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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...”
