano’s title might be Prince, but in his heart, he was something even better.
He was a good man.
She knew him now, perhaps better than he knew himself. She knew him, and she loved him.
Did she dare tell him? Would that be foolhardy—or brave? Would her honesty ruin their fragile happiness? Or would it be the start of a life more joyful than either of them could imagine?
As Stefano held her in his arms that night, as she felt the weight of his body over hers and the soft Sicilian winds blowing in from the balcony against their hot skin, she felt tormented, even as she shuddered with pleasure beneath the slow stroke of her husband’s hands.
Until, when he pushed himself inside her, making her cry out with ecstasy, she could take it no more. As he shuddered into her with a low roar, she gripped his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, Stefano.”
* * *
The next morning, Stefano woke with a strange feeling in his chest, finding he’d cradled Tess naked in his arms the whole night as they’d slept. A flash of vertigo went through him, leaving him woozy and sick.
I love you, Stefano.
He could still hear the tremble of Tess’s voice last night, see the piercing emotion in her emerald eyes. He’d been deep inside her, his whole body shuddering with pleasure, but when she’d spoken the words, something had gone through him, something greater than joy. Overwhelmed, he’d kissed her, again and again as she’d softly wept.
“I was so scared to tell you,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against his naked chest.
“Don’t be scared,” he’d said, his heart in his throat. And he’d found himself whispering love poetry in Italian he’d thought he’d forgotten. Since they’d arrived in Sicily, the prison of his childhood had become paradise.
He’d kissed her again, then held her until they’d both slept with their naked bodies intertwined. And for that brief moment, everything had felt right to him.
Waking in the morning was different.
I love you, Stefano.
A chill went down his spine. A pounding anxiety formed at the base of his brain. He looked at Tess, cuddled against him beneath the blanket, her beautiful face tender, smiling in her sleep.
Stefano couldn’t breathe.
He had to get out of here.
Jumping up, he went to the closet. Pulling on boxers and dark trousers, he grabbed a suitcase that Salvatore had unpacked for them the night before. He came back toward the wardrobe.
“What are you doing?”
He saw Tess watching him in the shadowy pink light. Sleepy as a kitten, she looked soft and adorable and it made the feeling in his chest tighten a little more.
“Getting dressed.”
She yawned, stretching her arms. “Is the baby awake?”
“No, not yet.”
He thought of how he’d quoted love poetry last night, and he felt sick. It didn’t mean anything, he told himself. A man could not be held to account for what he might say in the arms of a beautiful woman.
But he knew what was really happening. Why he’d slept in her arms last night better than he ever had before. And that he must not—could not—let it happen. Because the moment he relaxed, the moment he surrendered to emotional weakness, everything would crumble beneath his feet.
Stay in control, he ordered himself, clenching his hands at his sides. You feel nothing.
“Stefano?”
“I have to go,” he said flatly.
“What?” She sat up in bed, looking shocked. “Go where?”
“I must return to Paris to start the search for Mercurio’s new designer. And then London, to see if I can convince Fenella Montfort to sell her shares.”
But even as he spoke, he knew there was no way to buy Zacco now. Not unless he sold everything he owned outright, and maybe not even then. The woman had made it clear she had no desire to sell.
But Stefano had to give Tess some reason for his departure, and he couldn’t explain the real reason. Not when he barely understood it himself.
“Oh.” Tess looked down at her body, still covered by the luxurious cotton sheets. She gave him a forced, cheerful smile. “I guess it was silly of me to think we could stay in Sicily forever. Of course not. You run a billion-dollar conglomerate. So when do we leave?”
“I’m leaving now.” He paused. “You and Esme will remain.”
“What?” She clutched the sheet higher, over her naked body that just hours before had been hot and tangled beneath his own. “No!”
“You will do as I tell you.” He couldn’t bear to look at her beautiful, anguished face. Turning away, he stuffed a few more things in his suitcase.
“This is because I told you I love you, isn’t it?” Tess’s voice trembled. “I knew this would happen! I knew it!”
Stefano looked away. Outside, he could see the hills leading to a pink horizon over the distant Mediterranean and, beyond that, Africa. Without a word, he pulled on a crisp white shirt and tucked it into his trousers. Sitting in a nearby chair, he laced up his black leather shoes.
“Please, Stefano,” she whispered. “Just talk to me.”
His stomach tightened, but he forced himself to face her.
Tess’s hands were clasped, her thick black eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks.
Dawn broke, and sunlight flooded the bedroom from the east-facing windows, frosting Tess’s beautiful face with warm golden light. As their eyes locked, he felt strangely vulnerable. And no wonder. He’d never revealed so much of his heart to any other living soul.
Just that thought made the world start to spin again and that sick feeling rise in his chest.
“I just have to go.” He looked away. “I will return in a few days. When I do...” He set his jaw. “We’ll talk.”
“Stefano, don’t go,” she whispered. “Please.”
Stefano felt a hard, rough twist in his chest at the pain in her voice. He crushed his feelings just as he’d been trained to do. Snapping the small suitcase shut, he kissed her forehead, then left without another word and without looking back.
