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“The same way I do everything.” He spoke lightly, but his smile was grim. “At any price.”
*
Tess had gambled, marrying him. She’d gambled and lost.
Her husband would never love her. He couldn’t love her. When she’d naively blurted out that she was falling in love with him, after their first night together, he’d ruthlessly cut her out of his life.
Just that had made him disappear.
I like you a lot, Tess. Especially in bed. But that’s all I’m capable of. Passion. Partnership. Parenthood.
For Tess’s whole life, she’d dreamed of loving someone and being loved in return. But, now, she would never know what either felt like.
Because if her husband couldn’t love her, then she couldn’t love him.
They would be friends. Partners. Spouses. Lovers. That was all.
But it was hard.
During their week in London, Tess spent every moment at Stefano’s side, both by day, as he took her to runway shows, and by night, as they attended parties, then afterward, in bed, when he set her world on fire.
She saw his kindness when he thought no one was looking. To the outside world, Stefano tried to always look ruthless and tough. And he was, she knew. But there was also another side to him. He secretly helped people, without any benefit to himself.
His executive assistant, Agathe, had told Tess privately that when her young grandson had fallen desperately ill the previous year, Stefano had flown the boy to Switzerland and paid for him to get experimental treatment. Tears rose to the Frenchwoman’s eyes. “My grandson might not be alive now if not for Prince Stefano’s kindness. But he won’t let me thank him, or even mention it.”
It was a story Tess would hear again and again. The very next day, the head of a children’s charity had come up to Tess at a party. “Prince Stefano has given our charity millions, but he insists on complete anonymity. He won’t let us thank him, so I’m thanking you. He’s made such a difference.” Wiping his eyes, the elderly man had smiled. “But you’re his wife. You know how he is.”
She hadn’t, though she was quickly learning.
Returning to the Leighton from a party, Stefano and Tess had overheard the night manager talking anxiously on the phone. He had a relative trapped in another country, and war had broken out. Stefano had interrupted. “Call this number,” he’d said, handing the distraught manager a card. “Your relative will be evacuated within the day.”
When the older man tried to tearfully thank him, Stefano brushed him off. “It’s nothing. Anyone would do the same.”
Tess doubted that. After all, the manager wasn’t Stefano’s friend or even his employee. He was simply someone who happened to work at Stefano’s favorite London hotel. But Stefano chose to get involved.
At his own company, Gioreale S.p.A., she learned Stefano was revered for the way he promoted his employees, based not on who they knew or where they’d gone to school, but purely on their hard work and talent. The company’s social marketing manager, a former addict who’d gone to prison for two years before getting clean, had made a point of finding Tess at a runway show to tell her, “No one else wanted to hire me, but Prince Stefano gave me a chance. He changed my life.”
Over and over, she heard these whispered stories of secret kindness, of changed lives. But whenever she tried to ask Stefano about it, he was brusque.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I hired Thomas Martin because he’s the best damn social media director in Europe.” He gave a swift smile. “You know me. I just want the best.”
For some reason, he seemed embarrassed by his kindness, as if it was a weakness. But his employees worked hard to please him, and he returned their loyalty in full, paying them double what other firms paid. It was almost shocking, Tess thought, in this modern age, to see a boss who cared more about his employees than about maximizing every penny of profit.
Who wouldn’t love a man like that?
Not her, Tess told herself stonily. She felt nothing for him at all, except—except friendship. And pride, perhaps, but who could blame her?
Their last morning in London, Tess woke up before dawn in their hotel suite, thinking she’d heard a noise from Esme’s room. She yawned, glancing at the clock. It was just past four.
Stefano’s side of the bed was empty. He’d made love to Tess before midnight, then she’d fallen asleep in his arms. He must have gotten up to make an overseas phone call, she thought, perhaps to the Tokyo office. His appetite for work was superhuman. It was what had made him so successful, but sometimes she wondered how anyone could work so hard, and sleep so little.
Blearily she stuck her feet into slippers and pulled on a robe, then headed to Esme’s room to feed and change her. She stopped when she heard a noise inside.
Peeking through the open door, she saw to her surprise that Stefano was sitting in the rocking chair, tenderly crooning an Italian lullaby to Esme. The baby, cradled against his powerful chest, was holding a bottle and staring up at her father with big, adoring eyes.
At the tender image, Tess’s knees went weak. She closed her eyes, leaning against the hallway wall for support. Seeing the way he was caring for their child in the middle of the night, deliberately leaving Tess to sleep, made her eyes fill with tears.
Perhaps he didn’t know how to love Tess. But he cared for her, and he loved their child.
